My 2011 Year NOVEL (Blog) - So this is what it's like to be 28 with cancer...

It's the last day of this year. 2011; you have been a challenge. I've never thought of having a blog - figured who would want to read my life? There are so many on the internet. I had a fabulous life - but not really one that set me apart from any of the rest. 

After this year, I guess I can say - as my mom suggested - I need a blog. Not necessarily an every day blog, but at least a super long novel I can add to every day. Don't plan on reading my short thoughts and spurts... That's what my Twitter is for. This - will be my 2011 story. 

When I look back to this year, in what I now plan on being a lonnnng happy life, I will need to remember what things are important. If this problem occurs again, I will need to see how I dealt with it the first time, and tell my future self to keep her composure.  If you can do it once, you can do it again. People have called me strong, inspirational, brave, tough... ME? I should start from the beginning. Not from the very beginning... But from the beginning of this story. 

Since I was a teen I always had a secret odd obsession that I would end up getting cancer. Everyone got it, right? It was hard to escape it these days. Something inside me always knew it'd be the way I would be going... I just figured maybe when I was old. I remember being 13 and being convinced the mammary glands inside me were breast cancer. But I didn't want to find out. I never told anyone about those thoughts before... Maybe some of my friends, but I can't remember. Life went on. Sometimes I was surprised. 

I always thought this next bit was common, but looking back - nope, I guess not. When people would ask "What do you want to be doing when you're 50?" My brain would immediately go to "50? I'll be lucky if I make it to 30!" Something in my mind viewed 30 as an accomplishment. I could not picture making it to age 30 without having something happen. It wasn't like my hypochondriac self again, it was just a fact. I told many of my friends this all the time. My brain was sure I would either have a car accident, or get cancer. I was sure I would be VERY lucky if I reached age 30. Not sure why 30 was the number... but in my head, I knew it. Getting to 30 wasn't going to be like my 16th birthday - it was going to require a challenge. 

My brain was on to something. 

2011 - I'd say I was living a pretty fabulous life. I was (I shouldn't say was, because I still am all these things...) very confident in myself, very happy, in shape, and as far as I knew - healthy. I always joked that people would want my life... I didn't live in a fabulous city like in New York or California or Florida like I wished I could, but at least I got to visit them often. I had a good job, was making good money, had a LOT of days off, a family that I adored, great friends, a fantastic boyfriend that complimented me in every way, I liked the person I was, the person I had become and looked forward to what my life would hold. I didn't want kids, my dog was enough. I loved our carefree lifestyle. My boyfriend and I lived in great, new, modern houses we had specially built. We traveled whenever we wanted to, I had discovered exercising by pole dancing.. and along with my new decision to "eat half" of everything - I had lost 30 pounds and was back to my usual (assumed healthy) self. I've never been a drinker, I've never been drunk. Never tried drugs or would ever touch a cigarette. My only vice is food. I LOVE food. I had hair extensions to make my hair thicker - It always bugged me that it was getting thinner and thinner - so it went down almost to my butt. I asked the doctor many times why my hair was so thin, but I was told it was an iron problem. I also had a really bad memory.. all the time.. and my friends joked they wanted to buy me memory pills for Christmas. Otherwise, I felt hot, sexy, beautiful, happy and confident. Who wouldn't want my life? I had even booked a trip to Vegas with 7 of my friends and it was coming up soon. 

Then came February 25th, 2011. 

My boyfriend Matt and I planned a usual date night. We went for dinner at Jack Astors in Ottawa, where we live. I had delicious buffalo chicken fingers. As always, we had great conversations and great dinner. We went to a movie - I still remember it- Hall Pass with Owen Wilson. I should've known the night wouldn't go well... The vending machine for Vitamin Water ate $4 from us. So not cool. We saw the movie, then got in Matt's truck to go people watch downtown. It's our thing. We enjoy seeing the life downtown, seeing who's out "clubbing", what they're wearing, what the street bums are yelling that day, the action that was going on. We didn't really want to be IN it, but did want to know we weren't missing anything. We would go drive around, talk, see the lights and the people and talk. I could talk to Matt about nothing for days... even after 5 years of being together constantly. Halfway on our way downtown, while driving on the highway, I felt a twitch on the right side of my face. I felt my eye twitch and my mouth twitch. My first thought was "WOH! That was weird! I've gotta tell Matt that my face just felt like a seizure!" I didn't even really know what a seizure was. I just know of them because we both work for the Fire Department. I had a sudden urge to tell Matt something was happening, but at the same time, I wanted to get away from him and be alone. I tried to signal him with my arm to tell him I was twitching and show him - but I couldn't speak. I tried to climb into the back seat to get away from him because the urge to hide was so strong, but I had my seatbelt on. 

Next thing I know... I open my eyes... We aren't on the highway. We're stopped. Somewhere. There are traffic lights.. It's definitely not the highway. Why did Matt stop? Why aren't we going downtown? Then I hear a voice on my right - It's Matt's paramedic brother-in-law. What the heck? How did he get to our car? Why? And where the heck am I? Then I turn to my left and see Matt - on the phone - telling someone very seriously "Kim just had a seizure. They'll be taking her in an ambulance to the hospital." 

"WHAT? No I didn't!" I said. Me? I don't have seizures. I'm perfectly healthy! What the heck IS a seizure?

"Yes, you did. It's okay, you'll be okay." he assured me. Inside I was freaking out. Oh my god... what's a seizure.. what does this mean? where am I going? Then I realized there were paramedics and firemen outside my door. They were asking me questions. What's your name? Kimberly, duh. What day is it? Oh geez, I had no idea. What year is it? Hmmm.. either 2010 or 2011... wasn't really sure. Where are you? I have no idea. What happened? No clue. What's your birthday? I said OH, November 22nd, 1982 - I know that one! Apparently they had already asked me all these questions once before. I had no recollection of the last couple minutes. I was put into an ambulance...And brought to the hospital. I'd never been in a hospital in my life, and I didn't want to ever be in one. I got to the hospital and I saw my frantic  parents there. Wow, word travels fast. 

I don't remember a lot of the rest of that day. Maybe it's one of those traumatic days that your brain blocks out. For good reason. Like the "Memento" movie I once saw, it now seems like a series of one second flash backs... 

Having another seizure.

Being given IV gravol.

Sleeping.

Taking seizure drugs and being allergic to them.

Sleeping.

Throwing up into a pink thing.

Possibly even peeing into something while still on a bed.

Sleeping.

Going for a catscan.

Matt sitting on the bed with me.

Sleeping.

Family around me.

Being told I had a brain tumor.

I vaguely remember crying. Apparently I cried, with Matt, with family. I don't remember. But I guess all normal people would cry at news like that. 

I suppose it's a good thing I blocked out those two days. Next thing I remember, I was wheeled up to the 7^th floor of the hospital... The Neuro floor. Weeks earlier, I had gone to a few appointments elsewhere to consider breast implants. The only thing holding me back from getting them was the 4-hour hospital stay. Now here I was, being admitted to a hospital for a who-knows-how-long-stay. I looked around at the smelly floor and old people in their wheelchairs and hospital gowns. I was SO not going to be walking around in one of those. I was put into a room with 3 other people. Two old ladies (one possibly crazy) and a girl slightly younger than me – Erin. My first time in a hospital bed. I felt fine though, why should I be in a hospital bed? I wasn't going to be putting on those hospital gowns or walking around in jogging pants that were 20 years old. I'm a 28 year old girl who loves fashion and high heels! There wasn't going to be a day in this hospital where I wasn't wearing my usual makeup essentials and at least knee-high boots. (I stuck with that. And although I did wear my Uggs sometimes, I still made sure I looked like ME for the entire stay.) My family came and went (but usually stayed the whole day), but my boyfriend Matt never left my side. He slept on a chair next to my bed, leaning over onto my bed to sleep, until they gave him his own fold out chair. They realized pretty soon that he wasn't leaving me alone in the hospital. I'm still not sure what I would have done without my constant companion by my side, through the nights and all day during the days. I was stuck in there with no way out, and he made sure he was too.

My memory of this week isn't completely detailed anymore. I remember the doctor coming in to give me details about my brain tumor. I made sure I was happy and could show him I was a young patient – and this couldn't kill me! I didn't ask many details about it because these were all foreign words to me. Right frontal lobe, brain tumour, surgery... I had been too afraid to get boob implants – Now they wanted to cut my brain open?! My family and boyfriend listened to the details. I just tried to ignore the whole thing. I've never been one who liked to think of depressing things. Surely if I actually realized I had a brain tumor in my head, that would be depressing. I find it easier just to concentrate on other things and things I love. My surgeon told me he was from Africa... we talked about what was going on in my brain and what he was going to do in the surgery. I think I asked first “What if the surgery messes up and I can't move my left side?” I'm left handed, and the surgery would affect the left side if anything. I am incapable of writing or doing anything with my right hand. I've always told people my right side is retarded.. Having to learn to write with my right hand would never be easy. He cut me off before I could finish the question. “-I don't want to hear questions like that, that's not going to happen. I only want positive thoughts. Everything is going to be fine and go well. That's all we're going to think about.” (I'm paraphrasing, but you get the point.) I smiled to it all and said yeah, you're right. I don't like depressing things, so positive thoughts only! Hakuna Matata. I joked with him that the Lion King has always been my favourite movie.. and hey, he was from Africa, so what seemed more fitting than to think Hakuna Matata every day?

Every time the surgeon would come in to tell us more about the surgery, I wasn't allowed to ask him “what ifs” or throw any negative thoughts out there. He wouldn't let me. Hakuna Matata all the way...Everything was going to be fine. He told me he would like to do the surgery awake. AWAKE. As in... cut my brain open, and I'm not even knocked out. I had been terrified about getting my wisdom teeth out without being knocked out! Then when I really thought about it, if something did go wrong, and I woke up afterwards and realized I couldn't move my hand or walk... the shock of realizing that would be worse than I could ever imagine. Suddenly my biggest fear was that I would wake up thinking everything went well, and would have to get the horrible news.. or realize what wasn't working on my body. Or worse – if I was put to sleep – what if I never woke up? What if I did, but I was so brain dead I couldn't realize it? A vegetable. “I want to do it awake.” I wanted to know what was happening. I wanted to know if something was cut wrong. I couldn't think about those chances though – Hakuna Matata.

I spent a week and a half in the hospital waiting for the surgery. We had adopted the girl across my room, Erin, to be a part of my family. There were only 3 visitors allowed at a time, during certain hours. As if. I was a 28 year old with a great family and fantastic friends... there was no way that rule was going to apply to us. I had a constant slew of visitors every day. I was never alone. Matt was still by my side every hour of the day. At one point he sent his family out to buy me a ring at the mall. That night he gave it to me, alone in my hospital room and told me he had realized he wanted to be with me forever, and because proposing on a hospital bed would be tacky and not such a great memory, this ring would be a placeholder promising forever until we got out and could enjoy forever together. (again, paraphrasing.) But having the support and commitment from him meant the world to me.

My family and best friends stayed with me all day. I felt fine and still dressed in my heels and makeup. My room was FILLED with decorations and endless flower arrangements from friends, family and co-workers. I had lights set up so the lighting was nice around my bed, I had stuffed animals, pictures hung up, fake candles and chocolate cake. MY hospital room was a sanctuary. Eventually I was having so much fun with all my visitors and family and friends, that I never even ended up being in my room. We bought a white board (that was actually pink) and would write on it where we were for the nurses to find me, as well as a cell phone number in case the surgeon came for me. We had decided my brain tumor needed a name – and since the one thing that has always made me happy every morning was watching Maury Povich, we decided a nice name for it would be Maury. Then I'd like my brain tumor more. I was gonna have to kill Maury though. Sorry, Maury.

I had visitors of people I never knew could be there for me. Because Matt and I both worked for the Fire Department, we had coworkers, firefighters, chiefs and bosses visiting. My amazing coworkers stepped up and worked my shifts for me. I still owe them for their generosity. For 28 years I had avoided hospitals and thought of them as a horrible place. The last place I would ever want to be. Now when I look back on those few weeks in the hospital, I think of happiness, laughing, room service, family, friends, get togethers, flowers, hospital bed TV parties, everyone bringing my favourite foods to the hospital from any restaurant I wanted, my friends and family having massive dinners in the cafeteria together, the great young nurses we became friends with, visitors, seeing people I hadn't seen in years, laughing again, and smiling. Oh wait – I had a brain tumor and was going to have brain surgery. Oh well, back to smiling. And laughing. And family. And friends. Suddenly I knew what life was really about. My family and friends and Matt's family and friends had all suddenly meshed into one. Everyone was there for one common thing... Just to enjoy life and make sure it was happy. There was no drama, there was no sadness (that anyone would show me), it was just time to celebrate life and how great it was. And the great people in it. I've always said “everything happens for a reason” and I was beginning to realize the reason for Maury – was to show everyone what was important in life and to bring us all together. Suddenly everything else felt so minimal. Why did people ever fight? Why was anyone ever sad about having a bad day? Why did we care about careers and money and politics? (Alright let's be honest, I never cared about politics anyway.) 

The night before my surgery, I spent time with everyone I loved. They had let me escape the hospital one night and go to Lone Star with everyone – just in case it was the last meal I ever tasted! A priest friend came in and did a healing...wellness..good luck or something prayer for me. I'm not religious, but I felt why it calmed everyone else down too. It helped.

So came March 7^th, 2011. Surgery day. Is this another one of those days I blacked out? Because I don't remember any sadness. I don't remember being scared. I said goodbye to my family and friends and they went down to torturously wait on another floor until I was done. We had asked one of the young nurses, Lee, who had become a friend, if she could come into the surgery with me and keep me company. So Lee walked with me while they wheeled me down to the surgery floor. We talked in the hallway while they prepped the operation room... She told me she became a nurse because she's always had seizures also, and when she was younger she was always in hospitals. When she grew up she wanted to help people like they helped her. Suddenly she was like me and could understand my fear of seizures. I had so many questions! We talked for a while, until the operation room was ready. They wheeled me in and flopped me onto a surgical table- even though I was completely capable of doing it myself. I was excited. Take this Maury bitch out!! Let's get on with life and recover! Everything was bright, clean, blue, and white. I felt them put a REALLY heavy contraption around my head while I laid down.. It felt like it weighed 50 pounds. They somehow screwed it into my head or just .. made it really tight. I couldn't move my head a millimetre even if I wanted to. I guess that's the point. I talked to Lee a bit but couldn't lift my head to see her. They shaved a part of my head – but I couldn't tell how big. “Please don't make me bald, I really want my hair!” Then they were ready to start. This was going to be a long 4 hours.

