I alternate daily, even momentarily
Between embracing 
Being a survivor
And shunning it completely
Choosing to be in denial that I ever had cancer at all

I still get furious
That a fit and healthy organic-eating vegetarian 
Who never smoked
Rarely drank
Exercised and meditated
And at the age of 29 
Got goddamn cancer 
A cancer that normally affects men in their 60s 
How was this possible?
Why did this happen?

And then there is 
Survivor’s Guilt 
Why did I survive?
Why am I here?
What is my purpose?

I also have Survivor Jealousy 
There are actors who had cancer
And they're on Broadway and television 
And working and performing while having treatment 
And I think
Fuck, I couldn't even walk during treatment and they're singing and dancing 8 times a week?!
Which I wholeheartedly understand and own as completely insane 
No one has a good time going through cancer. 
Cancer is horrible. 

I still tire easily
I still have terrible, raging, crippling depression
I've lost my libido 
And I want so much to just 
Be Better

I don’t want to be recovering anymore 
I just want to be well
And able
And fit
And not stacking on weight because my hormones are now post-menopausal 

I want to be out auditioning
And singing
And going to classes
But just doing the 9-5 
To pay the bills
Takes all my energy
And leaves me feeling miserable 

I wasn’t like this Before. 
I could cope
Work two jobs
Go to classes
And still do shows 
And trip the light fantastic
Now it’s a miracle if I get out of bed and make it to work without crying

I’m a survivor
They say
You’re so lucky
An inspiration! 

But I’m just treading water
Fearful that at any moment
The shark will attack
Again
The thought is terrifying 
Every headache, every prolonged pain and moment of difficulty means
It’s back
Recurrence, relapse
Will I have to do this all over again? 

So I pretend it’s not there
I’m totally fine
I book tickets for shows after work because
It’s only a show right? I can manage that
But I get home and my body is in so much pain
So fatigued and wiped out
All I can do is lie on the couch and try not to have a nervous breakdown that I simply
Am Not Ready

They told me 
If all went all
Treatment would be done by Christmas
They didn’t tell me
The average recovery from a stem cell transplant
Is three to five years 
I’m a year and a half out
I don’t know if I can wait another a year and a half
The getting better is so incremental 
And I just want to be well

This process of being a survivor
Is fucking hard
I want to be (in the words of Elizabeth Gilbert) 
Heliotropic 
I want to turn my face to the light
And see the positive
See the good
Feel joyful that I’m alive

Life is like a rollercoaster they say
Like that bit in Parenthood
Where Steve Martin is freaking out and 
Grandma tells the story where Grandpa once took her on a rollercoaster 
“It was interesting to me 
That a ride could make me so frightened 
So scared, so sick, 
So excited and so thrilled all together
Some didn’t like it
They went on the merry-go-round,
That just goes around
Nothing.
I like the rollercoaster. 
You get more out of it.” 
I want to be like Grandma
But right now I’m still Steve Martin
Having a panic attack

I want to be Steve Martin
Joyfully
Playing the entr’acte
In the Broadway show
I’ve written and crafted out of love 

And sometimes I just have to remember
To Breathe, Just Breathe
The name of my own goddamn blog 
Oh the irony

Yes, I’m in remission
I survived
Three rounds of chemo
And full body irradiation
And having my sister’s stem cells injected into me 
And my nails falling off
And the skin of my feet cracking and peeling
And the contents of my stomach rising to my throat
The sensation that I’m falling
The sensation that I’m dying
My own blood turning against me
Attacking me from within 
For reasons yet, or perhaps forever, unknown 

I am a survivor 
And some days I wish I wasn’t
But I’m trying 

I am ok, really.
When I remember 
A year ago I couldn’t even ride the subway
And now I do it five or six times a week!
I work full-time! 
I’m taking piano lessons! 
Yesterday I went to an art exhibit and had coffee and went out to a bar!
A year ago I could barely walk to the markets and back, forget carrying the shopping
Now I can do it, and still have the energy to meet a friend! 

I have this gorgeous, wonderful
Incredibly patient and loving husband
Who has taken care of me through it all
Stroked my back when I was curled up next to the toilet bowl
Dressed me when my fingernails hurt so badly I couldn't do it myself 
Driven me to appointments
Sat with me while I screamed and cried and railed against the unfairness that is this disease
And despite everything 
He is by my side
And oh how I love him so. 

