If you are going through hell, keep going.

Those were Sir Winston Churchill's words.

Whenever you are in the middle of pain or dispair, it seems that life will never get back to a peaceful and enjoyable spot. But once you have made it there, to that quiet stronghold were desperation is over, it is hard to believe how disheartened and hopeless you felt before.

We all know stories, sometimes too close for comfort, about persons who got so deep into pain that they could not find the way back from that dark place. They died. Often by their own hand.

I lived a whole life thinking of suicide as a legitimate option. I was stuck in hell, instead of going through hell. I was chained to hell, because my mind created the conditions and was born into them. Those far and distant feelings have long stopped playing games with my mind. ThIs time around, my center can hold.

Today I am feeling like shit, positively. Karina lovingly took me to my chemo session, and everything seemed ok. But I am feeling bad since I arrived at home. I have a nonstop nausea creeping up my throat. My head and eyes hurt and my legs are unbearable. It's apparently, the onset of the first symptoms of peripheral neuropathy--one of the hallmark side effects of Taxol.

But his time around, I will proceed differently. While the cancer treatment is making me physically sick as a pig, it will not play games with my mind. If the my next chemo sessions are to be reloaded, the only think I can do is to keep walking. If I will be oing through hell, I have to keep going. Only by keeping going I will be able to emerge at the far side, laughing, triumphant, stronger than ever and craving a healthy, love-infused life.

I. WILL. KEEP. GOING.

The hospital is empty today...

No one wants to be poisoned one day before Christmas, I guess. That should allow for a speedy treatment. Maybe instead of arriving home around 9:30, we can be there by 8? We could watch a movie before going to sleep... Or another episode of the series about the Kennedys, which Warren gave me when he came.

This is my 9th chemical romance. I got a bad cold on Tuesday, which turned my head into a haze on Wednesday night, and put me back on yet another set of antibiotics. The third in two weeks. I am still a bit clogged, but feeling better.

Gabriel is getting ready to spend the whole afternoon surfing the web while he watches me sleep under the heavy blanket of antihistamines. He smiles and has secured an order to rice pudding for my dinner tray. I am so happy to be with him and see his curly head, as he plays away the hours here. He gives me a reason to feel happy, and laugh and smile every day, even when I am weak and down.

Nr. 9 will be over tonight.

Thank you all...

...for the messages, emails, phone calls, visits and funny videos you sent to cheer me up! Ann, the ducklings made my day!

Warren told me that my sickness would serve the purpose of letting me know, once and for all, that my friends love me for who I am, and not only because of what I do. And, in fact, you are making a huge difference in the way I am living through this!

I am happy to report that I am feeling better and ready for an appointment with my onc tomorrow. I am a bit stronger, and feeling as if I was about to emerge from the flu-like wave under which I am tumbling around. Every good day renews my spirit for the bad days.

Thank you for so much love and support! Every little gesture and word is counting, making me realize that not only Gabriel and you, but I as well, deserve the perspective of coming out at the other side of this wood, victorious.

Sick again...

I knew that it was not normal, but thought that within the parameters of weekly poisoning, it was not terrible. But once I was connected to the Matrix yesterday, and the doctor heard that I bleed every time I go to the toilet, he wanted to suspend my chemo again. They ran blood tests, and I was hitting the lower end of all permissible ranges--but still barely within range.

The doctor ordered a whole additional set of studies and I was put back on antibiotics--twice as many as one week ago.

I am confused and scared. If this is the result of one single poison drip after my week off, how will I make it through the eight that are left? And if I need more weeks off? Will this extend for much longer than originally envisioned?

I know that I should be grateful because I am not dying of this disease, and thus whatever I need to do opens a positive perspective into the future. But I am tired, and keeping a fragile equilibrium between a high spirit and going insane of isolation, multiple small pains, constant discomfort and relentless inactivity.

I don't wan to spend a whole year feeling sick and weak and tired. I feel sad and beaten up.

Yet another look...

