Dance Power! Yeah!

After a long hiatus from self-centered posting, let's talk about me. Today I began my sixth season at Zephyr Dance. While the beginning of each consecutive year leaves me marveling that I am yet another year out of college, entering number six feels truly commemorative. For several months I've wondered how I would fare through a busy teaching and rehearsal schedule without vicious invaders messing with my energy level. Here's my opportunity to test that theory. In fact, I'm so eager to prove I'm right that I agreed to teach on Friday nights this year. I'll need that reminder as I trudge through inbound traffic this winter...

I can only hope that as I round the corner on season 7 I'll be up for this:

In the MOST delightful way!

Remission is upon us...and it could not have come sooner! Although I was very confident about yesterday's outcome, as my doctor entered the exam room she began, "So here's a loaded question..." My heart sank as I was convinced she was about to ask how I felt about more treatment or radiation. Thankfully, she began sharing the story of a new young patient whom she hoped to give my contact info. Sigh of relief. As I receive my amazing news, the Mary Poppins of medicine has already begun transitioning to the next patient. Not that I mind in the least.

I did ask whether or not the word "remission" should be entering my vocabulary. I was met by an emphatic "yes!" along with other wonderful phrases like "fully recovered" and "done!"


If you're concerned that this means the end of "The Cancer Dancer," don't worry.  I think this is a ideal place to raise awareness about young adults with cancer, a widely misunderstood group of patients. (Sorry, teens, it's not you guys.)

Voting for Remission

Final tallies have not been made, but polling sites are officially closed. And by polls I mean Highland Park Hospital Radiology Department. And by votes I mean the fate of my lymph nodes. I did double duty this morning with a PET Scan followed by a CT Scan. A final visit to my doctor on Monday will determine if. I. am. cured.

Stay tuned.

My love/hate relationship with steroids

It is an eternally changing status. During treatment, steroids serve to subsidize the harsh side effects of chemotherapy. I was given a strong dose of hydro-cortisone before the "D" segment of my ABVD treatment. Dacarbazine is the lengthiest and, as far as I understand, most aggressive of the four drugs infused.  I also took Benadryl just before treatment and a prescribed steroid in the two days afterward. This helped curb skin irritation, nausea, aches and pains: you name it. Great, right? Well, sort of...

I was grateful when, after explaining my considerable arm pain, she added the hydro-cortisone to my routine, and it made a huge difference in my comfort level. This coincided with a surprising inability to button my jeans. Bummer. In three short months I went from being unable to wear my clothes because of my emaciated state to just the opposite.

I made an uneducated assumption that after my chemo cycles were complete I'd feel the final effects for the usual 8 days or so and go on my merry way. I didn't realize that while I said goodbye to the drug pushing nurses, exhausted veins and debilitated immune system I was also leaving behind the magical effects of steroids. While the chemo drugs continue to attack,  the steroids eventually wear off. I'm gradually going back to my normal size (phew) and dealing with life after steroids: experiencing muscle aches and a seriously irritating ear ache.

And once again, I realize that this debacle is not quite over. The waiting is the hardest part.

Had to include this one. Looks like Cody makes a cameo:

Six cycles complete!!

12 doses/6 cycles, December 19-May 24....

In the words of my very wise friend, Jessie, "And stay out!" In my own celebratory words, "Wheee!"

The Cancer Dancer dances on this June!

 
   Join Zephyr Dance for our 20th Anniversary Concert

in the looking

June 24, 25 and 26 at 8:00pm

Epiphany Episcopal Church
201 S. Ashland in Chicago (map)
Tickets are $20 for adults,
$15 for students and seniors
For tickets and information, visit our website. 

...And don't forget to sign our birthday card!

Hitting the pavement for blood cancer research

Training for her fifth Chicago Marathon, my friend Jill Forister has generously elected to raise funds for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society.  There's nothing more inspiring than getting a brief glimpse of running friends enclosed in an athletic herd. This year she's doing it for a worthy cause thanks to my own connection to LLS. Check out her fundraising page:

http://pages.teamintraining.org/il/chicago10/jforister

Run, Jill, run!! (Because "dance, Jill, dance!" elicits a very different response...)

Third time IS a charm.

Every time I try to plug this article I inevitably begin discussing something completely different. Hence, my third post in two hours.

This is semi-related to my last post in regards to sharing information with others and the degree of hesitancy that follows. It's a recent NY Times blog post that talks in circles in a way that my brain seems to be spinning recently. Nice to see something align with my crazy orbitting head: 

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/03/15/with-cancer-lets-face-it-words-are-inadequate/

The Social Media Conundrum...a continuous plight

With our convenient and exhaustive list of ways to instantly share anything and everything with  400+ friends, you would assume that it would have been easy to sound the alarms with an ever powerful Facebook status update the moment I got my diagnosis last December.