Oh, but then they shot me with Valium. From this point on this is what my brain remembers from the awake brain surgery:

“Ooh I feel wonderful. Relaxed. Happy. Excited. Sleepy... Ooh dreaming of Hawaii.. I'm in Hawaii! I have to go to Hawaii when I wake up. Let's think of Backstreet Boys songs, that makes me happy. Oh weird I can feel them drilling through my skull.. That's odd.. But I don't care, I feel great, so happy, this is fun. Ew the drilling is vibrating my head. Oh well, back to Hawaii. Ooh and Disneyworld.. Let's go to Disneyworld when I get up. Wait- can I move still? Have they started the surgery? Move left hand. Move left foot. Sing out loud so I can make sure I can talk. Hakunaaaa Matataaaa what a wonderful phrase.. yep I can still talk, still move. YES, good! Back to Hawaii. Ooh it's so sunny and beautiful. Hey – anesthesiologist – tell me about Hawaii! He says it's beautiful. I bet it's beautiful. I'm gonna go there soon. Hm, can I still move my hand? Yep. Foot? Yep. Phew. Sun. Warmth. Beaches. Singing. (I can't sing.) so happy, let's get this tumor out! Let's go to Disneyworld! Rambling.. I hope they can hear me.. that means I can still talk. Yay I still know what's going on! Hey, anesthesiologist, what're they doing? Almost done, he says. Ooh! Almost done? We just started! Awesome, this went fast. Hawaii. Florida. Disneyworld. Lion King songs. It's the ciiiiircle of life... Can I move my hand? Yep. Foot? Yep. Speak? Awesome. I hear them saying they're just bringing some cells to get checked. Why was that guy taking so long? Hurry up. Oh well, I was gonna go to Hawaii after this. Ooh palm trees. Beaches. I can't wait to tell my family I'm okay! I'm still alive! I'm having fun! I'm so happy! Kim, we're taking you off the Valium now.. Really? But that was only like an hour surgery, I swear! Can't wait to see my family! Oh my god, I made it! Time to do all those things I dreamed about while I was under the knife!” I looked at the clock once the sheet was lifted off from over me. Quickly did the math.. Hm, about 5 hours. Well, I had fun! Shouldn't my head hurt? It didn't. Weird. They wheeled me into a recovery room with a bunch of others. HA! I just had brain surgery! I was still alive! I was totally fine! I didn't even feel pain! I felt a headache for a minute, they gave me morphine. The nurse smelled really good and I asked her what she was wearing. “Hmm nothing? Except maybe Vanilla lotion from the Body Shop.” I went immediately to buy that afterwards. It smelled relaxing, warm and clean. My family eventually ran in, worried. Why were they worried? I was fantastic! I didn't realize until afterwards that they were waiting to hear how it went for way too long. Here I was all happy and fabulous, but they had no idea. Hey, it was over! No more seizures, no more brain tumor, no nerves cut, I wasn't a vegetable. I had made it!

The next day at the hospital, I had an after-surgery MRI. Matt wheeled me down at night time through the hospital to the MRI area. We had been there many times and were pretty familiar with it now. We were on cloud 9. I had made it through the surgery, I was okay. Looking out the windows at the snow outside, everything looked beautiful. I did the MRI and as the loud noises beeped at me and the machine vibrated, I smiled at everything my life still had to offer. It was the best night at the hospital. 

Recovering from brain surgery seemed easy... I was put into a really nice hospital room with a huge window. I wasn't in pain, and they wanted to send me home the next day! My mom refused because she was too scared.. and made us stay there another night. They had stapled my head together – but I was amazed – you could barely see where they had cut me open and folded my brain flap over. (Ew) Just a simple “headband” of staples and my hair looked great! It was a masterpiece. Well, a masterpiece that I couldn't wash for at least 10 days. Sexy!

We returned home and Matt and I stayed in the basement of my parents' house for the next while, as our new house was still being built. I was taking seizure medication, steroids to stop the swelling in my brain, pain meds and...man, I can't remember what else. I invested in a pill holder. I was a sicky now! They warned me that as long as I was on the steroid – Decadron, I would feel okay. But I would have to be weened off of it slowly and that a few weeks later, once the Decadron was done, I would finally feel like I had gotten brain surgery. I was ready for the pain. The Decadron steroid was horrible. Since then, I believe this drug should be somehow illegal. It stopped the swelling and pain I guess, but it swelled up my face to double its size, made me barely recognizable, I was hungry ALL the time and I couldn't tell when I was full. I had to remind myself how much I would normally eat and compare it... Telling my stomach when to stop. It keeps you up all hours of the night. Actually that's not true, it makes 2 hours of sleep gloriously wonderful and then you're done. So I would go to bed at 11pm and be up and ready to go, thinking it was morning, and finally look at the clock and see...1am. Totally wide awake. I would watch movies on my ipad, sit up and watch entire TV series, write emails at 3am... By 4am I would usually get tired again, pass out, and sleep until 6am. Then again – I was ready to go. I was up before the sun, before anyone else and I was always starving. So I'd eat! But try to stop myself. I also started to realize the Decadron was nearly displacing my body fat. It had taken the fat from my boobs and put it to my stomach. Literally. I sound crazy saying this but look it up... It happens! My butt, my stomach, were round and fat, my chest was almost concave. I felt horrible in every outfit... I would look in the mirror and think WOW, this looks like a monster. I had never seen a body that looked like that. It was terrifying. I know this sounds horrible and conceited but sometimes it's the small pointless things that get to you in things like this... But I thought of before when my side job was a Promotional Girl.. Pretty much my job was to dress up and look hot. I very quickly saw that job down the drain while looking in this mirror.

When we met with the surgeon later, he told me they had tested my brain tumor cells and come to the conclusion that what I had was a mix of a “Grade 2 and a Grade 3” brain tumor. He told me brain tumors were different than cancer, you couldn't call them cancer because cancer can spread through the body. The blood brain barrier would stop my crazy cells from travelling out of the brain. A Grade 1 tumor was only possible to get when you were younger than 16, and meant no cancer. Grade 2- as I took it, was ... sorta cancerous. Grade 3.. more cancerous. Grade 4 – deadly. So I had a somewhat.. sort of.. cancer in me. He told us he got what he wanted out, but wanted to send me to see a radiologist to see if he'd like to do radiation on me to get any miniscule cells left behind around the surgical area. “Okay, as long as you don't want me to do chemotherapy.” I said. “I don't want to lose my hair.” I wasn't ready for cancer. He kept telling me it was a brain tumor, not the same. I was happy with that.

When I got to the radiologist appointment I filled out a patient assessment before going in. “Biggest fears or concerns” was listed on the bottom. I filled out “The fear that you will send me to get chemotherapy. I don't want to lose my hair.” The radiologist took a look at my file and told me he wanted me to do 30 rounds of radiation. 6 weeks. “Just in case, because he sees my tumor is about a 2.5 grade.” Guess what, he also wanted me to have an appointment with an oncologist who would decide if I had to get chemotherapy too. Oh, and by the way, the nurse said – radiation to your brain will make you lose more hair than the chemotherapy. Fantastic.

So of course, on to the dreaded oncologist appointment. This was the appointment I hated the most. The doctor was great.. The most easy to understand, the most friendly and the most understanding. But when he pulled his chair over, held his hand on mine, and said “Now I know other doctors will be telling you a brain tumor and cancer are different, but when it comes down to it – the way I see it, you have abnormal cells growing in your brain. Unfortunately, that means cancer. You will now have to deal with this on and off for the rest of your life. You have -” and I heard the word again, just to be sure... “Cancer.” For a second my whole vision went white. Ah crap. This time I definitely cried.

I told Matt on the way home from that appointment that I understood if he wanted out. He had not signed up when he met me for a girlfriend with cancer. I might be stuck with this for life, but he didn't have to be. We weren't married, he could go have a happy life with another girl now if he wanted. This was his free pass. "I'm not going ANYWHERE." he said to me, through his tears. He told me he never wanted to hear me say that again... That in the hospital, he knew right away that he would stay by my side through everything that was going to come, and his mind would never change. "I am never going anywhere. We will get through this together. Don't forget that. I am not going anywhere, and I will never want to."

Treatment for my brain CANCER was to start soon. Just a million more MRIs added to the million I had already gotten, then we would start. At home, I was finally reaching the end of my steroid drugs and knew the week was coming where I would start to “feel like I had brain surgery”. When those pills were done, I expected it. I waited. I felt nothing abnormal yet. Then one night – OW – I was awoken out of my sleep with pain. I sat up as the headaches ALL through my head rang out. But I couldn't sit up, it hurt too much. I had never felt pain like this. Matt had still been by my side day and night to help me out, so I woke him up crying. I took a few of the strong pain killers they had prescribed me... nothing helped. We stayed up all night as I cried in pain. I guess this is what it really felt like to have brain surgery.

I stayed on the couch for the next few days in excruciating pain with headaches like I'd never felt before. My parents and Matt waited on me hand and foot, wouldn't let me move. After it had been too many days, we decided to venture out and go to the walk in clinic for some stronger pain medication – or a refill of what they had given me in the hospital. I got into the walk-in doctor's room and explained to him what I had just been through. Hey, guess what, I just randomly had seizures, had surgery for a brain tumor, and now my head is going to explode! Just as he was about to write me the prescription to refill the pain meds, I saw the whole room go blurry and the lights start to shake. Ah shoot “sorry, I'm going to puke in your sink now” I said. I threw up something weird. And it kept happening. “Forget the prescription, we're going to the ER” I heard Matt say. And back we were...

After a few hours in the emergency room, tests galore, and a catscan, we were put into a room. One of the residents who had worked with my surgical team came in. “Something is showing up in the surgical spot. We can't be sure what it is until we can get an MRI tomorrow.” What? A few days ago I had been having a celebratory dinner with my friends, feeling great and recovering. “Could it be the tumor regrowing already?!” we asked. 
“It's possible.”
I felt like everything we just went through was hopeless. It's possible? It's possible for a tumor that took apparently 5-10 years to grow inside me, had regrown in a few weeks? This was the point I was saddest I remember feeling so far. I was being re-admitted to the 7^th floor.

So... It wasn't the tumor. Thank God. But – it was infected. There was an infection in the surgical spot inside my brain. We spent another week in the hospital (of course Matt slept again on a chair next to my bed) before they figured out what antibiotics they could put me on to fight it. Finally, after much begging and waiting, we were sent home to take the IV antibiotics at home. To do this, however, I had to get a PICC line inserted. Don't ask me what it stands for, I'd have to look it up again. But to me what it meant was they poked a big hole in my arm and fished a little tube up through my arm, inside my body, that led down inside my chest to my heart. It was all taped over on the outside, and then I had two tubes basically leading out of my arm, finally leading to the antibiotic bags and a battery powered pump. Oh, in a fanny pack. Sexy. I had a home-care nurse coming to the house every day to change the bags, change the tubes, change the sticky things. I think I made the first young nurse feel really bad when I broke down and cried... At first they had told us we could change the bags ourselves, because Matt knew how, but then she came back in and told us that couldn't happen – we'd have to have them here every day. Wow, I had gone from normal 28 year old girl – to brain tumor, brain surgery, brain infection, fanny pack of antibiotic pumps and tubes, and a daily homecare nurse. Hakuna... Matata...?

I was upset over the little things... That I couldn't shower without wrapping my arm in saran wrap. I couldn't change without fishing tubes through my shirts. I couldn't wear dresses because the bottom would lift up because I had to run the tubes through my arm, down my dress, and back up to my fanny pack. I was a mess. I had to sleep close to my bedside table so my tubes could be attached to the pumps and antibiotics sitting on it. Good thing I don't move when I sleep. If I had to go to the washroom in the middle of the night, I had to carry my tubes and fanny pack with me. It was just...an adjustment.

Matt knew I was getting upset about this stuff. One afternoon, when he had finally left my side to help his mom with something in Toronto, he came home to me and asked me to keep my eyes closed. When I opened them, there was a Holt Renfrew bag. I may be superficial but that's always a good sign. I pulled out of the bag the most beautiful white Balenciaga City purse from its dust bag. My dream purse. I'd wanted this $1700 handbag since the day we met... and..way before that. He had bought it for me to keep my fanny pack in so I would feel stylish and cool, even while on antibiotics. The tassles of the purse would hide the tubes and I was now happily distracted enough by my dream bag that I didn't care as much about having the carry those pumps around. Mission accomplished by my fantastic boyfriend. Where did he come from?

Of course things didn't always go smoothly. After a few weeks on those antibiotics I began to realize the pain in my legs was not particularly normal. I had to walk around the house at night in hopes that it would make the pain go away for while I slept. I took 3am baths to warm my legs to try and cure the pain. I woke up one day with a rash so bad it covered both my legs entirely- and from that day forward I couldn't sleep because I felt like the blood inside the veins in my legs was burning me. My knees hurt like I had growing pains, I had heating packs wrapped around my legs to sleep but the pain became so excruciating, I was back upstairs in the middle of the night trying to stay up all night. I realized if I had my legs down, when I was sitting or standing, I was eventually okay. It was when I laid down that I felt the almost poisonous blood accumulate in my legs and stay there. I felt bad when I stayed up all night upstairs to watch TV just so I could fall asleep sitting up, and I would look over and see Matt – who still would never leave my side – sleeping in his sweatshirt on the floor next to me. The antibiotics also gave me something called Thrush. Which pretty much meant my tongue had a disgusting mess of furry yellowness on top of it, as well as the top of my mouth. My teeth turned black on the back from the effects of the drugs. I needed a dentist asap. 

Now, I'm not sure in what order anymore these next events happened... But I may as well document them too. I was clearly allergic to the antibiotics, so after a few appointments with the infectious disease doctor (because now I also had an infectious disease...? I guess that's who gives you antibiotics.) She switched up my medication to only one antibiotic, instead of two, and the pain in my legs was over. Hallelujah.

So I was warned by the oncologist that the chemotherapy I was going to be taking could ruin my chances of having children. Matt had always assured me of one thing in our relationship - that he would 99% most likely NOT want to have children. Ever. It worked great, because I felt the same. I had seen how hard they were, and I couldn't imagine that life yet. But when you're suddenly told you may NEVER be able to have something... You've got to stop and think. I'd always held on to the idea that yeah, at this time in life I couldn't imagine ever wanting them, but I knew that motherly instinct would kick in one day and I would somehow need one. The oncologist set us up with an appointment at a fertility clinic to discuss my options. Suddenly Matt's visions seemed to change...He insisted we go. 
There couldn't be two more awkward people in a fertility clinic. I had brought Matt solely as moral support, but once I got there, the appointment ended up being for both of us. They required both of our health cards and information and they took us both in for questioning. We were questioned by a young doctor on endless amounts of things like our childhood, my monthly period, sperm, it was insanely awkward...even for Matt and I who knew everything about each other. Then he told us he was going to take us both into the other room to do an exam on me. Uh... what kind of exam? Oh, just a physical, he assured me. He brought Matt and I both into the next room - and did a PAP test on me. Oh man, I wasn't having babies yet.. I wasn't prepared for Matt to have to sit through a PAP test! We both laughed when the doctor left the room at what an odd appointment this turned out to be. We were then ushered into another room with some sort of doctor that I like to call Professor X (just because he reminded me a lot of Professor X in X-Men!) He told me I had a few options. All of which involved getting shots of hormone injections that would give me horrible side effects (and with the amount of things that had happened already, I couldn't imagine more side effects being thrown in to my life) and would require thousands of dollars. One option was to freeze eggs (after all the daily shots and fertility clinic visits), one was to make me go through early menopause and stop my body from even producing anything while I was on the chemo, then restart it when I was done (that just didn't seem healthy or fun at all) and one was to take both my stuff and Matt's stuff and freeze it together for later. 
Wow...We had a lot to think about. Professor X said he hadn't heard of this new chemo drug I would be taking before, so he didn't know much about it. When he took his huge dictionary of drugs out, he found something similar and told me my chances of having a kid would be roughly... 5%. Woh. Now this was serious. I asked him how long we had to think about it. He asked when my time of the month was and calculated it... "Hm..You'd have to start your first shot...tomorrow." Thanks, So we had the night to think. 
Matt and I talked a lot that day and night, with each other and with family. My amazing brother assured me he would pay whatever money was needed for me to do what I decided, and my amazing sister offered to give me her eggs if I needed them. We cried at the generosity of both of them. This family was great. We also cried at the idea of never having something that we didn't even want in the first place. It was weird. Matt and I both agreed that it's very hard to decide you'll NEVER want kids for SURE in one day. We needed more help. Something had to give. I didn't want to get injections, I didn't want to have these side effects. I couldn't handle any more sickness at this point. We decided to call my oncologist back. "We need you to tell us again what the chances are of having a kid if I don't freeze my eggs now..." we asked him. He spoke in his calm voice as usual and laughed when we told him Professor X had told us 5%. "It's more around 35-40% chance, I'd say. They haven't done too many studies with this drug, but when they did, I'd say 40% chance is likely." We both breathed a sigh of relief... Okay, 5% chance might have been worth it to go through all that. But with a 40% chance, if we ever changed our minds and suddenly decided we wanted kids... They'd be our miracle baby. We were okay with that. 