This is life after cancer
I’m not a patient patient
I want to be a thousand percent better yesterday
I want to never have had stupid cancer in the first place 
But I did
And here I am. 

Well, I'm soaked to the bone
But I ran in Central Park!
I'm a New Yorker!

It may have been raining
Close to pouring actually, 
But my new running buddies were lovely
Let me go at my pace and pushed me too
We're conquering cancer 
Training in the Ulman Cancer Fund's
Cancer to 5km program

The best part was the trees
Magnolias! Blossoms!
And the flowers
Jonquils! Daffodils!
It's so damn glorious

The start of spring
The start of a new training season
I completed 12 weeks of the last one
Only for the hemogoblin goblin
To take residence 
Right before race day
Will I make it this time?

Feeling a part of 
The community of runners
Out on a day like today, insane and
Glorious too
Look at us, out in the rain! 

It has been so hard
The struggle, is most definitely,
Absolutely real
But today was a good day and
​My heart sings. 

It was the year of convalescence and healing
Depression and frustration
Fingernails falling off one-by-one, losing my eyelashes, nausea, fatigue, hand foot syndrome, thyroiditis, migraines, mood swings, menopause, depression, weight gain, reflux, the hemoglobin goblin, scanxiety and my hair growing back curly 
I spent most of the first four months of the year curled up on the couch
Riding out the symptoms, writing, reading, watching, scrolling endlessly through facebook and twitter and instagram
Short walks to the end of the block, to the store if I was feeling really adventurous, wearing that stuffy mask and trying to be patient with strangers who asked “Why are you wearing that?”
Their fear and pitying stare when you reply, 
“I’m recovering from cancer.”

By April I could walk to the park
I fell in love with spring in New York 
The magnolias and the blossoms and the blue of the sky 
We celebrated Aaron’s 30th with games and good food 
I started learning to play the piano
I found an incredible mentor through Imerman’s Angels 
I signed up for online courses in poetry and songwriting 

In May I was depressed and angry
I couldn’t go to camp
I wept and wailed and railed against the unfairness of this stupid disease and its long recovery 
It took a month to find a counselor who accepted our insurance and dealt with cancer
I found CancerCare and signed up for their summer young adult survivor support group 
I was allowed out into the world
We had our first date in almost a year - we rode the subway to Prospect Park and ate dinner at  Purple Yam 
My first subway trip to the city on my own was to go to the support group

​In June I finally got to go shows again 
We saw Ever After at the Paper Mill Playhouse 
In the second half of the year, I made up for a year of not seeing anything and saw 44 shows, including the Into the Woods Original Cast Reunion at BAM, On the Town, Spring Awakening, The King and I, and Invisible Thread. I saw the Drama League Gala for Bernadette Peters.
One of my poems was published in StepAway magazine 

In July I visited camp 
We had cancerversary dinner in Connecticut and marveled at the year that had been
I met Patti LuPone and thanked her for being so lovely
I stayed with my friend in Connecticut and was treated like royalty 

In August I started training for the Cancer to 5km
I got a job at BAM 
I had an article published on the CancerCare website 
I became a member of the New York Public Library 

In September I started working for a friend’s business in wedding planning
Aaron and I sailed down the Hudson at sunset 
I traveled to Australia for the first time in four and a half years
I dealt with all my crap in storage. I wanted to burn everything I had ever owned (I didn’t. I gave most of it away, bought two suitcases back to New York, and threw the rest away). 
I saw friends and family. 
We said goodbye to my beautiful Abuela. 