As the girl who makes everything in her life more difficult than it has to be, you would be so very wrong. I have spent every day since so cautiously keeping my NEWS out of the news feed. As I sat in the hospital that night, I tearfully begged my mom not to tell her close friends what was going on with me yet because I thought that they might spread the word. I feared it would end up posted on my Facebook wall before I had the chance to make obligatory phone calls, send countless emails or patiently explain what a lymph node was while perched on my couch with concerned friends. Meanwhile, I had my sister lock my Facebook wall so that no one could post anything "suggestive." (Or anything at all for that matter.) My "friends" did not need to be digesting this new information at the same rate/timeline that I was.

And when you don't feel like you've got control of much else, what's more satisfying than shutting people out on the internet?

Cancer is really tough thing to share with people in your life who are not family, close friends or bosses. There is an obligation and need to notify in these cases. When I consider whether I should let people know who are outside this circle, the thought of just having to bring it up inevitably changes my mind. Especially having to bring it up to someone you haven't seen in six months or a year. And it certainly doesn't get any easier. Therefore, Facebook does not know about my recent adventures without some sluething (via my other very neglected blog link).

Although it does know about the small, accidental fire I started in my kitchen last week.

On the Boat

I keep stumbling across this term: survivorship. I can't really wrap my brain around what it means. I guess it has to do with the club I'm working to join. And as I continue my (web-based) quest to figure out what's next, it only brings more questions, concerns, musings. The most daunting of them:

What if it comes back? (Insert silence, fear, uncertainty, nervously shifty eyes.)

I'm trying to learn how to cope with that possibility. In working to get better, it was enough to be just getting past chemo dose #12. Now that I'm just 10 days from that date the expanse of this bubble I've been in is shifting.

Meet my new friend, http://i2y.com/. Apparently survivors rule. I am officially signed up. (And trying to get The Cancer Dancer into their blogroll.)

New great links!

I was experimenting with just how hard I have to try to get The Cancer Dancer to show up on the first page of a Google search. (The answer is really hard or by using my URL.) I stumbled on a few new blogs to share and also a great Newsweek article about how young people are using technology and humor to cope with their disease. (Me? Attempt humor? Never...) Without more ado, some additions to my blog list:

I'm Too Young For This! 


http://igotthecancer.blogspot.com/

And the Newsweek article that lead to these blogs (definitely worth a read): http://www.newsweek.com/id/209319/page/2

In the name of millimeters...

Four more treatments to go...the end is in sight. Not quite plain view, but that point when you're driving southbound on the Edens and you get that first shadowy glimpse of the Sears Tower. I've certainly taken better care of myself this time around. (Translation: not drinking so much that my veins disappear. Even Chemo Girl gets to have a little fun!)

Another test is upon us. Tomorrow I visit the friendly radiology department at NorthShore for a CT Scan. Though February's PET Scan showed that there is no more abnormal uptake (the cancer is not active/spreading), my lymph nodes were still enlarged. And by enlarged I mean centimeters. These nodes have been seriously cramping my lung capacity's style for far too long, so I'm really excited to see the results of tomorrow's photo shoot.  Not only am I excited, I'm sure that they've shrunk. Considering my sizable knowledge of the medical field,  here are several reasons why I might be the most optimistic (or delusional?) girl you know:

On Monday, I was doing a pretty intense pectoral muscle stretch during rehearsal and discovered that I was able to breathe easily in the position for the first time IN THREE YEARS. The reason that was my first foray into that particular stretch in awhile is because during Zephyr's usual Monday yoga routine I typically feel like falling down. Recently, however, I'd compare my energy level to that of the Grinch when he lifts the sleigh over his head. Serious power! So not only does my strength and energy level continue to dramatically rise, but I actually feel like I can understand the clues my body gives me.

Time to drink a really awful concoction no milkshake will mask in the name of measurement. Millimeters and such....

Ripping off the Band-aid

As bewildered as I've been by this whole hair loss/head shaving debacle, it's over. I decided a while ago that sharing this facet of my experience was particularly important. I wonder if I had stumbled across a similar blog posting a few months ago I would have dealt with it differently. Special thanks to Matt's crafty editing work and my fantastic stylist Courtney Engel's serious abilities with clippers. Although it's not featured in this particular video, her work with thinning shears is also incomparable.

It's time for a sing-a-long!

Because I don't make good use of my time, this is what I did this morning. In true Weird Al form, I've created my own lyrics for Rocky theme "Eye of the Tiger." I dedicate it to the driver of the bright yellow bug. So follow this link and play it while perusing my lyrics.

"Survivor: Eye of the Hodgkin's"
By Anne Kasdorf

Walkin' out, onto McLean
Time to go get some chemo
Had pneumonia, now I'm back on my feet
Just an Anne and her will to survive.
Six cycles of, A-B-V-D
Will get those lymph nodes back to normal
We're off to Kellogg in the bright yellow bug
Just to rid cancer cells from my life!!!

It's the eye of the Hodgkin's
in my chest and stomach
but it never got into my lungs, yeah.
And the rate of survival's unbelievably high
So I'm gonna get rid of the eeeeeeyyyyyee.
Of the Hodgkin's.