Then, it was Easter. (Pretty sure this happened before the above happened, but ah well, who says I've got a good brain for remembering timelines?) My family was preparing to go for Easter Dinner and Matt, my friend Jess and I were all walking out to get in the car and drive over to dinner. It was a sunny, nice day outside...I was FREEZING for some reason, so I put on a sweater. Walking towards the car with Jess and Matt, I stopped in my tracks. Oh my god, I looked down at the grass, we weren't going to make it to dinner. What? No, I was being crazy. But the overwhelming feeling that we would NOT make it to this dinner made me stop in my tracks. Did I suddenly have psychic powers that told me we were going to get in a car accident? Should I tell Jess and Matt, totally oblivious to my stopping, that we shouldn't get in the car, because we might die? No, I was crazy. They would say for sure I was crazy. You're crazy, get in the car. I slowly put my hand on the door handle and reluctantly sat in the car. I didn't want to. I knew it wasn't right. Matt and Jess got in, and then I felt it. I looked up to the sunny sky down the street and I saw it start to shake, vibrate. Damn it, there's that twitching in my face. I grabbed the door handle again because I had an immediate urge to escape the car and lie on the grass outside. Too late, I couldn't control my body anymore. I heard Matt look over and say “Kim, what're you doing? Oh f*ck.” He called for Jess and she knew I was having a seizure...I was so upset. I thought these were OVER? Then I blacked out.

I woke up, to the usual “what's your name, when's your birthday, where are you” questions and the familiar smell of plastic gloves, saran wrap and oxygen masks. I had an IV in me again, I don't remember who put it in or when. I was in an ambulance.. So much for easter dinner.

I was told I had the seizure because I had a fever (why I was so cold), from pneumonia that I had (why I couldn't breathe too well) and the antibiotics I was taking were messing up the medication. Something along those lines. My liver wasn't working well because of the pneumonia, caused by the antibiotics, which caused the seizure meds not to be at a “high enough level” in my system. Whatever. None of it mattered much to me, all that mattered was – WHAT? I thought I had brain surgery so the seizure thing would stop. Suddenly this was back on the table? This is bullshit. I stayed overnight in the hospital again and they eventually upped the dosage of my seizure medication. But at least I got to go back home.

Now I was terrified. I could still have seizures? I had never thought of that. I just assumed once they took Maury out, I'd be in the clear. This just set up a whole new ball game.

5 days later, April 29^th 2011, it was Matt's birthday. He was at work for 24 hours though, so my mom was having a few of us over to watch the Royal Wedding. She had made sandwiches, tea, desserts, we had the place decorated.. I was excited. I was waiting for my friends to arrive, sitting again with my friend Jess and my mom. I talked to them from the other couch. While talking to them I felt things get blurry for a second. Neh, I'm just overly cautious now because of the other day... We'd worked my meds out since then. But I couldn't help but feel something was wrong, or something bad was going to happen. Nah, you're totally crazy and overreacting. So I thought, hm, I'll get up and put these papers in the paper bin to distract myself from these thoughts. I stood up, walked towards the paper bin.. and felt it. Again. Twitching. I saw Jess, I tried to tell her – Jess, I'm gonna have a seizure. Just as I was trying to tell her (obviously no words come out) I heard her say “Mom! She's having a seizure!” I saw Jess run over to catch me, as she and I managed to walk myself backwards back towards the couch I had been on. It would be soft. I turned my head away from Jess so she wouldn't have to see my twitching face. I was surprised by how calm they both were. Then I blacked out.

Ohh there it is... waking up to paramedics in my face again. Uhh why were they here? I was on the floor. So many people in the room. Suddenly two more of my friends were here. Oh yeah, they were coming for a party. Shoot. What happened? Seizure. Damn it! It was becoming all to familiar. Here we go again – what day is it, Royal Wedding day. When's your birthday, November 22^nd. Where are you, clearly at my mom's house. What's your name, Kimberly. what happened? I had a SEIZURE and I'm PISSED! This is supposed to stop!! Thank God Jess knew what to do because of the last time, and thank god my mom didn't freak out at the sight. Back to the hospital. Another event ruined. I waved goodbye to my friends that had come over to the party.. Sorry, sicky friend has to go to the hospital again.

Once again, they upped my seizure medication dose. They made some sort of excuse as to why my body wasn't absorbing this medication properly. Is this what the rest of my life looked like? How was I going to have a normal life again if I had to be afraid all the time that I would feel like the world was coming to an end, twitch, and then black out and wake up feeling sick and confused? After getting back home again, and 3 weeks of no seizures, I felt that FINALLY my medication must be working. The levels must be okay. I had an appointment with a very popular neurologist “seizure doctor” the next morning, and I was excited that he might be able to tell me why these meds screwed up, and make sure it never happened again. That night I watched the hockey game with Matt's sister and brother-in-law. I told them I felt confident, that my medication levels would be up and I would be okay. We bet on what my levels would be. Most people positive, even I gave pretty positive predictions. Late that night we went home to the new house and went to sleep.

...I wake up at 2am to the lights on. Ughhh I was having such a good sleep.. why are the lights on? Turn them off. Wait. Why is Matt up, dressed, and over at my side of the bed? Ugh. He's on the phone. “Kim had another seizure”. Omg. You've GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. Of course, then I look up a bit, the bedroom door is open, paramedics are coming in. What the heck? When did they get time to get here? We live in the middle of nowhere Stittsville! How much did I miss? I was just sleeping well! I didn't have a seizure!! “Yes, you did.” Matt assures me. Ughhhh. When was I finally going to be normal?! I thought, as they wheeled me down the stairs into yet another ambulance. Yippee..

We stayed over night in the hospital that night. I mean, it was already part way through the night, and I had an appointment in the same hospital early that morning.. man, why not just stay there? My medication still wasn't at the right levels. They couldn't figure it out. Hopefully the seizure doctor could.

The Neurologist walked in, totally cocky and confident. “How did you get an appointment with me so fast? I usually make people wait 4 months!” he said jokingly. He was a friend of another doctor friend of ours, and I had him to thank for getting me this appointment. He was confident about his work, I felt confident in him. “You have benefits, right?” he asked. Yeah, we do. “Then why are you taking these cheap drugs? Let's get you some good ones.” He told me I now had what was considered epilepsy. Even though the seizures were being caused by the scar that was now on my brain for life because of the surgery, once I have a few seizures, it's called epilepsy. I should get a bracelet. I was not to go around water alone...No swimming, baths, hot tubs alone – because if I have a seizure in there, I'll drown. So my anchor tattoo above my butt because I love the ocean suddenly seemed ironic. I was told something I found interesting...When I explained my need or want to escape every time before I had a seizure, I was told this is completely normal. It dates back to our animal instincts. When animals feel like they're going to die, they often run away and hide. The need to want to hide when I was going to have a seizure was for the same reason - I needed to "die" alone and not let anyone see.
 He prescribed me a new seizure medication and said he'll see us in a few months. Usually people take this drug with another drug, we just need to wait and see what I'd need. For now, I'd start with this one. He also said usually it takes trying a few drugs to figure out what seizure drug will work for you. Mine for now was Keppra. God, Keppra, I hope you work.

I was constantly afraid of seizures. The brain surgery, the brain tumor, the radiation, the chemo – it didn't scare me. The seizures – terrified me. I think there must have been something wrong with me.. It had become a phobia. It was the only time I actually woke up in the morning and cried thinking “why me?!” for once. I could have gotten past all the other stuff, but I couldn't stand a life of worrying about seizures. I didn't like that people would see my face contort or twitch and my body shaking. Apparently I stop breathing when it happens too and my lips turn blue. Who would want to hang out with someone like that? I'd be terrified! I talked to a “cancer coach” about it. She had been great with me and my family through everything. I told her seizures were ruining my life. My sanity. My will to fight through everything else. Throwing me off track. She came back to me with a suggestion – She'd never tried it herself, but she's heard hypnosis could help people. Hypnosis? Like “you're getting sleeeeepyyyy” hynosis? Sure. I'd try anything at this point.

I went to two appointments at the hypnotherapist. It wasn't what I expected. She didn't have me watch a pocket watch while she told me I was getting sleepy. I sat on the couch instead of lying down, unless I wanted to. She had me picture parts of my life as if it were a movie playing on the wall...She would make me look back and forth between the imaginary images – some happy, some sad, some still, some moving. Then she would snap. And ask me about my dog. She told me I might laugh at her now, but it's the subconscious that's going to catch on and help me with what she's doing. Okay. The second time she got me to mentally burn images in a fire of things that scared me, confront the seizures and confront the thought of death from cancer. I told her – I'm not scared of dying from cancer, I don't think I will. Not anymore. She was still sure that thought was in there somewhere, so I confronted it. She made me cry as she made me imagine being 91 years old and walking on a sunny beach with all of my family and friends, everyone happy and hugging that I had made it through all those years to live a long, happy life. Before I left she wrote down a list of sayings and phrases she wanted me to say to myself anytime I remembered, or anytime I got scared.

My brain is perfect, and healing, and good – just as I like it.

Anytime I feel tired, it is because my body is healing and getting better.

The Keppra is in my body and the drugs are working.

I am okay.

I am safe.

I am always in control. Seizures or no seizures.

I am loved and I am wanted.

Because the seizures made me so insecure about what others would think of me, she thought I needed the last few phrases. She also reminded me that no matter how much I worry daily about having a seizure, it's not going to prevent it. So worrying wasn't helping me. Instead of worrying, whenever I got the thoughts, I was to repeat these phrases. Surprisingly – to this day I wonder why – saying those in my head when I got scared calmed me down. That, combined with every week that would go by without a seizure, I got less and less afraid. I went back to living my normal life. Keppra was working.

The six weeks I was supposed to be attached to a PICC line taking antibiotics turned in to about 9 weeks. It wouldn't clear up. Other treatment was delayed until that was done. Finally at the end of May, 2011, I was free! I got my favourite homecare nurse to come over – the one who had made me cry the first day originally – to do the honors of taking out the PICC line. Wow. I wasn't attached to any tubes. I didn't have to carry any heavy pumps or bags. I could wear whatever clothes I wanted! I didn't have to carry it to the bathroom. I could shower!! We did a little dance of excitement and celebrated together, and I told them I was just like Pinocchio.. I've got no strings to hold me down! 
 

 Now that everything else was – for the most part- cleared up, I could finally start the next phases of this treatment. My radiation started May 31^st. I had no idea what to expect... Would it hurt? Can you feel it? I filled out a patient assessment form again and stated I was anxious, nervous, scared and in “other concerns” filled out “afraid of having a seizure on the table” I felt like I needed to wear a sign everywhere I went now “Warning: could start convulsing at any moment, don't be alarmed, it happens a lot.” I went to radiation in my usual type of outfit: skirt, heels. I was still determined to look like a regular person, even in the cancer centre radiation wing. Luckily the Radiation wing of this new cancer centre was beautiful. Marble floors, all new seats and TV in the waiting room, huge fireplaces and when you walked in through the doors it smelled like fresh cedar. (In the doorway made of cedar... After that, it smelled like radiation.) They brought my family and I in to explain the procedure and the machine I would be lying on. It was weird.. A huge white room with dim lighting, an ipod playing, and a sort of metal bed in the middle of the room, surrounded by big circles and squares that could move around you. After explaining, they ushered everyone out of the room. Except me. They had fit me a week before for a specially molded “mask” - a yellow mesh that they warmed up and then formed onto my face. They then cut out the eyes from it and marked it up to where my radiation was to concentrate on. They took this mask out now, all dry and hardened and ready to go, and placed it over my face as I laid down on the bed, facing the ceiling. They clamped it into the machine. They warned me it could be claustrophobic, since you can't move your head at all and couldn't even really talk, as you were surrounded by a yellow mesh. It reminded me of the mask in Silence of the Lambs. I don't really get claustrophobic so I didn't really mind. But I felt like a sort of freak. They measured around my head with green laser beams while I laid there unable to move, staring at the ceiling. Hm.. the ceiling had a hanging piece of art above the bed – a bunch of preserved leaves in between two pieces of glass, about 6 feet long. Well, at least you can look at something. Throughout the months of radiation I ended up counting those leaves when I got bored. 120.

Finally they were done measuring, and it was time for my radiation. Everyone had to leave the room, I was left completely alone in this big room with the dim lights and the big machine. And the leaves. I noticed when they left that a song I used to like as a teen was playing on the ipod. “Sailing”, by Nsync. It calmed me because it was relaxing and familiar. As they spoke to me through a speaker in the ceiling to tell me what was happening, I replayed the hypnotist's phrases in my head. “You're okay. You're safe. Your brain is perfect, and your brain is healing. You're always in control. You're okay. You're safe.” And I braced myself...

Hm... the machine moved a little bit... I could see the outline of the shape they were going to zap into my head right above me. They told me it was starting. I heard a small noise. I listened to the music. The machine turned again, the noise went off again. The technicians came back in and measured something, then left again. The small noise came back again. And again. And they came in and rotated the bed a different way with a button as I laid still, unable to move. They left, the noise came back again... and then they came in and said I was done. . . Really? Did anything happen? Okay...my heart calmed down, my anxiety stopped. Radiation wasn't so bad, it was rather.. relaxing! I was warned before I left that the first night after radiation would be the hardest. If it was going to cause a seizure, it was going to be that night. I might feel like I have a concussion. If this happens, or this happens, or this happens, go to the ER. They terrified me before I left. I was also to start my chemotherapy pills that night too, the small dose of chemotherapy was going to coincide with the radiation to help it out a little bit. I was also warned that the first night of chemo was the worst one. After being sick from chemo the first night, the rest of the nights would be a lot better.

So I left going home that night terrified of what was going to happen. The first night of radiation could cause many scary side effects, and the first night of chemo could make me stay awake all night throwing up. I watched what I ate that night – it better taste good coming up. I was prepared to be throwing up and convulsing from seizures all night. I didn't know if I'd be able to sleep with these thoughts.. I took a sleeping pill, a nausea pill and 3 chemo pills, and prepared for the worst.

I woke up the next morning... fine. Wait, I did it? Had I had a seizure? I checked my bed for puke that I might have slept through. Nope, I had made it just fine! No side effects, no nausea. I was amazed.

Radiation was every day on the other side of town. Monday to Friday, I got a schedule of when to show up and scan myself in. Matt (or my parents, if he wasn't around) would drive me, and my brother Matt came often too just to offer some support and company. One thing that cancer did give me was a chance to spend more time with my brother, at least! So that made the experience happier. The Radiation Team at this cancer centre was young and fantastic. Every day we would talk about my clothes, where I got my shoes, what I was doing that weekend and what was new in my life. They found out I liked pop music, Backstreet Boys and New Kids on the Block, and they went home and downloaded their albums to the radiation ipod so I could listen to good songs every day. I would stare at the leaves on the ceiling and sing to Backstreet Boys songs. The machine would rotate and I would use this time to lie down and think and relax. It never took more than 15 minutes, then I was out. I didn't mind radiation at all... The more we could zap away these crazy cells, the better! The chemo pills were fine too, I never felt nauseous or threw up. I was pretty surprised.