When I went on the hunt for the perfect wig, I was disappointed by the boring, old-lady-like appearance of most of them. The styling of wigs, at least in this country, leaves a lot to be desired. A friend told me that I should go to a big costume store in downtown Mexico City. But with my ebbing energy, making it all the way to downtown, wig-hunting and coming back, seemed like an impossible mission. My neighbor told me of yet another place, which is coincidentally on the way between our place and Manu's.

When I entered the store, I was excited with the variety. Blue, green, purple wigs, long, short, straight and curly wigs... I saw at least ten that I liked. Most of them I did not like on me, though. That is where I got the punk-ish wig that almost looks like myself--at least in spirit and intention--which I posted some days ago.

I also saw a curly wig that I liked a lot. I loved it because it is the kind of hair that I would like to have. This would be the hair of my very dark-skinned or black alter ego, and I would arrange it into tiny braids. Very cool.

When Gabo took me to the movies to see The Muppets, I wore this wig. I sunk into my seat and felt like the little girl I was when my dad introduced me to The Muppets' Show. When we left the theater, I saw my reflection in a window. I had to laugh at myself. This wig doesn't make me look cool--it makes me look like Fozzie Bear!

So, here it is for you to see: my Fozzie Bear-like alter ego.

Seven down... Nine more to go.

I can feel that the vacation is over. On Friday was my seventh session of Taxol, and I immediately notice that I am back to being toxic. My tummy feels funny again, my throat starts hurting, my eyes ache and the sunlight is painful. But, I am not feeling to bad.

I will have no break over the holidays, which is not terrible. Gabriel and I will go on vacation once the weekly sessions are over. But we will certainly need a good rest after all of this!

But today is Sunday. And Sundays at home are always great. Sunday is, by definition, the best day in happy land. Even if I am on chemo!

Today, I felt almost normal...

Skipping one week of chemo has done wonders to my body and my spirit!

I have had no nausea today, which made me prompt Gabriel and Tania to go out for lunch. We went to one of my favorite restaurants in the center of Coyoacan, and I had one of my favorite pizzas...

I drank a can of coke zero, complete.

I worked for the whole day, which I haven't done in quite a while.

My throat didn't hurt and I had no headache.

And, I still had energy walked the doggies.

Today, the sun was shining and I felt not sick.

What about this rock star???

Or, to be true to reality, what do you think about me rocking this punk-ish wig?
I took this pic on friday, when I was still sick, going for my blood tests. I am all covered up because of that...

The funniest part of it was that the nurse told me that my hair style was amazing, and she asked how long it takes to get it in place every morning... I said 5 seconds :)

So, I like it. This is the wig I like best.

More to come...

A break!! It sounds like the best gift ever!

I fell sick yesterday, with my body temperature dropping to 35 C. If I had been feeling flu-like for the last four weeks, yesterday got really bad. Gabriel called the doctor, who gave us two options: a sprint to the ER or start taking antibiotics immediately and see if something improved. We chose the latter.

Today was not as bad, but I spent the whole day in bed, feeling more or less like crap. When we called the oncologist to give our report of the day, he said that I was officially on vacation. No chemo for me this week!!!!

I. Cannot. Believe. It.

This is the best piece of news I could get. I am sooooo exhausted of this weekly drill, and I feel so weak and with so many different pains shooting through my body. My scar has been hurting a lot. My whole left side, from the waist up, is tender if I touch it. My arm is in pain. My eyes and my throat are sore.

A break. Oh. My. Dog. Thank you, I badly needed it.

Cancer in my family...

Today, seven year ago, my mum died. In my room, at 67, of cancer.

At the beginning, when we got the diagnosis, the most difficult part was to distance myself from the experience of taking care of my mum and helping her die. Inevitably, I would think of her pain, her suffering, her slow decline and, then, her very fast fall at the end. I didn't really think that I would die of cancer, but I dreaded what lied ahead.