I was sick, feelin' so tired
Now I'm tough, stayin' hungry (for ice cream)
I've got big lymph nodes, and my white count is low
Chemo Girl's got the skill to survive

It's the eye of the Hodgkin's
in my chest and stomach
but it never got into my lungs, yeah.
And the rate of survival's unbelievably high
So I'm gonna get rid of the eeeeeeyyyyyee.
Of the Hodgkin's.

Cortisone, straight to the vein
Lost some hair, not my dinner
Went through chemo, now I'm not gonna stop
Just an Anne and her will to survive

It's the eye of the Hodgkin's
in my chest and stomach
but it never got into my lungs, yeah.
And the rate of survival's unbelievably high
So I'm gonna get rid of the eeeeeeyyyyyee.
Of the Hodgkin's.

On to other things. Or not. Just things.

I was going to write about my latest obsession with wedding blogs and all things DIY. (Who knew I was crafty?) But then I remembered that this blog is about cancer and dance and not my lack of focus. Stay on track, Chemo Girl.

A report on this cycle, my 3rd. The first dose left me wondering whether my nagging symptoms would drag through the next treatment. Thanks to an easier experience on my second dose, I credit a few things:

-The chemo drugs were pushed through my IV at a slower rate this time. (Thanks drug-pushing nurses!) Two drugs are administered via syringe, so it's totally up to my nurse and her thumb. The other two take a slightly longer journey from very severe looking plastic bags and swirl through a long tiny tube into whichever lucky vein we've picked this week. The miracle of chemo.

-I've had the extreme fortune to participate in a very conveniently timed research study involving fascial release work. My fearless massage therapist, Jenice, takes on the weekly quirks facing my body. Initially I really noticed a reduced amount of jaw pain, and flu-like aches are significantly less. Insert positive testimonial HERE!  (Unfortunately I don't know how to add links to posts. Who wants to teach me?)

On to chemo treatment number 6! Almost halfway...

Trampolines and cake

Fourteen days later, and here I am again. Chemo-eve. After six solid days of feeling normal my 3rd cycle begins tomorrow: a 3-hour event of neon-colored chemicals and not much else. My last treatment was (thankfully) very anti-climactic. Although I was honored to be Nurse Cornelia's very first chemo patient while back in the hospital, the experienced nurses at Kellogg made my second time around less, well, adventurous. I'm hoping this time will be the same. But maybe with cake.

And speaking of normalcy, the intermittent return of my muscle strength is a continuous surprise. After some sorry attempts to jump last week in ballet left me with that just-off-the-trampoline feeling of heaviness, I was shocked to find some familiar lift during Wednesday's modern class. And then I had to drag my wobbly body through yoga class on Friday. It's a baffling and constant process that I continue to invoke on my muscle memory.

This perplexing trek marches on...

Proprioceptive Overload

I pride myself in possessing considerable knowledge about my body. While my chosen career may deliver surprising pinches and pains from time to time, I can generally assess the random or chronic issues at hand. However, my recent health diagnosis and subsequent treatment have erased any sense of how everything works. Muscles aches that no golf ball can remedy. An appetite so excessive even Matt has raised an eyebrow. A couch that beckons for far more often than I'd care to sit still. A quickly spreading scalp and forehead. And that bi-monthly adventure my doctor calls chemotherapy has proven that I have zero clue how to treat my body. Luckily I have ten more shots at taming this beast.

I realize that this posting has a more negative, cynical tone. I am extremely positive about my prognosis, relieved to finally know what's wrong and overjoyed to have an enormous support system. But this experience is not without its frustrations. I want to share those realities too.

On a great note, blood tests last Monday confirmed that my hemoglobin (the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen from the lungs to the rest of the body) has nearly doubled since I was in the hospital three weeks ago. This means I have much more energy and a skin tone that resembles that of a human again. Despite the knock down, drag out brawl my body faced against chemo this weekend I feel better than I have in quite awhile.

But I'm a Leo!

...So you can imagine my surprise, bewilderment and confusion when after 26 years of looking to that bold, fierce symbol for any novelty fortune-telling needs my horoscope indicates that my birthday now falls between August 23 and September 22.

Through six months of self-diagnosis, internet "research," useless doctor visits and a skin tone that quickly faded from healthy to ghost-like, cancer never for a second entered my consciousness. Not once. Even as I sat in the hematology lab telling the 85th intern to ask that I DID NOT remember experiencing any fevers recently I was still convinced it was just pneumonia.

The 95% certainty of my doctor that it was Hodgkin's got through to me the next morning. So after a brief three minutes of being scared out of my mind I started fighting cancer.

Because my birthday is July 30.

The idea to post "The Cancer Dancer" came to me not long after receiving that life-altering information. (Catchy title, inspiring story...read: book and movie deals.) I had immediately considered the implications to my dance career: as an artist, an athlete and as an adult who has to make money. My crazy dance life will be back soon, and this will be the chronicle of how it returns.