Realizing now that life was short and we should do things when we wanted to, Matt and I planned to do exciting things nearly every weekend while I was doing radiation. On the weekends I still had to take chemo pills, but I was at least free from hospital visits. My friends Jen, Jess and my Mom and I also moved two days of radiation to go on a trip to Montreal we had already planned before, to see a New Kids on the Block/Backstreet Boys concert. Matt surprised me with Canada's Wonderland season passes and we visited the park 3 or 4 times. Something inside me suddenly needed to be a kid again...It was as if something told me- Wait - Life was too short to grow up too fast, and I had an undeniable sudden need to escape to a place where things were happy, done up, kid-like and fun. When we didn't escape to Wonderland, we went for long drives in my convertible and enjoyed the summer weather with a new appreciation for the beauty of sun warmth and life.

We visited Marineland so I could relive my childhood obsession with killer whales and escape the city to see the Niagara Falls for the first time (that I could remember.) I was starting to experience the side effects of the radiation -in addition to becoming amazingly tired all the time. For the first few weeks, I noticed my vision was starting to blur. I would have to blink sometimes to focus, and while before I could have read a sign from miles away, I now had to be almost right in front of it to be able to read it. I worried that the surgery had made my eyesight weaken, but I learned later it was just one of the many side effects of the radiation shooting the nerves in my brain. In addition to the bad blurry vision, (at some points I could barely see or read anything properly), my hands started to shake uncontrollably. I noticed this most when putting a glass down at dinner after drinking something. I almost knocked the glass over a few times because my hand was too unsteady putting it down. This made it difficult to write or type, but otherwise wasn't a huge problem. I joked about it with my friends. My vision slowly returned to normal, but something worse started to happen. I wasn't able to explain to people what the problem was really, and it's still hard to explain when you haven't experienced it. I had an irresistible urge to WALK. All the time. After researching it later, I found out it's something quite common called Restless Leg Syndrome. I couldn't sit still long enough to watch a full TV show or movie because I had such an uncomfortable feeling in my legs that required me to keep moving. If I did sit down, I would have to cross my legs and keep one of them constantly shaking back and forth. For some reason, it felt better when we were driving in the car. Either because it somehow took my mind off it, or it tricked my brain into thinking I was walking because we were moving. I'm still not sure. So Matt would occasionally drive me around late at night to people watch downtown for hours, just so I wouldn't have to sit. I would cry during the day sometimes because I wanted so badly just to sit down and watch a movie at home. But it was too uncomfortable. I couldn't sit still. I wanted to so bad, but I had to keep going...keep moving. Eventually I got Matt or my friend Jen to go for long walks with me, but it was tough, because I could out-walk them and my dog and not even feel remotely tired. I literally could have walked all day. I dreamed of having a treadmill in the family room that I could walk on just so I could watch TV. At family dinners and friend barbeques I would have to walk back and forth on the deck while I ate. While people told me stories of their day I would be walking around the dinner table or the kitchen islands. I. HAD. To. Walk.

Which also meant, of course, that I couldn't sleep. I was so tired from the radiation, but in the middle of the night I would wake up tortured by the uncomfortable feelings in my legs. I wanted to get up and walk. But I really didn't, I just wanted it to let me sleep!! I finally came to the conclusion that if I stayed up moving often during the night, the feeling went away slightly in the morning and didn't come back until the afternoon or dinner time, so I would sleep from about 7am until 11am instead of during the whole night. During the days I wanted to be out enjoying life and enjoying summer. Even though the radiation nurse told me I should avoid the sun all summer because it would give me heat stroke right away and I would learn to hate the sun, I still loved it. Thankfully it never did that to me. I was getting so tired though that I wasn't able to do everything I wanted during the day, I had to take naps. I did cry one day too because I just wanted to have a life and go shopping, but I just couldn't do it because I was too tired. I had to nap. Now I was realizing it wasn't all happy and relaxing...I could not wait for radiation to be over.

In June I got Matt to install a pole dancing pole in the basement again. It was time to get off my ass and get back into some sort of shape. My body had finally recovered from the Decadron and my fat was back in the right spots! All my body needed was to be re-toned, and I could feel like me again. I was afraid to try pole dancing again, because the thought of being upside down and having a seizure was always in the back of my mind. I'd break my neck! I started with spins and decided no upside-down. I was amazed when I grabbed onto the pole how much muscles had disappeared. Wow. Before I could do chin ups and holds and lift my body for hours on the pole. Now I could barely hold on. In 4 months I had lost all my muscles and talent! I started again from square one. At first I had Matt stay down with me while I pole danced and make sure I didn't fall or anything. After a few weeks of trying every second day to rebuild my muscles, I eventually worked up the guts to try upside-down moves again.. I missed it too much. Finally, after a few weeks and months of using the pole dancing to get back in shape, I was able to do most of my old moves and spins (not some of the holds.) But I felt back to me again. And I could feel my abs again! Pole dancing was the only thing that gave me strength and fitness again. I missed it so much and so many friends wanted to try it that we installed a second pole in the basement and I started teaching some friends what it could do for them.

It was sometime during all this that I started to notice my hair thinning. I wasn't sure how much hair I was going to lose, but I hadn't really been losing any from the chemotherapy. I knew I was going to lose patches where the radiation was, but because I didn't know how much and thought I could cover it up, I didn't cut my hair or shave my head. I did take out my extensions though. My hair was a little longer than shoulder-length now, and I wasn't used to that at all! I had always complained of my hair being thin before, now it was on a whole new level.

As time went on, I would start to notice more long hairs on my clothes. If I ran my hand through my hair, I would not get one or two stray hairs, I would get about twenty. As more time passed, I would get a full handful of hair in my hand. I learned not to run my hands through my hair. I didn't really like taking showers, because the amount of hair I would see in the drain at the end was depressing. When we took the vacation to Niagara Falls, I joked that if my hair was blood – you could describe the hotel room as a gruesome murder scene. There were piles of black hairs in the shower, on the floor, on the sheets, on the pillows, in my clothes... It was getting out of control. I noticed it was falling out the right side of my head the most – where my surgery was and where most of my radiation was concentrated to. I was still able to part my hair and cover it though. So far. It became hard to change my clothes because I didn't like to see how much hair was stuck to the outside and inside of my shirts, or down my pants. I learned later that Matt was secretly sweeping up hair from the bathroom floor so I wouldn't notice how much I was losing. I didn't really cry about losing my hair until one day when I was going to a hip hop exercise class (so I could exercise away my radiation symptoms!) and I went to put on a wide lululemon headband my sister had given me -to hide the hair I was missing off the top of my head. When I checked out my pony tail in the mirror to see if I had covered it all up, I saw the back of my head. I guess no one ever warned me... I had lost the hair on the back right of my head too. Now I couldn't cover it with a headband. I'd have to wear a full hat. I cried as Matt hugged me, at the shocking realization that I was officially a cancer patient and now officially looked like one.

I went to get some wigs as soon as I found a place. Hey, this could be a fun blessing in disguise! Now I could have long black hair, brown hair, blonde hair like I'd always wanted to try. It would always be full and well styled... I bought short pink ones, bob cuts, shoulder-length, and a few long flowing wigs. Man, now I had the best hair of my life! But I would have to get used to hiding my little rat tail of my own hair up into my wig. And yeah, in the summer, they were hot and uncomfortable. Still, we named them all. I could have so many different personas... The long blond was Candy, black one was Priscilla, pink one was Liloo, and I just kept adding them on. Why not have as many wigs as I have shoes?! Okay, that could be a little much. For now I've stuck with 8. Man is my hair nice and always perfect! And some of them when they get wet...dry right back into the same perfect style! My own hair underneath was becoming something I loved to joke about. I called it my "Mullet/Skullet/Mohawk/Rat-tail". I was bald on the top near the front half, still had hair on the back left and around the bottom of the right side... But was bald on a huge patch on the back right. It was absolutely amazing that Matt could look at me in the mornings with no wig on and still tell me I look beautiful. As fast as my hair fell out, it seemed to start growing back. BUT - only grew back on exactly half of my head. The left side, where I had less radiation. It literally had a perfect line cutting my head in half. Left side fuzz, right side bald as a baby. I would send my mom and some friends pictures in the morning to scare them. Haha... If you couldn't laugh at what you were given, what fun would life be?

I finished radiation after 30 sessions on July 14^th, 2011. I was so excited to be finished, I invited everyone to come celebrate with me. They have a Triangle “bell” in the radiation wing that people ring when they are done their treatment. Many times I had waited for my name to be called and someone would come out and ring the bell with excitement, and everyone would clap and cheer for them because they had completed their radiation sessions. I almost cried with excitement for them when I would hear that bell and I couldn't wait to ring it myself. Today was my day. I wore a nice dress, and my new Christian Louboutin sky-high heels that Matt had bought for me on a recent Toronto trip so I could look my best on the last day. (And show the radiation girls my new shoes!) I laid down on the table of the radiation bed and smiled the whole time. When I walked out of the room, thanking the radiation technicians and giving them a thank you card and some itunes gift cards, I excitedly walked down the hall holding my yellow mesh mask. A bunch of my family and friends were down the hall cheering, with flowers and balloons and excitement. I got to walk up to that bell and finally ring it. As I stood and rang that radiation bell three times, I looked up and saw my family and friends crying with joy. I couldn't help but cry too. We took a picture with everyone to mark the day and I read the sign above the bell. “On your last day of Treatment. Remember today, for it is the beginning of always. Today marks the start of a brave new future filled with all your dreams can hold. Think truly to the future and make those dreams come true.”

Something I haven't mentioned yet in this blog, simply because it never fit anywhere else really, was that after the very first seizure and being admitted to the hospital – I was told my license had to be taken away. After you have a seizure, you need to wait a year before you can drive again. Understandably. I would be afraid to drive anyways knowing now that I could kill myself and everyone else around me and be unable to control it! It was sad, because I have a beautiful pink convertible that I wanted to enjoy all summer. For all my appointments, radiation and checkups, my friends and family needed to drive me. I was always chauffeured around! Now you see how much people in your life are important in times like this. Matt became attached to me any time he wasn't at work. (And luckily being a firefighter, he only works 7 days a month anyways). Matt started driving my pink convertible so we could enjoy the summer the way it was supposed to be enjoyed. When he was at work, my parents – now both retired to help me – said they were alive now just to be able to help me and drive me wherever I needed to go. Any time a friend wanted to see me, they had to drive to wherever I was and pick me up. I felt like a horrible leach most of the time, making people drive out of their way (especially because I live in the country) but I was constantly amazed at how people wouldn't complain. Because of their generosity I was able to keep in touch and see all my work friends while I wasn't at work, and still do everything with my girl friends and group of friends. As well as make it to my appointments every day of the week. I also realized what a great thing it is that Matt and I get along so well! We have spent – not only the last 5 years together- but almost every single hour of the day together since February 2011 and still have not gotten sick of each other.

Now back to the fun stuff. Radiation was over! I had a month long break in between the end of radiation and the start of chemotherapy! Matt and I continued to visit Wonderland whenever we felt like a little trip. I was still afraid to conquer the roller coasters, I couldn't help but think that my brain flying to the top of my head while I went straight down the Behemoth drop could be scary and cause a seizure. With Matt's encouragement, because I love rides so much and it killed me to be too afraid to go on them, we went on the little Thunder Run roller coaster through the mountain of Wonderland. I closed my eyes inside the mountain because I knew there were strobe lights... I wasn't sure how I did around those yet. We went on some little rides and their new Windseeker ride that brought you up about 400 feet too. Slowly, Matt told me, we would work up to riding a big roller coaster again like I longed to.

In August, my friends and I had tickets to the New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys concert in Ottawa. We had bought them months and months before any of this sickness had happened. Now it had conveniently come in my break of treatment. I liked the New Kids as a kid, but I was OBSESSED with Backstreet Boys. From the time I was 14 in 1996, Backstreet Boys were like my life. My love for them never died... although I was disappointed because the 'love of my life' was their member Kevin Richardson, and he left the group a few years ago. So although it wasn't as exciting as if Kevin was still there, I was still very excited for our concert night. My friend Jess and I had bought VIP passes for this concert – which got us into their soundcheck that day and to meet them and get a quick group photo. During this “group” photo that we were supposed to take with 6 other people and the BSB, Jess grabbed one of their security guards, quickly explained to him that I had just finished radiation and was starting chemo, and asked if we could meet them alone. Amazingly, when you mentioned the word cancer, people immediately seemed to know what you were going through... and you suddenly saw the soft side of people. Even the security guard.. who let us get our photo alone with them. Jess took this opportunity of meeting them to run to Brian, a member of the group, and tell him what my year had been like. I talked to the rest of them and by the time we got our photo with them and I met Brian, he told me he couldn't believe what I'd been through, I was so young and a beautiful girl and he hopes the rest of my treatment goes well. I thanked him and we left them and went to dinner. We knew from going to the Montreal show earlier that during the show, the Backstreet Boys brought girls up on stage to sing to them during their “I'll Never Break Your Heart” song (a song I'd obviously loved for 15 years.) “Brian will find us and definitely bring you on stage, I'm sure of it.” Jess joked. She warned us all to prepare our cameras for the show because she was SURE if Brian found us in the audience, he had the heart to make my year a little bit happier. I figured the chances were... well, one in 16,000. So I didn't get any hopes up.

We were in the first row against the barriers when the chairs for that song were put on the stage with roses on them. Jess got excited and got cameras ready, even as I told her she's crazy. I was blown away when halfway through the song Brian looked at me and asked me if I wanted to come onstage. Oh geez. My 14 year old self freaked out. I walked up onto the stage with Brian holding my hand and saw the 16,000 people in the crowd. Wow. I'd been to probably more than 20 Backstreet Boys concerts in my life, and I'd never once seen this view! I also knew I never would again! I was brought to a stool by Brian and given a rose. He told me he remembered meeting me earlier in the day but had never gotten my name. I told him, Kimberly, and as he waved to the crowd I looked up at all the people. I knew there were tons of people there I knew. Tons of my friends were watching me on stage and must be wondering “Uhh.. how did Kimberly get up there?” I looked down at Jess, Lisa, Maddy and my Mom and saw half of them crying while they took pictures. Brian asked me how old I was, and I said 28. He asked me to very quickly tell him my story before the song started. “Um..quickly..” I thought “I was driving with my boyfriend one day, had a seizure randomly. Went to the hospital, found out I had a brain tumor, got awake brain surgery, did radiation – and they played Backstreet Boys songs for me every day in radiation! So thank you! I'm doing chemo next.” Between singing his parts of the song, he told me “Wow. You've been through a lot for so young. You have amazing friends though. I can tell your friends and family care so much about you, they're just great.” I smiled over at my crying friends and told him I know. That's what this has all made me realize. I found it hard to believe Brian and I had our arms around each other in front of all these people and I was touching a childhood obsession. We talked about how my long brown hair I was wearing was a wig. He told me his friend had breast cancer and they had gone wig shopping with her as well. We got up when the song was nearly over and all the Backstreet Boys serenaded us on bended knee on stage. I danced with Brian and between his singing, he told me he wished me the best of luck with all my treatment and everything life had for me. He told me I was beautiful and lucky and he was glad they could help me through radiation. I was on such a high. When I got off stage I saw old friends and could not stop beaming. Things were already starting to turn around! I stayed up that night until about 3am telling Matt over and over how excited I was and watching the streams of pictures and messages from friends and acquaintances pour in on Facebook and text. Yay! 