During the last four months, I have learnt a lot:

- I have the most loving, caring, sweet and fantastic partner EVER. I feel soft and cuddled in his arms. I love Gabriel more than I could ever think, and feel more loved than I ever have before.
- I have the best chosen family I could possibly dream of. I have received countless demonstrations and tokens of love, constantly, from close and far.
- I have two little creatures who keep me warm every day, internally and externally.
- I have the most supportive work environment, which is giving me time and space to heal.
- I have access to superb medical care, because my work pays for a superb medical insurance.
- Despite feeling that I have lost my hair and my youth, I am young and strong, and poisoning myself relentlessly is NOT killing me.
- Notwithstanding the nausea, pain, dizziness, lack of energy and bleeding through my nose, I feel good ever day, at least for a couple of hours.

My mum had almost none of the above. It breaks my heart to realize how hopeless her situation was. But it also makes me realize that there is nothing in common between her cancer story and mine.

I am surviving.

First of a series of pics...

Because you want to see my face, see that I am still myself despite all the poison and the toll on my hair, and because you love my sparkly eyes.

I already have a collection of wigs, and will start getting pics every time I wear one, so that you all can see these crazy looks that I am pulling off.

Meanwhile, enjoy me in the expression of my African self. :)

Today is freezing cold...

As usual on a good Sunday, we are in bed, watching the games. I am almost scared of moving, because I do not want to feel the cold wind from outside. Mostly, I don't want to feel the cold on my head. I am not used to getting cold on my head. But that is what happens when you have no hair.

My little hats and caps are cute, but uncomfortable. My head starts itching after a while. I have been using African head wraps, which I LOOOOVE and which look very nice. I am getting good at tying them up. This is my opportunity to feel like an African queen, and to remember that my spiritual homeland is across the ocean, waiting for me to come back, feeling strong and beautiful.

Meanwhile, I am in bed, with a head wrap. Kinda funny. Kinda weird. But not cold.

And so it went away...

In this case, as in many many more, images say more than a thousand words.

Gabriel keeps smiling, and says that I look like the bald little boy in The Matrix... You know, the one who bends a spoon by looking at it and says, with grave intensity, when questioned about how he does it: "...try to realize the truth--there is no spoon".

So, I am trying to realize my own truth, namely, that my (non-existent) hair is only relevant as far as it symbolizes every little battle we are fighting to get my hair, my youthful and energetic self and my health back.

Today I feel almost normal...

I have been on sleeping pills for a week now, and it is doing wonders for me. I am rested, and feel much more like myself. My energy levels continue to be low, but overall I am feeling more like a human being, and less like a lifeless piece of damp cloth.

Friday was my fifth chemical romance. The toxicity was adjusted since nr. 4. This has also helped a lot. I am in less pain and discomfort, my nausea is not relentless and my stomach doesn't cramp. Next Friday I will hit the middle of my weekly sessions!

Given that today I feel almost normal, I will behave accordingly. I am getting ready to walk the two little hairy creatures that are sleeping lazily. After that, I will watch Gabo take his last aikido seminar session. And I will not talk about being sick--I am sick of becoming my sickness!

I want to feel alive, and smiley, and sunny and happy!

I have never been good at poetry...

but here is an attempt to display the feelings that all of you have made me feel this week.
Thank you for so much love!


I am spending the day,
Thinking of those who are dear to my heart,
Who are near, who are far, of my life a part,
Who are sending their thoughts across oceans and hills.

Yesterday I was surrounded by an African ovation,
I felt happiness, empathy and realization,
Because around the world my friends think of me,
Keeping me strong, bold, beautiful and complete.

Today a string of poems arrived,
On the blog, in my email-- full of life,
Making me smile and light up like a a star,
Who is certain it shines even when afar.

I was terrified to be sick, to feel brittle and alone,
But the love that surrounds me feels like home,
It gives me strength, 
It gives me courage,
To continue walking toward my own recovery.

My first handful of hair...

...happened on Sunday. The lagartas had come to visit and we had a very very nice time, laughing and dancing around. Once they left, I crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately.