In October my counts started dropping. The hemoglobin goblin took up residence and didn’t leave for three months. 
After training for twelve weeks, two days before the 5km, I had to drop out because my counts were too low. 
I temped across offices in Manhattan: finance, office management, office supplies, health insurance, media, and even the temp agency itself. 
I had an article published on the Greenroom blog of New Musical Theatre 
I went trick o’ treating for the first time 
I had my one year post-transplant check-up and tests 
My immune system was still not functioning at normal levels 
I had developed osteopenia (the pre-cursor to osteoporosis)  
But the main test: still in remission 

In November 
My friend Zaza came to stay
I had my first proper Thanksgiving complete with family and turkey and flan 

In December I battled a cold and a stomach bug 
We celebrated cousin Louisa’s first birthday
And the next day, said goodbye to Jake
We ate Chinese in Park Slope on Christmas Day 
Then it was time to drive down to Virginia to spend time with Aaron’s parents 
And bring in the new year 

Over the course of the year 
I researched and posted 18 movie musicals from 1929 (with a few more in the pipeline) 
I watched filmed live musicals online including Follies (awful - the quality, not the show) and Daddy Long Legs (brilliant) 
I learnt Spanish, Danish, French, and Italian on duolingo 
We battled armies of cockroaches and one solitary mouse 
We made ice cream, yogurt, rice paper wraps, pho, mussels in a creamy white sauce, meringues from chickpea brine, and dumplings dumplings dumplings galore 
Aaron started our herb garden with basil and rosemary and mint
Friends from Australia, Canada, England, and Sweden visited New York 

It was a year of struggle
A year of pain and depression
A year of one moment, one day at a time 
A year of monitoring and checking in and letting go of expectations of a speedy recovery 
A year of wonderful friends and family and uncountable kindnesses and generosity 
Into 2016 we go
With hope it will be better, easier, kinder, more gentle 
May the year be happy, healthy, and well
​The end (for now). 

Scanxiety ("scan-zi-etee") 
Anxiety and worry that accompanies the period of time before undergoing or receiving the results of a medical examination" ​

Remember that scene in Kindergarten Cop where Arnie says, "I have a headache," and the kids say, "Maybe it's a tumor..." and Arnie replies, "It is not a toomah!" That is the conversation in my head right now. 
 
​When I sit for too long on any chair that isn't my couch, I develop an awful pain right down in the base of my tailbone. It makes moving to a standing position incredibly painful. Once I'm standing again, the pain subsides.

My doctor thinks it could be a fractured sacrum, except we have no idea what could have caused it (apart from the fact that the treatment for AML has left me at higher risk for bone damage). All I know is that the pain started after the bone marrow biopsy in October. 

Tomorrow I'm having an MRI to determine what's causing the pain. According to the hospital Information Sheet, the MRI will be conducted with contrast dye, in order to "be able to better see any traces of disease".

Basically I'm going to be spending the next 24 hours dealing with scanxiety and repeating to myself in mantra-like fashion: IT IS NOT A TUMOR. ​

Something is messing with my blood. My medical team are not exactly sure what it is. So, for the time being, I've decided it's a goblin -- because it's a gobblin' my hemaglobin, and that sounds more fun than "cancer". 

Those of you following along for the past few weeks will know that my counts have jumping up and down like a yo-yo. It started after my one-year-post-transplant check-up — I couldn’t seem to recover from the day of tests. I was constantly tired, headachey, and puffed out from shorts bursts of walking, and as a result I had to drop out of the 5km run which I’d spent 12 weeks training for. 

My blood work showed that my hemoglobin (an important component of red blood cells), levels were dropping. My doctor thought it was caused by one of the drugs I was on, and took me off the drug. To keep an eye on the counts, I had to go back to having weekly blood tests. 

Four weeks after stopping the suspected culprit, my counts are still dropping. This afternoon my lovely nurse practitioner called to let me know that this week’s results were low enough that I’ll need another bone marrow biopsy on Monday, and possibly a transfusion. My doctor is not too concerned about a relapse at this point, given that my last biopsy was only a month ago and came back completely clean, but she’s not exactly sure why I’ve stopped producing hemoglobin. 

Monday will be my 11th bone marrow biopsy in 16 months. I still have pain from the last one - whenever I sit for too long I get a sharp and uncomfortable pain in my tailbone. It’s alleviated by standing and walking, but, thanks to the low hemoglobin counts, I get tired from too much movement. It’s a fun game of balancing pain and fatigue. 

Thankfully it hasn’t been too debilitating. I’m not bed-ridden, and I’ve even managed a few days of work this week! ​It's just frustrating to be feeling exhausted and headachey all the time. 

