This isn’t going to be a
happy story. There are parts
that will be depressing and
sad. There are parts I hope to
be motivational and inspiring.
I want to share my story
to alert others who were once
on my path or ever went
through what I have gone
through. I want to tell others
how I changed. And here we
go.
Nine years ago I was on the
honor roll and a competitive
swimmer at Penn State.
Then, I realized I was somewhat
free-from home, my
parents and any “rules.”
Basically, I made a ton of bad
decisions that affected the
real reasons I was at college.
So I went from being an honors
student to someone who
lived everyday on one illegal
drug or another. I slept nearly
16 hours a day, or none at
all. I dropped out of Penn
State weighing 90 pounds; I
was so high, depressed or
manic I would forget to eat.
Then, I changed again. It
happened in an instant. I
don’t know what spawned it,
but in one flash-an
epiphany-I woke up. Either
I got scared, or the antidepressants
I’d been taking
finally kicked in. Whatever
the reason, I stopped throwing
my life away.
In that epiphany I realized I
was getting older and I was
too old to remain a loser. If I
did all that for any longer, I’d
never amount to anything. So
I started to look for something
I was good at. I left my
comfort zone and paid attention
to the world around me.
I had no idea what was going
to happen, but I started with
a waitressing job and one day
I found a woman who wrote
for the Newtown Advance.
She said I could be a stringer,
or freelance reporter. Sure, I
liked to write. I might be able
to do something like that.
I didn’t think about living
life to the fullest all the time. I
just found a reason to get up
in the morning. I hadn’t experienced
that feeling in years.
It was wonderful.
Finally, my manic episodes
were under control. I wanted
to go back to school, attend
Bucks part-time, work and
get a degree in journalism. I
gave myself a timeline; I
found that maintaining a
schedule helped me function
“normally.” I would work
through the fall of 2005 and
save for spring semester
tuition.
I look back on those days
now and feel bittersweet. I
had a boyfriend I lived with,
flawless peaches and cream
skin and platinum blonde
hair. I was 105 pounds and
my eyes were baby blue. But,
I also had cancer. I write this
column this week because my
diagnosis of stage 3B
Hodgkin’s Lymphoma
occurred at 1 a.m. on Nov. 23,
2005.
Three years ago, I was
dying. I entered St. Mary’s
Hospital via ambulance from
my job at Goodnoe’s and I left
with a 60 percent chance of
survival. To those who never
saw their life in percentages,
those are the kinds of odds
that keep you awake at night.
On steroids I gained nearly
60 pounds.
I vomited dozens of times a
day.
Chemotherapy makes you
an insomniac. Chemotherapy
causes your hair to fall out. It
hurt all the time-physically
and mentally. All of a sudden
my friends were gone, family
members gone. Most everyone
was too scared to see me
or talk to me, I guess. At first
I didn’t think I was different,
nothing about the person I
am had changed. But the
more I felt isolated, the more
numb I became.
My boyfriend broke up
with me. I was a “burden”
and “responsibility.” The sad
part-I felt like I was. I couldn’t
have done any better
though, I believe that. I did
what I was told to do and
what I had to do.
I hated everyone who said
how well I was doing. I lived
inside my frenzied bald head
and suffered the abuse I put
on myself. I couldn’t go out
that Christmas without a
wheelchair or sterile mask, so
I never left home. I watched
these brown marks appear on
my skin where I itched. You
get so itchy. My nails were
yellow and my eyes were
dull. The scars hurt. My body
hurt and I was so tired all the
time and couldn’t sleep for
days on end.
After the surgeries and
chemotherapy, the worst part
happened: the waiting and
the acceptance. I didn’t have
time to think about my
future, if there was one. My
brain was too caught up in
getting by, one day at a time,
one inch at a time.
I realized the daily grind of
the big “C” was over and I
had five years to fear its
return and cope with how I
was a different person than
before. After eight months,
my oncologist said it was
working. Could I have the life
I dreamed of? Kind of.
The physical changes I saw
in the mirror hurt the most.
On the inside I was torn
apart, but rebuilding. The
outside part of me was forever
changed. I spent so many
hours crying in front of the
mirror. What happened to my
body? I always thought I was
pretty and then boys would
remark, “What a dyke” or “Is
that a man?” They didn’t
know what I had gone
through, but it reinforced the
feeling that everything I ever
knew about my image had
died, eventhough I lived.
Eventually I connected with
other young people who got
sick like this and watched
their youth die before them.
We learned together to accept
that in order to continue, you
have to let go of everything
you were before your brush
with death.
Just move forward.
Now two years in remission,
I am doing most everything
I wanted to, but more
importantly working toward
what I want. I had other plans
and dreams for my life, and
this did change that. But I feel
a reason to be on this planet.
It gives me a reason to be
with someone else-I’m alive
and I am still me inside. I’m
still dealing with the “outside”
issues. “Everything I
have ever learned in life can
be summed up in three
words: it goes on.”
Dear friends, whether you
know where your life is headed
or not, I offer you advice
based on my experience.
One: Get a college degree. I
don’t care if you major in
Liberal Arts or Underwater
Basket Weaving. But someday
soon or distant, you’ll
find something you love to
do. Therefore, the time you
waste skipping class, blowing
off working toward something
because you don’t
know what that “something”
is, well, it does you no justice.
You’re hurting the future
you. Tomorrow is not a guarantee.
You will never, ever be
able to do it later, to figure it
out later. You only have
today.
Two: Waiting for more
money, more of anything is
not an excuse. You will
always be in debt. You will
always have bills to pay. Just
set a goal for yourself -it’s
scary and stressful and overwhelming-
but in doing so
you can balance your life.
There is no reason for a life
off-kilter. I learned the hard
way.
Three: It’s going to suck. I
have failed and accomplished.
I have been embarrassed
and disgraced and
overjoyed. I try to live life
without thinking about how
mine nearly ended. I don’t
want to think about death,
my wasted years, but I do. I
am affected, but not damaged.
Sometimes I fall to my
knees in tears in my shower
at the sight of lost strands of
hair. I beg god to make the
cardio and crunches and skin
treatments and hair dye erase
the physical elements left
over from my illness. People
say how strong I am, how
strong I must have been. I
hate them, because it’s not
true.
I’m just me.
Whether I am or am not less
beautiful, less of something
or more of something, I can’t
do anything about it, as I
couldn’t do anything about
being sick. All I can do is
accept it. All I can do is keep
moving forward and finding
a reason to make survival
worth it.
Yoda said, “Do, or do not.
There is no try.” I said the
whole time that how you survive
defines you as a person.
After everything, I did find
me. I learned to like me, for
the most part. I’ll move into
self-actualization one step at
a time.
But move forward in your
life, because it keeps going no
matter what.