When I woke up, and passed my hand through my hair, I was shocked to find that a handful of hair had come off without the smallest effort. We had been expecting this to happen anytime. Nevertheless, I started crying like a little girl and curled up into a ball on Gabo's side. I fell asleep again, immediately. Ignorance is bliss.

The difference between rational awareness and emotional experience is weird. I knew this was gonna happen. I did not dread it particularly--I am much more scared of vomiting without control, for instance (maybe because that was one of the hardest things to watch with my mum). But the shock of it actually happening still came as a surprise.

Today Gabo will have another moment of amusement, cutting my hair once again. Short. Very, extremely short. Almost unexistent.

The time of the wig culture is about to start.

Flash bulbs in my head...

That is what I see when I close my eyes.... Flashbulbs going off with each of my heartbeats.

This is my 4th chemotherapy session, and I am fighting not to fall asleep. But, the antihistamines are working, and my eyes are tired and heavy.

I try to stay awake, not because I really want to, but because I am waiting for Gabriel. He went for lunch, and promised to bring back for me a deliciously decadent cheese cake. I am craving it... It is worth not falling asleep.

But I can't help it--my eyes are closing and my mind is shutting down. I am writing in darkness (phrase stolen from the English Patient). This Mexican patient is falling ZZZzzzzzzzz.

Thursdays seem like a good option...

...at least, this week.

Today I felt great! No headache, no nausea, no cramps, nothing! I had energy!!! I was all upbeat, instead of all beaten up! Nice change.

I made use of my energy and good mood to film a message addressing the global gathering that will take place next week in Tanzania, which I worked on during the whole year, and which I will obviously not attend. It felt bittersweet.

One of my doctors told me that I had two choices: I could see the cancer as something that is ruining all my plans and work, and therefore resist it, be miserable and frustrated. The other choice was to see it as an opportunity to prioritize myself, take care of myself, and understand that everything else falls behind because I come first.

I am trying to stick to the latter. But I can't help feeling that I am missing out on tons of things. I don't want to be sick, and I have only been an obedient patient because I feel like crap. But as soon as I feel good, even if only for one day, I want to jump on a plane and fly to Dar es Salaam.

Conclusion: yes, I am an extrovert. But, I am ALSO stubborn and still not ready to give up on being invincible, at least in my head.

The dilemma of being an extrovert...

...and being sick at home.

I have been wondering why I am feeling like garbage lately. I mean, the inevitable answer seems to be that I have cancer (or maybe no longer),and that every single week I have a drip that flushes poison through my body--while flushing my fridays into complete oblivion. All the nausea, dizziness, stomach pain,flu symptoms, shivers and insomnia can be related back to that and, therefore, are easily explained.

But is that really everything? Does it really account for my weakness, my sadness, my wish to stay in bed every day and drag myself only to the couch in Gabriel's office?

Ann told me that the problem is that as an extrovert, the isolation and lack of stimulation that my treatment is imposing on me is taking its toll. I do not get the external energy I normally feed on, the challenges that stimulate my mind and my spirit, the constant interaction that pushes me yet another step ahead.

When I was a tiny girl with pigtails and scratches on my knees, I would cover my eyes with my hands believing that if I couldn't see others, they would not be able to see me.

It seems that I haven't kissed goodbye the little girl. Right now, I am worrying that because I am grounded by cancer, and I am not seeing and interacting with the world, I will turn invisible to all the people I am normally connected to.

Maybe this is an opportunity, as Warren said, to learn that my friends love me for who I am, and not for what I do. It might also be an opportunity to learn about introverts, and how energy can be derived from within. Maybe, it is just an experience I needed to have at some point.

I don't like Mondays...

...and will not start liking them again, unless I feel different. Today was positively AWFUL. I have had nausea all day long, since I woke up until now, 45 min to midnight.

My head aches, my eyes hurt, my tummy is in pain.

Quite disgusting.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Good night AND good luck...

Gone in 60 seconds...