I went for an EEG on my head (ask me what that stands for... I have no idea.) But what it meant is the seizure doctor wanted to test how the Keppra drugs were doing in my brain. Before going to this appointment, I imagined what it would be like... That I would be lying on a hospital bed in a big surgical-looking white room with a ton of doctors, and they would flash strobe lights on me and force me to have problems until I had a seizure. Then they would see what caused it. I didn't want to have a seizure. Even with doctors around. I was freaked out. When I got there though, it was totally different. I was brought to a little dimly lit room with one comfy bed in it. There was only one nurse with me who would do the test. She had an accent and was very homely and friendly. She laid me down on the bed and turned on spa music. I was told to close my eyes and relax, look at the ceiling while doing what she asked me to do. They attached a lot of wires to my head with sticky things and the nurse went to the other side of a wall into a little room. In the relaxing “spa” I was asked to open and close my eyes when she asked me to. Then came the part I was dreading. She set up the strobe light and asked me to keep my eyes closed. She said she could monitor any weird brain waves and if she saw that it would cause a seizure, she would stop it from happening. I prepared for the worst. But as she flashed the strobe...slowly at first.. and then faster and faster until it was just a super fast pulse.. I realized nothing was happening. “You're doing great! No abnormal brain waves! It's perfect!” she said from the other side of the room. She got to the highest setting of the strobe light... and nothing happened. Such relief. I was then told to breathe in and out on her command.. faster and faster until she made me hyperventilate. Ugh, I'd never hyperventilated in my life and the tingly light headed feeling I got was not fun. My whole body tingled, I felt so dizzy... But I didn't have a seizure. Hurrah! She congratulated me and said Keppra may just be my miracle drug. Oh Keppra... I love you.

I felt more confident in myself and my problems by the time Matt and I took a vacation to Disney World the next week in August. Yay I could be a kid again and make him enjoy Disney World as much as I do! We took a trip to Orlando and went to Universal Studios, Disney World and Sea World. We avoided annoying kids by going to most places in the afternoon and evening, and still enjoyed the sun (and rain) during the days. It was VERY hot in Florida in late August. I decided enough being afraid of roller coasters, and managed to go on all my favourites – Space Mountain, Thunder Mountain, Pirates of the Carribean... We watched the late night light show and fireworks together and I nearly cried with happiness. Maybe I did... I was pretty emotional at this time. What a year it had been so far. Who knew last time I was in Disney World, that the next time I came here, I'd have had radiation and would be about to start more chemo. You never know where life is going to take you! We rented a car and spent two days in Miami, burnt ourselves on the beach, shopped and enjoyed sight seeing around town and in the ghettos. Mmm and we ate at Carrabbas. When it came time to leave Orlando at the end of our trip, as usual, I cried. I cried every time I left Orlando. It was my happiest place on earth. Though this time, I cried not only because I was saying goodbye to the palm trees, the magic, and the orange-smelling air... But because I knew I was also going home to 6 months of chemotherapy pills. I wasn't ready for the jump back into reality.

The same as before, I prepared myself for the worst when I started the second “large” dose of chemo. (Oops, I never mentioned in this blog before either how I realized during the last week of radiation, during my appointment with the oncologist, that I had actually managed to take the wrong dose of chemotherapy the ENTIRE time I had taken it with the radiation. He never told me the dosage amount, neither did the pharmacy, and I had assumed wrong and missed out on about 100mgs of Temadol a day. I really messed that up. But.. it was too late, and the oncologist told me it wasn't a huge deal, it had just been to help out the radiation. But if I messed up THIS round of chemo, that was not good. Uhhh oops. We all make mistakes... I guess if this cancer grows back – it's partly my fault.) So now I was on to 320 mgs of Temadol a night for 5 nights in a row. Then I'd get 3 weeks off until the next round.

I didn't get sick! I was taking 300 mgs more of this chemo – almost the maximum dose for my weight, and it didn't make me sick! Wow, everything I expected about my treatment experience and had prepared myself for.. had been wrong. I still felt tired often. I wasn't sure if it was leftover radiation effects or the chemo... But I could deal with tired. Every night I took the drugs I imagined them being little guys that would run up to my brain and eat the cancer cells. We'd yell “Eat it! Eat that cancer!” sometimes before bed. Haha. Hey, the hypnotherapist had told me to visualize things and they would happen! Eat those Maury leftovers!

My Mom knew I was constantly dreaming of things that reminded me of being young and carefree, so at the end of August my parents rented the old cottage we used to go to at McCreary's resort near our home. We spent a few days by the lake, in the pool, at the park... But things weren't the same as they were when we were younger! Sucks when things have to change. The boat rides were still nice though – it always made me feel more alive when you were in the middle of the water and could watch the sunset. And it was just great to be with family and remember some great old memories.

My friends Lisa and Maddy also asked me to model for them in a bridal photoshoot for their Bridal Boutique (Luxe Bridal in Ottawa, by the way.). I had modeled in one of them before for them, but this felt odd... I was a cancer patient now, on chemotherapy, and I had half a head of hair. I hardly felt sexy. But as I had finally started to get my body back from pole dancing, and I had a variety of awesome wigs – I agreed. We did the photoshoot with two other girls, my pink car, and my brother's plane at the airport. It was a great day...I had fun, I felt hot again, and I got to be blond! The photos turned out great.

The rounds of chemo turned out fine. Well, except for September. I had planned on getting a new tattoo. We had talked about it in the hospital before the surgery, and my friends Jen and Jess were going to get one with me. But you know how things go – seems like a good idea at the time. By the time it got to actually getting the tattoo, everyone else chickened out. But not me! It meant a lot to me. I wanted to commemorate my experience this year. I had gone weeks earlier and planned out this tattoo. “Hakuna Matata” on the back of my neck, with the roman numerals of my surgery date underneath. If I could make it through that date – no worries for any other day, right? Matt and I drove to Perth to get my tattoo done from a recommended tattoo artist. Before we left I felt freezing. Uh oh. We drove there and I got worried... I wasn't feeling right. I had been warned that if at ANY point during the six months of chemo I got a fever, I had to immediately go to the emergency room. No ifs and or buts, no waiting, no calling, straight to an emergency room. I was afraid to tell Matt... I knew what he'd say. And when I did, and we took my temperature in the car and saw that I had a fever – we had to cancel my Hakuna Matata tattoo appointment and turn around... To the ER.

We spent 4 hours there. I was happy when the ER doctor told me “I saw the writeup that it was a chemo patient with a fever... and I must say, you don't really look like my typical fever chemo patient” he said, while looking at my skirt and knee-high 4 inch heeled boots. Turned out I had some sort of UTI that had shown no symptoms and was very unusual. Since I didn't notice it or feel it, didn't matter to me! They gave me pill antibiotics to get rid of it in a week, and I was back on track. I also got my tattoo done finally, the next month. It was beautiful.

My Thanksgiving write-up on my Facebook status sums up my thoughts that Thanksgiving...

Things I am thankful for this Thanksgiving Weekend (this could take a while). 


1. I'm ALIVE! :) and therefore... 

2. Good surgeons and doctors

3. Amazing FAMILY and FRIENDS (love yous!)

4. A boyfriend who never leaves my side and makes me feel beautiful every day

5. My boyfriend's family! (love you guys too!) 

6. A sense of humor and people who are willing to make fun of me with me ;) 

7. I never have to curl my hair in the morning! 

8. Showers are wayyy faster

9. When the convertible gets too windy... I can just take my hair off! 

10. Of all types of the big C word to get - at least I got brain cancer. Soo much easier. 

11. My really cute dog that keeps me company and I swear, understands me. 

12. I havent puked from chemo yet! And after this month, I'll be halfway done!

13. The hair on the right side of my head is finnnnally starting to grow back

14. Keppra, the seizure drug, is still working. (knock on wood.)

15. Pole Dancing, for getting muscles back 

16. I have people willing to drive my ass around...

17. The 91 pairs of shoes in my closet. 

18. Everything I have to look forward to!! 

    Happy Thanksgiving... This year I REALLY know what it's like to be thankful. :) xoxo

At the end of October, super excited for Halloween, Matt and I visited childish places again like Saunders Farm where you can go on a “haunted” hayride, and made the treck down again to Canada's Wonderland for their Halloween Haunt. I'd never been, and yah, it was terrifying. I did a few of the attractions for Halloween but I'm not too fond of mazes you have to make your way through while things jump out at you! So I decided it was time to tackle the real scary thing. My favourite coaster Behemoth. This thing drops 230 feet, at a 75 degree angle. But doesn't go upside-down. It also doesn't have any shoulder restraints or arm restraints... Just a little triangle that holds your legs in. I wore a hat to hold my pink wig on and went for it... And it was just as I remembered it. Awesome. It was COLD going on a roller coaster in Canadian weather October, but finally I had beaten my fears and managed to not have a seizure on a roller coaster that drops that fast!

November was my birth month! YAY! Never mind cancer and chemotherapy pills... It was my birthmonth so everything had to be great. And it was! I finally decided to cut off the only leftover hair I had at the back of my head. I still had that rat tail. I had been holding on to it to still feel like a girl sometimes if I wore a hat. But it was getting more annoying than useful, and also very thin. My friends Jen and Jess and my Mom and I had a “ceremonial cutting off of the rat tail” ceremony on our girls night. Jess cut off my last remaining pre-cancer hair. I still have it in a ziploc bag. Haha. Now I had a pixie cut! Well, on one half of my head. I was still half bald on the right side. I need a comb-over.

I had been to many fabulous events and parties. At the end of my birth-month we took a trip to New York City over my birthday (November 22^nd) with our good friends Ryan and Lisa. We had a great time enjoying my other favourite city, shopping, eating.. and more eating.. and seeing Hugh Jackman perform on Broadway again on my birthday day! We ate a lot of italian food that night. Therefore, it was perfect. We skated at Rockefeller Center and stayed at the swanky W Hotel. Life was once again fantastic.

Speaking of fantastic – my parents surprised me on my birthday celebration when I got home with a CRUISE. Not only a cruise... But a Backstreet Boys Cruise. I had wished I could go on this cruise with the Backstreet Boys, but obviously couldn't afford it. The 14 year old in me really wanted to go though. I still don't know how they afforded it, and I was sad to put them out like that, but I couldn't help but cry with excitement.. I was leaving in just a few days!! My sister and I were going to travel to Miami together and then leave on the 3-day cruise that stopped in the Bahamas and then came back.

In an effort to not add another 25 pages to this blog, I won't give every detail about the cruise. Let's just put it this way... I could go on and on for hours. I had an amazing time. I met many fabulous people. Very randomly and somewhat suprisingly, I was chosen to be a “Prom Queen” on “Prom Night” on the cruise, and got to go to Prom with AJ McLean from the Backstreet Boys. My old favourite Kevin was even there. I got to meet them all that night and hang out with them for 3 hours. AJ and I danced up on stage together, our first slow dance, some fast dances... We had fun, we did the YMCA and a horrible line dance, we took promo photos, I took videos, I talked with all the Backstreet Boys, and had one of the most amazing nights of my life. When they asked for us all to say something on the microphone and say hi to who we were there with (there were 5 of us on stage), I told the crowd I was there with my sister and we were celebrating my recovery from brain cancer. The crowd cheered and clapped for me. Some of the Backstreet Boys hugged me. I was told I was inspiring and looked beautiful and they were proud of me. I had a long talk with my prom date AJ about our lives. Nick Carter came to tell me about how great I looked and how proud he was of me. I reminded Brian of our time on stage in Ottawa. It was an amazing moment in my journey of 2011. That night was absolutely magical and if I were to give every detail, this blog would never end. (Best to just check out some of the prom night videos as I held up my camera on stage – on my youtube channel – www.youtube.com/pearsonkimberly ) I told them they had now twice this year made me forget the bad things.

When I got home from my amazing cruise, I basked in the glory of such a great trip while I took my week of chemo pills. Nothing really mattered, sure I had to take chemo pills, but life was beautiful. I wasn't sick. I was going to MRIs once in a while but I had fun. I relived memories in my head while the noises in the MRI machines went off. I relaxed, I joked with the MRI technicians. I was used to this life now. I got my blood taken every month before I took my chemo pills and they always told me my white blood cells were doing great, and the blood work was good. Sure this year was tough, but the people at the hospital were always friendly. I'd go in and talk to them about their days, about my day. I knew what arm was better to give blood from, I knew the drill. Do what had to be done and go home and enjoy life. Oh yeah, I was off work this whole year – but my job paid me while I was off, so my only job was to stay home and get better. 

My favourite time of year came – Christmas time! I always have a special spot for Christmas... As you can tell by now I overly appreciate the magical, happy times in life and this year they affected me even more. I also knew someone else who loved these childish, magical times too! The nurse who had come into my surgery with me and held my brain flap - Lee - was now a good friend and we had a full-day Christmas cookie baking party. Christmas Eve was wonderful and I was more than excited for Christmas morning because I had planned a few thoughtful presents this year for my family. They had done so much for me this year and I wanted to be able to surprise them back. I successfully made a few of them cry happy tears.

On New Years Eve I celebrated with all my great friends at Ryan and Lisa's house and toasted to the end of a tough year. 2012 would bring such great things! We had made it through.. and only one last chemo round to go! Screw you, 2011! Welcome 2012!

I went to see my oncologist in January. This was going to be my last round of chemo! I asked him if he wanted to give me another round of it because I had screwed it up the first time, he told me no way, this was it. For now anyway. Other than occasional MRIs every 3 months to check in on things, he didn't plan on seeing me for another few years. I liked him, but I'm okay with not seeing him! My hair still hadn't grown back on the right side of my head. I was told it's a 50/50 chance that it will. Wow, if nothing else, I guess I might be left with a great combover and a few more years of wigs from this! 

And so I began my last round of chemo pills. Every day that went by I got more excited. This year, 2011, ended December 31^st, but MY year would really end January 5^th. My last night of chemo. In bed on January 5^th, Matt and I took pictures with my Temadol pills. We kissed them goodbye, told them to eat my tumor, and he filmed me with his iphone as I took them. We celebrated. We hugged, we hurrah-ed, and then I stopped... Laid down on him, and cried.

All of a sudden it hit me. Since February, I had been ready to battle the next phase. I had been prepared to take whatever life had given me. I had looked at everything with a positive attitude and laughed it all off. I was on a mission.. and the mission was to do whatever we could to get through this year in the best way possible. I had always said “We'll just look back on 2011 and see it as the worst year of my life, but at least I made it through.” I had waited for my life to get back to normal. This was it. It suddenly hit me that there was nothing coming up next. There was no other obstacle to tackle yet. I didn't have to prepare myself for the next thing coming up in a few weeks. I didn't have to wonder what would happen to my body next. A wave of emotion came over me... and it was a wave of relief. I cried with Matt while we hugged on the bed... Just as we had in the hospital in February when we started this journey. Except this time it was a good cry. We had made it. We were stronger than ever. I had found out what I had inside me... and now I could stop for a while... and just breathe.