I’m hoping my medical team are able to figure out what’s causing this current dip from the biopsy. In the meantime, hemoglobin goblin, be gone! ​

Dear Editors, Publishers, Media at Large,

As a survivor of acute myeloid leukemia, I am begging you: PLEASE STOP PUBLISHING ANYTHING TO DO WITH BELLE GIBSON. I don't need to hear from her mother. I don't need to hear from her neighbours. I don't need to hear from her primary school teacher. I definitely don't need to hear from Belle herself. I don't care what happened to her app, her book, or her empire. I don't even want/need to know if she has finally been charged or even trialled for her crimes. 

Before cancer, I was a fit and healthy young woman. I was a vegetarian. I ate mostly organic food. I exercised. I meditated. I chose to be positive. I never smoked. I rarely drank. And I still got cancer. 

After cancer, I have struggled with chemo, radiation, hair loss, nail loss, weight loss, energy loss, serious depression, anger, and a whole myriad of side effects that come from treatment and the god awful hell that is living with a terrible illness. I am not able to work. I am fortunate to have had access to wonderful health care, and the support of friends and family who have supported me, and my husband, through this terrible nightmare.

Every time you publish a story about Belle Gibson, and how she used a terrible disease to prey on people's trust and steal money, you are punishing people who actually have to live with cancer. You are destroying people's trust. You are making it harder for those of us who rely on the generosity and kindness of others to make it through. 

Belle Gibson clearly needs help. She needs therapy with experienced professionals who can help her deal with her issues. She does not need to be in the public eye. Cancer survivors, their carers, and people who have lost loved ones to cancer do not need to read about her, see her, or be subjected to her continual lies. We have enough to deal with without being reminded that there are people out there using our illness for profit. 

Please stop publishing stories about Belle Gibson. Instead, publish stories about practical ways to help people with cancer (HuffPost had a great one), encourage blood/platelet donation (US, Australia, UK), or tell people how they can donate hair (US, Australia, UK). If you want the personal angle, tell us stories of hope, survival, and the true and factual stories of people living with cancer. But no more Belle. We've had enough. 

Sincerely,
An Actual Cancer Survivor 

I had the weirdest dream
I had finally moved to New York
But I was in Connecticut with 
Two bug bites on my legs that had  
Turned into huge infections
I was diagnosed with cancer
Acute Myeloid Leukemia 

Patti LuPone sent me an email 
They filled my body with chemo drugs and
All my hair fell out 
My legs looked like something out of an alien movie 
They stood me in a large room, strapped me to a frame
And radiated my entire body 
They wiped out my immune system 
Took some of my sister’s cells
And injected them into me 

I wasn’t allowed to go to the theatre 
Wasn’t allowed to eat take out
All my energy was gone 
I felt nauseous 
I felt tired
I threw up
I felt depressed
I felt angry
I felt like giving up
Every week they tested my blood
They injected a needle into the back of my hip and drew out the marrow
Be a patient patient. 

We never know what’s next
We could fall in love
We could meet our idols 
We could get cancer 
How do we exist on the precipice between joy and despair? 

We live on a rock covered in water 
Just so far from a flaming ball of gas
Surrounded by other rocks 
That expands to infinity and… 
The miracle is that after a several millennia 
We still don’t really know what it’s all about
We have some theories
But we don’t really know 
What is this dream?

Months passed 
No more cancer
Remission
Healing slowly
And then it was a year later

I am living in New York
My hair is back, curly
My strength is returning
I don’t feel nauseous
I do often feel tired
I often feel depressed
I often feel angry 
I still sometimes feel like giving up 
I try to balance on the precipice between joy and despair 

I am married to the most wonderful person
He is patient and kind and loving 
And through him I have a wonderful, patient, kind, and loving family 
Day by day I’m feeling better 
I am allowed to go to the theatre again
I met Patti LuPone in person
She told me to be well 
Alright, Patti. If you say so… 

This past twelve months
Has been a rollercoaster
It has been hell
It has bought me closer to my American family 
It has made me stronger. 
It has made me weaker. 
It has made me 
Different. 

Thursday is the anniversary of being told I had cancer. 
Yesterday I wore shorts in public for the first time since diagnosis 
It was just too bloody hot 
I’ve become proud of my scars 
Those damn things saved my life 

This whole dream
Is difficult to fathom
But such is the stuff of life
And while I am here
I will endeavor to remain
Awake. 