In true Kimberly fashion, my friends and I set up an “F the C! Treatment is OVER” dinner! F*ck the cancer, this crap was done for now!! I had 15 of my closest friends join me at Jack Astors that night to return to where it all started. February 25^th 2011, I ate at Jack Astors and then my life derailed when we left. January 7^th 2012, I would eat there with my friends and celebrate all we had been through. I didn't invite my family to this one, only because the table would be so big I wouldn't be able to see them! So I kept it to just friends for now. But my mom had secretly shown up ahead of time and decorated the table with napkins and congrats balloons. We all toasted “F*CK THE CANCER!” and had a great dinner. At the end of the night my friends pulled out a huge chocolate cake that they had even managed to get the people to write “Fuck the Cancer” on with icing. Made it even more delicious. I had a big dinner at Lonestar before my brain surgery, I had a dinner at Fratellis when my surgery was over, I had a family dinner at Swiss Chalet after radiation was done, and now a celebration at Jack Astors to cap it all off.

Or I thought it had capped it all off...but I had forgotten about one thing. The amazingness of my family. January 15^th Matt brought me to my sister's house to “download some TV shows” from their computer, and out jumped my whole family with a surprise “end of cancer celebration number 2.” They showered me with gorgeous gifts. My Mom toasted to me while we all raised our glasses... and I still have her speech.

“Almost 11 months ago, Kim shook our worlds. Even though I could see this tumour myself on the catscan, it seemed impossible. I immediately thought of how much all my family meant to me, but I couldn't see how Kim, little Kim, the baby of the family, could go through all she was going to have to go through. But I didn't know how strong, how positive, how she would not just fight this, but fight it with humour and determination. She never let us realize the pain she had. She wouldn't want to worry us. She never let us feel the fear she must have felt. She never lost her sense of humour, even as she lost her precious hair. She has shown us all such grace and maturity as she went through so much. She has shown us that we as a family are strong, you made us that way, Kim. Our family now knows that we will always be there for each other. And today, we are here to toast to you Kim...for all you've shown us. Hakuna Matata..Kim..We love you!”

And so I am brought to present day. Although I started writing this December 31^st, it took me until the end of January to finish it. I never realized how much I wanted to say. I know I'll also have to add to it in the future. My life has a lot more great things to offer. For now I am done treatment, I made it through this year.. and I realized many things...

I now have such a greater appreciation for life. People always tell you life is short, but it's hard to comprehend until you see it first hand. I can't describe the way I see things now. I guess I must be more emotional cause I've cried while I write this and as I attempt to describe it. I can't help but see the beautiful things in life now. Things I would have overlooked before. The sunsets seem so much prettier, the drives around town seem to open my eyes more, the love of my boyfriend amazes me more every day, the generosity of people blows me away, the wind and the beaches and the sun never made me feel more alive, the happiness I feel to be alive every day..I can't describe it. My friends and family really showed me what it feels like to be loved and cared for. I also feel like part of a club now... Those who are fighting this horrible disease. The word I didn't want to say at first. I am now proud to be a CANCER fighter. Because of that, I've met some amazing people. People who have inspired me, as I've been told I've inspired others. You never know how you're going to react or deal with things like this until you're given the chance. I didn't know I could laugh through everything and make fun of myself, even at the worst of times. I didn't know how much thinking positively could affect your views on everything. I didn't know how much a man could love me until I saw the way Matt would look at me in the mornings with my bald head. I didn't know how much my family cared about me until I heard the words in their cards and saw how much they would stop their lives to be in mine. I didn't know how much little things in life didn't need to matter. I didn't know what it meant to be an inspiration to others or to get their respect for how I deal with things. I didn't know how strong I was. I didn't know how beautiful life was. Now I know.

I know there will be many more battles in this journey. I can think only positive thoughts – but I also have to be realistic. I was told this would be a lifelong journey that could involve many more operations, rounds of radiation, or chemotherapy. Sure, that might happen. But until then... I will continue to live this life I have with strength and determination to fight it when it comes. I will love the people around me and enjoy every minute life gives me. Until the next challenge... Hakuna Matata.

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(This blog entry was completed in January 2012, so in January 2013, I decided to post the next chapter of my life...Because of Blogspot's template, it puts the newest entries first... Which I didn't like. So I am adding to my previous post with the next year's entry. And so continues my novel of a blog.)

When I sat down to write another year on this blog, I thought “But what the heck would people care to read about my life now?” 2011 was my challenging year and the one that taught me the most. Now I’m just supposed to be...getting back to normal. Right? But then I thought of all the things that have really happened this past year in 2012. Changes. New challenges. New friends. Experiences. Different kinds of triumphs. I thought about all the people I’ve met through writing this blog. The other cancer survivors, their families and friends, the random interested people. Amazing people... That took so much time out of their day to read my novel of a “blog”. That commented on it. That wrote me emails. That tweeted me. That became friends. So I realized...I guess there is still a story to be told. So if you’re willing, I’ll take you through 2012...Life after cancer.

I feel like I should knock on wood after saying that. I can’t really say life AFTER cancer. I could say “life with a break from cancer”, and be sure of it. Saying “after” cancer scares me a little..because realistically it could come back one day. Is there really an after cancer? I hope so! But for now, I’ll celebrate the fact that it’s not here.

My life in 2012 was just like anyone else’s... With only a few exceptions. So this should be quicker than my last exciting year. At the end of the January I took Matt to Cuba. (That’s right, because I had my license taken away from seizures, it was harder to spend all my money like I usually do! So I had enough money to surprise him at Christmas time for once!)  We had an amazing vacation with sun, palm trees... Mmm...warmth and the nicest white sand beach. We danced some nights away, passed out other ones, and suntanned and played in the ocean during the day. It was beautiful.

The only awkward part about this trip was that I still didn’t have any hair on the right side of my head. The left side had grown back an inch or two since the radiation... but no right side. I still had hope though. They told me it would keep growing until about a year after radiation ended. So I had until July to hope. So when I met these people on the first night of our trip, I had long brown hair (one of my wigs).  A few days into our trip we decided to go on a scuba diving trip. I was determined to say “yes” to everything in life that I could now, so I decided to try it! We showed up to the pool for the lesson and saw the couples we had met . Because I knew we were going swimming, I had my regular two-inch hair, and a hat on to cover my bald spot. None of them recognized me. I didn’t know if I should say something, or maybe they just didn’t remember us anyways. One of the girls started talking to me and introduced herself. “Yeahh...I know, actually! We met you last night, but I had long hair then. This is my real hair. Sorry, long story...” They were a little taken aback but laughed at it. Awkward.  When I was thrown into the pool first for the lesson because I had the biggest fear of it, I had to take off my hat in front of everyone. I felt I needed to give an explanation for the half-bald head. Not your typical 29 year old hairstyle. But of course, as soon as you tell people you’re a cancer survivor, their mood changes and they’re immediately struck with a mix of... I’d say it seems like... Sadness for what I went through, impressed that I didn’t seem like it, and shocked at my outlook that my cancer year was a good year. Or at least I hope that’s what they’re thinking. Either way, it seems everyone’s always really nice after they hear what I’ve been through. So I made a lot of friends that day!

 I couldn’t really get the hang of scuba diving in the pool... I kept floating sideways or sinking, but he told me it was because the pack was too big for my body and it would be better fitted in the ocean tomorrow.

So... We went on the scuba diving trip. Although I can say I’m glad I experienced it, I must say... I don’t think I’ll be doing that again. I LOVE anything to do with the ocean,  but with having just had brain surgery less than a year before, just had a seizure less than a year before... I was a little afraid about what the water pressure in your ears would do to my head! Especially since they were so intent on us making our ears pop as we got lower. Who would even notice if I started having a seizure under water? That fear was still in the back of my head. Matt promised he would hold my hand the whole time. I still couldn’t keep my body from spinning or sinking or...really control it at all. I was not meant for scuba diving. (Of course Matt is a pro at everything so he was already certified.) I couldn’t fully appreciate all the gorgeous stuff around me,  but I did it, and made it! With Matt holding my hand. I thought I was going to pass out when they got me out, but I guess that’s because of the pressure change or breathing or something. I had to sit down after that while Matt went for a second go. Too scary for me!

 But all in all, Matt and I had a blast on the trip. At night I could put my wigs on, so one night out when we walked out with my blonde wig on, everyone congratulated us. We just said “Um...thank you!” and kept walking. “Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous!” they yelled at us. Hm..this place was nice? We later realized apparently we were mistaken for a blonde couple that had gotten married on the beach that evening. Haha. So we took a few pictures for our “wedding night”.

 I still wasn’t used to being the girl with a pixie cut haircut and a hat on, it just wasn’t me! So on the beach I still usually wore wigs but tied them up sometimes. I felt... I was sweating everywhere else, might as well sweat on my head. To me it was better than not feeling like myself. (Plus, I also found after chemo treatment or radiation treatment... I am pretty much immune to tanning! I can wear nearly no sunscreen on a tropical vacation and stay white.)

After an exhaustingly good time, we came back to the snow and dreary Canadian winter. (Although not such a bad winter! Especially when you don’t have to drive in it! Though I was really... really... missing driving.)

Unfortunately, while I was enjoying my return to regular life and no cancer treatment, a friend of mine (actually my sister’s best friend since childhood) Jamie, was struggling with her breast cancer. This is the second time it had come back, and it had metastasized to her brain and other places. Just months earlier, her and I had gone for breakfast to laugh about our situations, compare our new wigs, our shorter curlier hair, and discuss the pain we had and how we could help each other. I hadn’t spoken to her in a few months since that day...because her situation was getting worse. In February she passed away. At 35. With two young kids. Attending her funeral was a big wake up call to me that what I have is really serious. Not every time is as easy as mine was. If it comes back – I need to be prepared to put all I have into fighting it, like Jamie did. I cried a lot that day. For her, for her family, and out of fear for my own life and my own family.  I’m crying now while I type this. I cry any time I tell Jamie’s story. Jamie will be missed way too much by way too many people.  And I’m just a little one of them.

February 25^th, 2012, my mom thought of the great idea to “celebrate” my one-year post seizure in style. The year before was the worst day of my life, so being around one year later and feeling fine – of course, my family would find a cause to celebrate!  She rented a room at the Westin downtown and took my sister and I on a shopping trip all day. We had dinner and hot tubbed. I’m a big fan of hotel living. The next night she kept the room for Matt to come stay in with me. We took videos outside as we walked around downtown arm in arm. “This time last year, I was having a seizure in his car!” I say in it. “Now we’re celebrating being alive.” Hakuna Matata.

In March I was invited to start working (volunteering) at the Pole Dancing studio I used to go to for a week. I hadn’t been back to pole dancing yet, even though it was the one exercise I had in my life that I truly enjoyed, had fun with, and made friends at. Because I had restarted with all my muscles, I could do some things, and not others. I was still working on it at home. I had no idea what “level” I would be in if I returned. But when I worked there for that week and saw all the classes, I wanted so badly to be a part of it again. I can thank the owner Corinne, who had me join some classes, and eventually... I finally got back to doing what I love. We laugh so much in pole dancing class, you don’t even realize it’s exercise. Now we’ve moved back up to advanced classes!

I was enjoying life so much. Being off work gave me time to do the things I loved. Although, speaking of what I loved... My pink convertible was sitting so lonely in the garage without me driving it. I was told typically you have to wait a year after a seizure before you can get your license back. I was itching to just feel the steering wheel again! Finally, I went for the checkup with my Neurologist and he said he was so sure my seizures were under control at this point, (seizure-free since May 2011! Yay for Keppra!) He was going to put the paper work in for me to get my license back. Hurrah!

 We checked the mail desperately every day waiting for the letter of re-instatement. He told me it’d take about a month. We even called the number that could give you updates... “We have received your medical file and will be reviewing it...” the recording would say. Then finally, March 27^th 2012, we checked that recording again. “A letter of reinstatement has been mailed to you.” ... AH! I almost dropped the phone. Just to be sure, Matt and I rushed home and paid $2 to check if my license was valid on a website that does this on your credit card (a real valid website, I swear. The one they give you on the letter where they take away your license.) It came up VALID! We went out at 9:30 at night and took the Mini for a spin. “Where are you going to drive to?” Matt asked. Hm... didn’t matter. Anywhere. I just needed to remember how to drive! Of course it came back naturally, but still a few things felt weird. So  I drove us to McDonalds.

I still had lots of time at home, but now that I could drive again – I finally didn’t have to force people to pick me up or drop me off when they wanted to see me! I felt so free. Now I remember how teens must feel when they first get their driver’s license and their first car. It takes you losing something to really realize how much you appreciate it. New-found freedom.

Speaking of losing something to really appreciate it... I STILL had no hair on the right side of my head. But the year was just starting.. I still had hope! June or July would be it, right? Hopefully it would come back by then. The rest was growing into a super curly, baby soft brown...half mullet.

I had some kind of random feelings some days, like the day I heard the commercials on TV for World Vision and the poor kids that I’d always managed to ignore other years. I thought about my next-to-inability to have kids now that Matt and I had decided on that during treatment, and thought – why not give a child a better life if we’re not going to raise our own? So we now sponsor an adorable little 7 year old boy, Harun Duil in Alor, Indonesia. I get made fun of for this, because we went for dinner that night with friends and told them we had picked a son and were now parents. But it makes me happy to spoil not only my nieces and nephews here when I can, but a child on the other side of that world that can use our donations and little gifts to make them smile every once in a while. Matt thought I was going a little crazy because I wanted to send him so many fun things. But when we do get the pictures of Harun with the toys we’ve sent and the huge smile on his face, it makes it all worthwhile. If I can make money here and only a little of it would make his day, it makes me feel good. I won’t have a child of my own, so for now, Harun in Indonesia can benefit from my situation.  

I was still getting MRIs every 3 months, and had 3 month checkups with my oncologist and my radiologist. It was always good when they would tell me my scar tissue was getting smaller, or the cells in my brain were getting less distinguished... Though they could never really tell me for SURE the words I wanted to hear. The closest I could get from my oncologist was “You are... normal.” So...I guess that was good? Now I was like everyone else. He said I could do anything, with no fears.  No fears of seizures. Of cancer. Of hurting myself. Over exerting myself. I was... just like anybody else. So we did! We went to Wonderland about 4 other times and I made Matt ride their new roller coaster Leviathan 4 times one day before he was going to puke!... I guess I’d take it! “Normal.”

You can imagine with having an MRI every 3 months, I’ve gotten quite used to them.  Not to mention I had at least 12 of them before I even finished my treatment, I’m sure. I actually quite like them!  I’ve grown to think of the Civic Hospital as my second home. I’m an MRI “pro”, I say. I know I should show up wearing easily removable clothes, no jewelry, no wig, slip off shoes, socks so my feet don’t get cold, NO bobby pins (made that mistake once and got sucked into the machine!), I know the answers to the check sheet before they ask it, I know which locker I like for my clothes and which hospital gowns are more comfortable. I know which technicians there know me, and which arm they should inject the dye into. I lay onto the machine, I’m comfy in my two gowns, they stick the squishy things against my ears so I don’t move and I can’t hear much, and they zoom me back into the MRI machine.  ... And I relax. I close my eyes, I think about my day, my life, I dream, sometimes I sleep. They zoom me out, inject dye in my arm, it feels a little warm, I stay comfy, they zoom me back in... and back to daydreaming. I imagine the loud vibrations of the magnets that are shaking the machine to be a massage table. I am at my own exclusive personal spa.  I get up, feel kinda sleepy, put my clothes back on and go back to my daily life. I really don’t see what people think is so bad about MRIs.

In May, I went on a trip... Which would turn out to be one of my favourite trips in my lifetime, hands down! Before I left for the Backstreet Boys Cruise last year, I met a fellow young cancer fighter in Michigan, Michelle. She was battling Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and was a little bit behind me in treatment. She was just beginning it when I met her on the cruise in December. I told her what to expect and we promised to talk as she went through it. She even got the Backstreet Boys themselves to shave her head on the cruise before the chemo started taking it! I cried tears of sadness and joy for her at that moment. And now... She was in remission. She was done her treatment and her hair had already started growing back! And all of hers, not just half her head like mine. Haha. We decided when she was done her treatment, since I was done mine, we would celebrate in our favourite place in the world... Walt Disney World. (Duh.) I mentioned it to my fellow Disney lover, the resident-now-turned-nurse Lee, who had been in my surgery with me. We all decided to go together. Lee and I travelled down together and we met Michelle at our Disney hotel. We all had a pact for the trip: We wanted to feel no older than 14 years old. We were going to dress up in Disney t-shirts, princess tutus, light up sparkly running shoes, Mickey Mouse ears, flashing necklaces... and not have a care in the world. And we did it. Michelle got us some Disney World buttons that everyone wears to commemorate their visits. You can choose from “First Visit” or “Just Married” or “It’s my Birthday”, etc. She got us some generic ones and wrote “Kicking Cancer’s Butt”! (And Lee a “First Visit”! It sort of was.) The three of us went to Disney World Magic Kingdom (in our matching Mickey shirts my mom got us, some sparkly Minnie Mouse ears, Michelle and I in our wigs, Lee and I in our tutus and sparkly light up shoes) and we skipped and danced our way through the whole day. Michelle was still having some problems in her feet from the treatment, so we had a pass that allowed us to get to the front of each line. We did every ride as many times as we could. Every time someone would see our buttons they would congratulate us, give us high-fives, or call us Princesses for the day. We really felt like it. At night we wore light up necklaces, flashed our light up shoes, danced our way to the front of the fireworks show and sat on the ground. As “wishes” played and the fireworks exploded over the magical castle, we put our arms around each other and cried. What a wonderful, magical world it was. And what a year we had had.

We also went to Universal Studios parks and Epcot, to revisit where Michelle’s favourite place and where she had worked in the past. On the Jurassic Park water ride, Michelle and I had to take off our wigs and have Lee hold them so they wouldn’t get wet. We got some pretty funny looks when we’d go on roller coasters and at the very last minute – take off our wigs and stash them in our shirts so they wouldn’t blow off! When Michelle had to leave a day before us, Lee and I spent our day at Disney’s other park Hollywood Studios. They braided my wig and we dressed like matching princesses again. I as Cinderella, and her as Belle. We rode the Aerosmith roller coaster so many times. They eventually let us go through a separate door and ride it twice in a row when they realized we were laughing every time and taking my braided wig and tiara off to put into the seat pocket when the coaster started! It’s always a sad day leaving Orlando, but that time it was especially sad. The time before when I had been there with Matt, I cried because I was leaving a place I loved and starting strong-chemo. This time I cried because I was SO happy. And didn’t want that to ever change.

In June I was asked to do a speech at the Canadian Cancer Society’s Relay for Life. Wow. Um... I had written a blog and everything, I knew I loved to talk to people about my story, but... to a crowd? To a big crowd? While they were all itching to start their walk and be there all night? Who would want to listen to me? There were going to be tons of survivors there, and I’d assume most of the people doing the walk knew a survivor or cancer fighter... So why would they care about me? I didn’t think I was “special” enough that people would care to hear. But I agreed to do it, and spent quite a while perfecting my “6-11 minute speech” (about 10 minutes for me, because we know I like to talk a lot about this.) On the day of my speech, after so many weeks of beautiful weather in June, it POURED. The rain went on and off all day and we prayed it would stop for my speech outside! All this anxiety and nervousness and it was going to rain on it. Who was going to listen to my speech in the rain? How would I talk with no microphone? My family and friends all showed up. Drove half an hour to be there. And I mean all of them! My mom had also gotten special shirts made for everyone as a surprise to me “Kim kicked Brain Cancer’s Butt”, they read, in bright pink. So all of my “support team” matched. We waited out in the cold rain hoping for it to stop. Everyone at the relay was huddled under umbrellas and tents and they were soaked with mud and water. The walk was delayed. Then word came that there was lightning and thunder coming and we had to evacuate the soccer field. The whole crowd of people was rushed into a little building, and then back out, when it stopped raining again. Finally the sun came out for a few minutes. Just in time for me to be introduced to the stage. I was so nervous. I hoped the people would hear me in the microphone. I knew it had been a long day for them already. I hoped they would care. Most of them were teens... I couldn’t imagine them stopping their flirting and joking and giggling to listen to me talk. Speeches are boring. But I got up there, started my story, and was amazed. .... The whole crowd stopped and listened. They didn’t seem bored. They laughed when I joked, they cried when I told some of my story, they applauded me when I finished, they gasped when I took my wig off to reveal my half bald head and they hugged me when I got off the stage! I could see how proud my family and friends were of me up there, and it made me feel again how lucky I was to be a proud cancer survivor and have a story to tell. I joined the other survivors at the end of the track, threw on my “Survivor” shirt and walked the lap with them. Most of them were older, over 50... They brought me in with them, as the lone 20-something walker, and embraced me like they had a secret bond with me and had known me all my life. Which is why I love being a cancer survivor. We all know, just like I said in my speech, what everyone else is missing. The beauty in everything. That was one of my favourite days of 2012.

I was so relieved when that speech was over..because I had been SO nervous to give it. But just a few weeks later, I was asked by someone who heard my story if I would do another speech. For the Maplesoft Centre. The cancer coach I had before that had helped me with my seizure fear and counselled my family was from the Maplesoft Centre. So... how could I refuse? So I wrote another one. And I stood up in front of a room at the Maplesoft Cancer Survivor’s Centre and told them my story. They laughed and cried and applauded. I was shocked. Again, I received so many people coming up to me after to tell me how much of an inspiration I had been. How I had helped them see what it was like, or how it helped them appreciate the Cancer Survivor’s Centre. It ... as cliché as it sounds... “warmed my heart” to hear people’s appreciation and admiration when I gave the speeches. So when I was asked to do a third one, yet again for a Maplesoft Event, I did so without question. This one was a women’s luncheon. I didn’t feel like I fit in with the rich women whose lunch I felt I was interrupting to stand alone and tell my story... But when I finished, one of them hugged me. Thanked me immensely. Emailed me after to thank me again. It felt like I must have been through all of this for a reason. To write this blog, to share my story, to encourage others, to show them cancer isn’t always so bad. Cancer might have a reason sometimes. Cancer might be overcome. I did two other speeches after this, and got the same reaction at each one. It was absolutely humbling. And amazing. (You can hear my first speech on the YouTube video on the side bar of this page!)

Then came that inevitable day I had been dreading... Return to work. August 7^th I donned my Fire Department Uniform and returned to “normal” life. Shift work. I hadn’t been cleared by the doctor yet for my regular shift work schedule, so getting back to work was going to be a long process of shortened shifts and odd days and messed up pay. They had done so much for me while I was sick, I figured I owed them my best to come back fast. I knew I had FELT normal for quite a while. I had so many months off work where I felt fine, it didn’t seem right that I was still off. But now that I was back, I was starting to realize what I now know... The hardest part about cancer is getting back to normal.

My neurologist advised me that night shifts weren’t good for my health or my situation. Other doctors suggested I change jobs. The number one trigger for a seizure is sleep deprivation. With my job of 14 hour night shifts, seizures had to become a big fear again. If I didn’t sleep the day before, or the day after, for a long period of time.. I was at risk. I now had a Sleep Nazi (Matt) who would force me to sleep as much as needed. This wasn’t a game to be played with. After a few months I was put back onto my regular shift. I had to try it eventually, right? So far, no seizures. Let’s keep it that way! (knock on wood). I remembered most of my job, but some parts were missing. Just like parts of my life were missing from my brain before and after my surgery. Though I found eventually that my hands remembered more than my brain did. They would automatically push “V5” on the keyboard and my brain would catch up a few seconds later wondering what they were doing, then realize it was one of our commands on the computer system! Weird. After a while I got it all back, and now I’m just considered yet again... normal like the rest of them.

It was September 18^th that I heard the word. I don’t think my radiologist even meant to say it. My oncologist said they don’t “use” that word here. I had only ever heard that my MRIs were “good” and “improving” and I was yet again “normal”. But when a medical student mistakenly told me some...not quite right...information at one of my 3 month check ups, my radiologist came in the room and said “Oh no no, your MRI was good! You’re still in remission! Everything is looking good!” I stopped him. “You said it! You said the word remission! You can’t take it back now. Can I officially say that’s what I am? I’m cancer free? I’m in remission?” ... Yes. He said I could. So now I can say it. No cancer. REMISSION. I’m just...normal...Kimberly.

So then I started freaking out...If  I was just a normal person... Why did I have to sleep during the days when other people didn’t? Why do I still get pain in my head where it feels like I have a screw in it? Why do I wear wigs while everyone else brushes their long hair? Why am I still bald on the right side of my head? It was September, and I still didn’t have hair. I wasn’t getting any hair. Ever. The radiation had killed the cells on my head and I was that 5% of people whose hair would not grow back. This is when I started to realize that getting back to normal was the hardest. By now people had forgotten what my last year was like. Or else I figure most people have. I walk and talk and exercise and work like everyone else... It was just a blip in my life. People would look at me and I’d have to explain why my hair colour changes every day, or tell them that they had met me before, I just might have looked different that day. That awkward “oh by the way, I had cancer last year. But it’s all good now.” and I’d smile. Which is what I wanted, of course. But there comes a time when I sit alone and I think – wait. I’m still going to get MRIs every 3 months and I still walk in to the Cancer Centre and I’m still one of them. I’m not completely normal. It’s almost like I want to forget and remember all at the same time. I wanted it to be over so I could be through with cancer, but then when you’re through with it... There’s nothing different about you anymore. Just one of the crowd again. Even if you don’t feel like it. So this is where I’m a little torn. Though in the back of my mind I know I’ll always be a cancer survivor and I’ll always have the story to tell and the people to bond with. Nothing takes that away. Unlike all the other actually normal people, I don’t fear that I’ll GET cancer one day. I fear that I’ll get it again... and we all know that if it comes back again, it comes back with all its friends and tries extra hard. My non-realistic fears of getting cancer before are now realistic and even more scary. So how can I be normal? But I still try.

I found that after being off work for a year and a half and getting the chance to experience LIFE and everything great in it, it’s really easy to miss it when you’re back to normal. Now I work like everyone else instead. I want time to stop and appreciate all the things I love and fell in love with in the last year and I feel so...busy. But this is what normal people feel.

But that’s enough of that rant. I just had to let that out for a minute. Being in remission is a blessing, don’t get me wrong. It’s just a little bit of a war in my brain sometimes as to whether I’m so normal or not.

In November, my friend Jen and I made plans to celebrate our birthdays in New York City! It’s pretty much a tradition for me to celebrate my birthday in NYC, and both of us had hit our 30s now. The age I so despised but was so amazed to make it to. As you might remember from last year’s blog, I never saw myself making it to 30 when people asked me. I never understood why, but I think I did once I heard about my brain tumor. Once it was gone, that fear left too, and I was excited to actually make it to that age. (Though I am totally denying my age from this point on. 25 for life! You’re only as old as you feel, right? I feel closer to about 21. Or 14 if I’m in Disney World.) In NYC, Jen and I shopped (and shopped), (and walked and walked!), saw our favourite New York City sites, celebrated our birthdays at Serendipity and Southern Hospitality and most importantly, met up with someone great I had met through my experience. Because of my blog, I’ve had the chance to meet so many people who have been through similar situations or know someone who has. Many of them have found me on twitter and one of them was Brenda. Some people warned me about meeting up with someone I met online, but I knew Brenda was a sweetheart and I’m not afraid of the people I meet through this past year. Brenda went to dinner with us and took us to see Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. Brenda has been looking after her sick mother in New Jersey since she was a kid, and Brenda herself is dealing with a sickness. She is one of the sweetest and selfless people I’ve met. I’m so glad that my story has introduced me to people like her (and others online from all around the world. You know who you are and you know how I love you!)

I also made Jen go on my dream date with me in New York City. Well, half of my dream date. I dragged her to get a Magnolia cupcake then made her walk to Central Park with me at night. We watched the people skating on the rink in Central Park and ate our cupcakes as I played Frank Sinatra’s “Moon River”. We walked arm in arm back to our hotel replaying the song and watching the cute horse drawn carriages drive by us. These places and this song had been played in too many of my favourite movies set in New York (especially Sex and the City!) A true New York moment. What are friends for?

And so the winter came again...

This is when I started to exercise more often. Now I was doing pole fitness and Greco Lean and Fit classes (courtesy of my sister’s birthday present.) I quickly started to feel my body getting in to the greatest shape it’s ever been in. I don’t think it knows it’s had cancer anymore.

And then came my favourite time of the year – Christmas. Except this year, I was normal again... So I had to work on Christmas. Luckily a good friend and co-worker of mine covered some of my shift on Christmas Eve and I was able to attend our Christmas Eve party. There’s nothing I love more than seeing my family and some friends, enjoying the Christmas lights on the tree, catching up on life and just... spending the time before a magical morning. Christmas morning I got off work after my night shift so I was able to spend the whole crazy Christmas morning with my family. I returned to work again that night, so my family moved Christmas dinner to Boxing Day. Hey, we make things work!

Before the end of the year, I had another 3 month check up and MRI results appointment with my oncologist. He told me everything was looking great still! My MRIs couldn’t get any better, they’re as good as they get! I couldn’t imagine hearing anything better than that. No cancer! Stay outta there! He also told me I could start moving my appointments to every 6 months. Since it would be two years since my surgery by the time I saw him next. That caught me off track. 2 years? Really? Already? I guess all at once it seemed like so long ago, and yet also just like it was yesterday. Wow. But he’s right, in March 2013 it will be two years since that day I had my brain cut open... Two years since I removed what was trying to kill me from the inside... Two years since my life changed and I changed. I sat shocked for a minute. “Are you sure? Are you completely sure nothing will grow back in that 6 months, so I don’t have to worry about anything for 6 months? What if it comes back? Then I won’t know.. for an extra 3 months!” Suddenly I was scared. Wouldn’t I rather catch it before it got bad if it did come back? He agreed for my sanity that we’ll just move them to every 4 months for now. Then eventually move them to every 6. I know I should want to be like everyone else and come once a year or something. But when I don’t mind MRIs, why not get one whenever I can and just check in on it? Give me as many as needed!

During a winter drive in December, Matt and I were talking about all that had passed in the last year and how different it was than 2011. Although I was so happy about being cancer free, I broke down and cried when I told him “Although I look normal with a wig on and I look like it’s all over and in the past, I still have this constant reminder of cancer ALL the time when I get home. The bald half of my head. I know everyone says I need to just be thankful to be alive, but how can cancer be a thing of the past when I have this to remind me for the rest of my life?” I have to admit sometimes I see all the women with their hair pulled back in high buns, or pony tails, or stylish up-dos. I could never put my hair up on my head like that, cause it would pull my sexy comb-over off the bald spot. I feel a bit of jealousy when I see them run their fingers through their long hair. Such a girl thing to worry about hair... But at 30 I never imagined I’d be half bald. With an end in sight before, or a hopeful one, I had been okay with the weirdness. But now that it was pretty much a life sentence of baldness, it was a different feeling. Matt held my hand and cried with me too. “How about...on that day when we finally plan our wedding, let’s not have a big one. Let’s have a... 10 thousand dollar wedding instead of a 30 thousand dollar one. And before we do it, we’ll get you a hair transplant.. So when you walk down the aisle it can be with your own hair. I’d like to spend the money on that, I don’t want you to have a constant reminder of cancer.”