Seven years ago I walked the Camino, a 500 mile pilgrimage across northern rural Spain, for the first time. I walked it with my then boyfriend. We were on a year long holiday around the world. The Camino seemed like a great way to see Spain. 

The Cruz de Ferro marks one of the highest points on The Way. Traditionally you bring a stone from home and place it at the base of the cross, leaving with it your troubles, sadness, and worries.

Over half-way into our walk, we reached Rabanal, one of the last towns before the Cruz de Ferro. I tossed and turned all through the night, wondering what I would leave behind. In the early hours of the morning, I had an epiphany. If I left a grievance behind, I would have to come back every year to absolve whatever else had come up in my life. I had been listening to a lot of Alanis Morissette, and her song thank u had been on heavy replay. I decided instead of pain/sorrow/anger, I would leave something that I would carry with me from that day forward: gratitude. 

I wrote a note - 

We passed through Foncebadon, a once abandoned town, now with a thriving hippy albergue decked out with prayer flags and offering homemade granola. We stopped for breakfast, charmed by the quaintness of the albergue and the remoteness of the tiny pueblo. 

Less than an hour later, we arrived at the famed cross. It looked like a rubbish dump. Bits of ribbon and remnants of flags, t-shirts, rags, letters and notes, Jesus cards, and candy wrappers littered the base. A tourist bus pulled up. We decided to keep walking. 

Our guidebook had mentioned a point about a kilometer on from the cross that was the true highest point of the Camino. It was off the path a little way, and marked by a large cairn. We reached the cairn. No one was there except for us. I mailed my note to the universe through a crack in the cairn. 

My gratitude prayer became my mantra. Each line meant different things to me at different times in the following years. I often wrote out all the things and people I was grateful for. All the things I was glad I knew. It became a personal meditation. 

Two years ago, I returned to El Camino. It had kept calling me in the intervening five years. I frequently dreamt about it. Waiting for my visa to move to the US and be with my new love, I quit my job in London, packed my backpack, and once again donned my walking boots. My whole world had changed since I had last walked most of the width of northern Spain. My heart had been broken, but I had healed and moved on. I had moved to London, gone to drama school, fallen in love, and I was about to move to America. I thought about Alanis and how her music had been with me through it all. 

I made a friend along the way. We ended up walking the rest of the way together. In Rabanal, I once again thought about what I would leave at the cross, or at my cairn. I realized I still wanted to leave behind, and bring with me, gratitude.

We reached Foncebadon. A new albergue had sprung up. We stopped to use the facilities. As we were leaving the pueblo, I decided to pop into the “old” albergue to see if it had retained its hippy vibe. The layout had changed, but they were still offering granola and herbal tea. I noticed music was playing. 

Of all the songs that exist in the world, of all the songs that could have been playing in that moment, as I happened to be passing through unannounced, the one song playing on the radio, I absolutely kid you not, was Alanis Morrissette’s thank u. I burst into tears. 

The Cruz de Ferro had been tidied up. It felt less touristy somehow. I stood and watched as a woman quietly prayed and sobbed at the base. The cairn took a little hunting. We found it. Still sitting perched on top of the mountain as it had been five years ago. And for how many years before that. I spoke my prayer this time. Thank you for letting me be here. 

Now it is two years later, and today is the anniversary of walking through Foncebadon, hearing thank u, reaching the Cruz de Ferro, and re-visiting the cairn. 

My world view has completely changed again in those intervening two years. I’m married. I’m living in New York. I have survived leukemia. I no longer believe in “the universe”. I no longer believe in karma or fairness (though I still think we should be nice to each other, because the alternative is just awful). My gratitude prayer no longer holds resonance in the way that it did. I still believe in musicals. 

There have been days in the past year when I have not felt lucky to be alive. I have wished that I had refused treatment. I have wished that I could just fall asleep and never wake up again. I have felt trapped, angry, sad, frustrated, and everything in between. 

I have also felt deeply loved. Deeply held. Deeply supported. It is an awful cliche, but there is no denying it: cancer, particularly in the brutal form of leukemia, is life changing. It has taken my life away. It has given me a whole new one.

El Camino no longer calls me. But a new journey is about to start. I just don’t know what it is yet.