So I brought Matt and my Mom to a consultation at a medical place downtown. They do hair transplants and work with (usually men) who are naturally balding. Although I had gotten a quote before for about $20,000 (who has that money?) I thought I would get a second opinion from a company that works on solely this problem. We went in with high hopes and excitement. The only concerns I had were getting my head cut open again, and the money that I would have to find. But Matt assured me he would help in any way he could with this and we would find a way to make me feel beautiful again. When they came to get us from the lobby they looked at my mom as if she were the patient. (Because why would a 30 year old girl be here?) We sat down with a gorgeous lady there. I must admit... I hardly made it through my story to her without tears and snot coming out. Ugh, I try to hold it in so I don’t sound pathetic but the hair situation gets to me! We went over the options. For me to get a hair transplant, they would need to cut open the back of my head where I have hair, cut out a centimetre of my head, staple it back together (so it would be like brain surgery all over again! Except... not through the skull. That’s a bonus.) I told her I was a pro at that! Then they would take each individual hair and implant them into my hair follicles on my bald spot. Then, she said, they would probably have to do it all over again when that was healed. My bald spot was too big. She also told me that after those two procedures... The hair would most likely not take, because it doesn’t seem like the blood flow to that side of my scalp is very good. She was honest and told me I would still look pretty bald. More like a 70 year old woman whose hair was falling out, I’d imagine. Obviously I needed more Kleenexes. A permanent life without hair. No hope to look like a regular girl again. The only other option I had was to surgically glue a “system” – as they called it – to my head with surgical glue. (ie: as I would call it, glue a toupee to my head.) She told me I would have to “make peace” with it, accept that I should shave the left side of my head and glue the “system” to the front of my head, to make it look like a natural part. It can be worn every day, in the shower, sleeping, swimming, and look like my normal hair. Except... That it costs thousands as well, and has a monthly maintenance fee. I still can’t figure out if I want to wear a toupee at 30. Though, as weird as the idea sounds, I am considering the option. My only option to have hair that isn’t a wig. The lady we met there was very helpful, but I left feeling even more broken than before. During the quiet ride home on the highway, obviously I cried. Matt held my hand with my mom in the back and told me he would turn the car around and pay the money right now if I decided I wanted it. Still thinking about it, still snotty, I remembered what else the woman there had said. When we said the whole “I know, I know, I’m lucky to be alive and should not be worried about simple things like hair...” she cut me off and finally said what I wished everyone else had said just once. “It’s great for everyone to say you’re lucky to be alive, because of course you are, but you also need to be allowed to grieve some things and be sad for the things you lost at the same time.” And so sometimes I allow myself to do that.

Matt and I moved out of the house we were in and into a new one at the end of the year too. That house had a lot of memories, so I made a little video to say goodbye to it. With the small exception of a few weeks at my parents’ house, it was the location of my recovery and my whole battle of 2011. It felt like home, I felt safe there, and I experienced more life in that house than any other we had lived in (in my grown up years.) I would miss it, but we had never planned on staying in it that long. Moving would be a great stress reliever for Matt, and the new house is wonderful and already comfy like home. Also – a cancer free home! We spent New Years Eve alone at home, making dinner and celebrating with our favourite people – each other! We danced to Auld Lang Syne and celebrated midnight at 10pm because I had to work the next morning. It was one of my best New Years Eve celebrations yet. (And I’ve been to NYC on NYE a couple times!)

Speaking of home... I must say, although this blog entry may not seem as cheery as last year’s, I don’t want it to seem that way. Being normal again is a great thing. People think I’m a little crazy when I tell them I drive by the highway exit to the hospital, and I feel a little bit like I should get off and go over there. Go to the cafeteria, have a muffin, sit with some friends, walk around, look at their shops. I don’t want to be back in there... but sometimes it feels like a second home to me. Sometimes I miss it! When I go for MRIs, I feel at home at the cancer center or the hospital. I love seeing the people there, I like chatting with them. I like telling them my stories and hearing theirs. Hospitals are no longer scary places for me. I know there are a lot of sick people there that can seem depressing to others... But now I just see them all as fighting their own battles. They’ll get out, they’ll live life and be happy. I like to think. Or maybe they see it the way I do when I go in there. Maybe they’re seeing the world differently too. I enjoy walking around at the very same hospital where I had brain surgery, and now walking in in my heels with a wig on and looking like a totally regular person... knowing this place saved my life. Showing people that life can go on. At Christmas time I loved seeing their decorations in the dimly lit hallway and I still relaxed in the MRI bed and stopped to get their amazing corn bread muffins. Matt and my brother Matthew still come to every appointment I have, so I see hospitals as a place to catch up with my brother while he’s not chasing after my cute niece and nephew. Although we don’t usually have much to chat about, we all look over my “patient wellness survey” each time and compare it to past visits, jokingly. So far every appointment I’ve had has been good news since last year, and sometimes I’m tempted to not drag my brother out of work to come with me, but in the slight chance that one day they might say what I don’t want to hear... I want to make sure I have my Mattx2 support system with me.

In the year since transforming from a regular person, to a “survivor”, I have met so many amazing people. The people who battle cancer are all special and nothing short of amazing. They are so open to share their stories and they all share the same admiration for life and the appreciation of every little thing. I’ve said many times that it’s like we see the world differently than other people do. I have met people all around the world in similar situations. I’ve talked to people online because they had read this blog and it inspired them, or it helped them see what their family member or friend had gone through. I hope I made them realize it’s not always all that bad. I know I haven’t suffered half as much as others, but I know there are still more battles to overcome. I’ll still be ready for them.

 A few months ago I met an 18 year old girl from New Jersey who read my blog and contacted me on instagram. We started emailing. Sammi has a form of cancer called Ewings Sarcoma. Like most of us, she was shocked to find this out. Finding out her new fate had made her pretty depressed. She told me in emails she wasn’t sure she had the strength to make it through all the treatment and sickness she was being put through. Though with daily emailing, I think I eventually turned her around... Showed her the upside, how strong she is, how different this makes her, how special she is and how tough she will find out she is in the end when she gets through it. I told her Survivors are different. I saw her emotions change from sad to happy and from terrified to ... the fighter that she is. Although she’s still going through chemo and sickness, her hair has fallen out and so have her eyebrows, she’s found the love of different hair styles through wigs like I have, and posts her new looks online with a smiling face. She told me recently that her parents know about me and how I’ve helped her and her outlook, and she thanked me in her latest YouTube video, which brought tears to my eyes. It’s not often I get to personally talk someone through their battle with cancer, but it’s an honour when I can help them. 

I also still talk to my Disney date Michelle, even though she lives in Michigan and is always flying to different cities with her fabulous flight attendant job, we are constantly texting each other photos of our newest wigs, how long our hair is getting (hers grew in so perfect and nice, but totally brown when she was usually blond!) or just updates on life, Backstreet Boys, The Bachelor, or stories. While writing this blog, a friend from pole dancing read last year’s entry and texted me saying she was really sad about what I went through and what a rough year it must have been. I responded telling her “Actually, I think of it as one of my favourite years of my life. One of my best... As crazy as that sounds.” I was talking to Michelle at the same time so I asked her the same thing. “Am I the only person that looks back at my year with cancer and doesn’t think of it as a bad year?  I kinda have lots of happy memories from it!” She responded quickly. (direct quote this time!) “Nope! I actually think it was one of my best years. Yes, things sucked big time at some points, but I also had some great times. I learned from it and grew from it. Not to mention I met some kick ass people too!” ... And so there it is. What I’m saying about our mentality. I’m not crazy, (which she also agreed with.)  I’ve just got the appreciation that the Survivors do. Even all us young survivors that may have a lot to fight in the future.  Or maybe we’ve conquered that obstacle and beat it while we could!

I’ve said this before in my speeches and I’ll say it again. When I look back on 2011, the year I fought cancer, I don’t see it as a bad time. I don’t remember all the struggles, the pain, the set-backs or the tears. They’re there, in the back of my head... But what comes up more prominently in my mind is laughing, smiling, seeing family every day, having the support around me in the hospital, seeing everyone I know come to visit. I remember celebrating... celebrating life, celebrating every little milestone – like we should be every day. I remember the love, the admiration from people, the inspiration, and all the triumphs. It’s like how my brain blocked out the bad moments around my first seizure... my brain seems to only focus on all the great things from that year. When people look at me with the sad, empathetic face because of what I went through, I can’t honestly tell them it sucked. I wouldn’t change it. It changed me, it introduced me to a world I didn’t know before, it made me appreciate every little thing, and it brought my family closer. As crazy as it sounds, I would be happy to go back to that night we all had dinner in the hospital cafeteria before my surgery. All my family and friends there... all happy just to be alive.  I loved that night.

2011 was an interesting year. 2011 was a tough year. But 2011 was a good year. 2012 was a new sort of challenge, but it’s just another obstacle in the game of life. In the end, every year we get is another great one. Every year we meet new people and do new things that will change our life and who we are. Every year will bring new memories, and we can choose to keep the bad ones in mind, or we can choose to remember mostly the good. Like I do with 2011. Life is what we make it. I read somewhere another quote that I carry around... “Eventually all the pieces fall into place. Until then, laugh at the confusion, live for the moment..and know that everything happens for a reason.” It really, really does. I also read “Your life is your message to the world. Make sure it’s inspiring.” I hope I can inspire some of you.

Until next year.... Hakuna Matata.  

 

Well, it’s 2021. It’s been almost TEN YEARS since THAT year and writing this blog. I never really thought I would update it, it was more of just the story of that year, and a little of the one after. I do want it to stay that way. But I also wanted new visitors coming to this page to know that life turned out… just as amazing as I said it would. Not only did we celebrate 5 years Cancer free with a big Hakuna Matata themed party, but I am about to (knock on wood) celebrate 10 YEARS as a Cancer Survivor! I am not oblivious to how amazingly lucky I am to do that. Amazingly. Lucky. 

Throughout these years, that wonderful perfect man that slept by my bedside every night  - became my husband. December 3rd, 2014, we had a beautiful small ceremony in a church where I got to wear a pink dress and my Mom decorated everything in pink and silver sparkle for winter. Though that was only the “legal wedding”… what I REALLY wanted, and what we got next, was my “perfect day”. All I ever really knew is I wanted a beach wedding. January 23rd, 2015, Matt and I, and 40 of our friends and family, celebrated my dream wedding at the Barcelo Maya Resort in the Mayan Riviera, Mexico. I can still remember riding up in that golf cart with my bridesmaids, and my (this time white) wedding dress on, and taking a peak at what I was walking up to. I remember taking a moment to make sure I took it all in. My absolute. Perfect. Day. Everyone waiting for us on the beach chairs -right on the sand, Matt at the end of the sand aisle, right next to the ocean, the palm trees, the fairy tale perfect blue sky, and the beaming sun. I couldn’t have imagined it better. That night, we all had dinner and danced barefoot in the sand between the palm trees. Our first dance was to Brad Paisley’s “Then”, because I’ll always remember Matt writing me when I was away in Florida when we first started dating and saying “look these lyrics up. It’s how I feel about you” and I told him one day it could be our wedding song. To this day, anytime I feel sad, I think back to that beach and that night. (Have I mentioned enough yet that it was perfect?) 

Since those first few, I’ve continued to do speeches for the Ottawa Hospital and the Canadian Cancer Society. As I write this, I’ve counted about 21 of them. Any time someone asks if I’d speak for them, I have a rule that I will absolutely never say no. They saved my life! I’m alive! Maybe this is why? So I’ve spoken at Relays for Life, to High Schools, to Charity Tournaments, fancy events, President’s Breakfasts and Dinners, and anything else they want me to. I think they ask me to because I like to keep my story positive. I also like to show everyone the reality (and fun side?) of cancer by showing up looking all normal with my long brown hair, then halfway through my speech, still doing that thing where I take my hair off and freak them out a little with my half-baldness! Haha. But then I duck under a podium, change my hair to blonde or pink and tell them how wonderful it is that I can do my hair in ten seconds! I get to make people laugh, then cry a little, and then I hope – give them hope. For anyone they might know that’s going through the same thing. I also try to get through in the speeches to remember to celebrate EVERYTHING. Every family moment. Every holiday. Every little feeling. Being a kid again and feeling the wind in your hair on a swing. The smell of the pumpkins on Halloween. The feeling of family together at Christmas. I still make sure to appreciate these things, and they still make me tear up. (I’m cheesy now, remember.) So, I do these speeches to send people the message that there is life after Cancer.. and it can be full of beautiful moments. (And also to help raise money and awareness for the great people that saved my life, and organizations that make all the research possible to save us!) This year, because of my motto of always saying yes to the hospital, I was also put on some huge pillars in the Hospital hallways, advertisements online, and even had my own BUS. That’s right… a big picture they took when my family was celebrating my 9 year Re-Birthday was put on the side of a bus. How cool is that? (I’ll include it below… cause how could I not.) 

I’ve met so many great people now just through being a Cancer Survivor. I have best friends now all over the world… Of course I still talk to Michelle in Detroit all the time (we went to her wedding, they have a son and she is also still cancer-free and healthy!) , and I now have my “baldy sister” Sophie over in Ireland. She had the same brain tumour as I did, the same treatment, the same side effects (and the half baldness!). We got to talking online, I kept her positive throughout her treatment… and we just became great friends. It may have seemed a little crazy to anyone else, but when she talked about getting married and said how much she wished we could go to her wedding, Matt and I said – why don’t we? And so, we went to meet my best friend across the world for the very first time by flying over to Ireland for her wedding. And - it felt like family. It was magical. We talk all the time still online and send each other mail. We met up again in New York City just last year for her birthday, and I have no doubt one day we will meet again in Disney World, where she can bring their two kids to celebrate more years of kicking Cancer’s butt! (That’s right, apparently you can still have kids after our treatment. But Matt and I are still good with just being us.) I love talking to anyone else that’s going through a similar situation, helping them concentrate on the positive and celebrating every accomplishment with them. I also got to bond closer with one of my good friends here recently because she too was diagnosed… but we are all celebrating our stories now. I hope if you’re reading this and going through it, you will soon be too! 

So, as I celebrate my upcoming 10 years since that day my life changed, this time it will be in a pandemic with no huge celebration. (But I definitely plan to have one back in Hawaii when we can! We made it to Hawaii, by the way, and it was everything I dreamt it would be during my surgery, and more. We couldn’t make it just a once-in-a-lifetime trip and are desperate to go back!)  Like everything though, we WILL celebrate. Just like we do every February 25th (I didn’t die that day I had the seizure!) and March 7th (didn’t die in that surgery either!) and any little moment I can find to celebrate. Yeah, I may have half a head of hair for life, and yeah, sometimes that sucks looking weird like that… But I have soo many wigs that I couldn’t imagine even having to do my own hair again. (And I can be blonde! Or pink! Without the commitment!) I get a couple more headaches than the average person and still need occasional naps (who doesn’t?) but other than that, remember when I said “Well, this year is gonna suck, but every year after that is going to be better.” ? Well, it was. It is. I am thankful for every year I’m given, every moment I get to appreciate, every new person I meet and bond with. I couldn’t thank those of you enough that have come to me and said “I read your story! It made me cry, it made me laugh.” That’s all I wanted to do. I’m going to end this story here…(I can’t believe you made it this far.) Just know that I’m off somewhere looking for our next adventure, riding every roller coaster, exploring the world, acting like a kid again, and finding new things to celebrate every day. Please do the same. Remember to wear tutus and sparkles and to dance in the rain! (and find me on Instagram or Facebook if you want to catch up.) Thank you, thank you, thank you. Hakuna Matata. Xoxo