Today was not easy. I have been feeling weak and sick-ish, my eyes and my throat hurt, and I am positively exhausted. Traffic was so bad that we did not make it to the appointment with the arm doctor. (After you have lymph nodes removed from under your arm, you are forever at risk of developing lymphedema--a chronic condition in which your arm swells due to excess fluids that cannot be drained). We turned around half way, to accomplish yet another impossible mission: finding a wig.

I have always loved wigs. I have two party wigs. But today was a flying disaster. I hated all the wigs I tried on. They were boring, awful and made me look gray and sick. There was only one that Gabriel thought was kinda fun, and I liked it a bit. I got that one. I also ordered another one, which might turn out right. We shall wait and see... (I will post pics when I start wearing them, so that you can let me know which is your favorite).

The highpoint of the day came at night. It was time to cut my hair. Not shave, just cut very short. We were looking forward to it, because my hair had become opaque and lifeless. Gabriel was cutting away, giggling--I was his first-ever victim in the hair styling department. Seeing him enjoy the task made me smile and feel good. When I saw myself, I was even happier. I look so much better now! At least in appearances, part of my sickness was gone in 60 seconds. I look a little bit funky, a little bit mischievous, and a lot like my normal self.

Just a couple of stitches...

Yesterday we had an appointment with my favorite oncologist--the one who cut out the tumor with clean margins and removed 14 lymph nodes, without leaving any clearly visible traces. Yes, to those of you who have not seen me, my heroic boob gave up all of that and still looks as if nothing happened. :) I think it is a sheer matter of size. :)

But let me get back to the story. So, we went to see the oncologist, and when he examined the scar he said "oh, it is not closing properly". In the following five minutes, he stuck all kinds of materials into a tiny hole that was, effectively, not healing right. He cleaned it vigorously (making it twice the size it was before), cut the edges off and stitched it together. D.O.N.E.

I cringed and squeaked and squealed, because it was nerve-wrecking. But it did not hurt, because I have no sensation across my underarm and part of the heroic boob. Today, it actually looks like the hole will close up.

To end with a heart-warming image: Vala and Alice went to Sunday's breast cancer march, proudly sporting a big H each on their t-shirts. I feel sooooooooo loved!

Thank you all for your comments, emails and messages!

Two down, fourteen to go...

I had my second chemo session last friday. Again, it took long long hours. Gabo was flying back from Europe, and Manu took me to the hospital. We arrived at 1.30 pm and got home at 10.30 pm. The whole process is kinda exhausting.

To those of you who haven't seen me, I have a port for chemotherapy. It was surgically placed under my skin and connected to a vein in my neck. Yes. It sounds like in the Matrix. (Manu says that I can dream of being Neo...)

When I arrive at the hospital, they clean the skin above the port and stick a considerably impressive needle into it. The next step is drawing blood out of there, then rinsing it, and then hooking me up to IV. And then begins the prelude to my chemical romance... I get steroids, so as to survive the atomic bomb about to be dropped; antihistaminics, to avoid violent allergic reactions; and antiemetics, to prevent uncontrolled vomiting. This takes about three hours. After that, I am ready for yet another three hours of Taxol, the substance that will kill any remaining cancer cells. (More about the niceties of Taxol next time).

The big surprise with session 2 was that I got insomnia, and couldn't sleep at all from Friday to Saturday. While I was lying in my bed, awake, I was imagining an army of chemotherapy raging through my body, wiping out good and bad. But I couldn't feel a thing. Saturday was strange, because of the lack of sleep. Sunday was a killer. I was completely wiped out, weak and exhausted. But Gabo was already here, making everything OK. He is like a wizard. The most loving wizard of all.

Let's find out what surprises follow...

Your life is about to change forever...

This is how I felt when the doctor told me that I had cancer. Like Kermit the Frog, hearing that he is nothing but a puppet governed by someone else’s hand.

No control over my life.

The sensation of lack of control accentuates as you try to understand what is going on, what needs to happen, what are your options, how to choose… Every single step is a reaffirmation of your very own lack of control over what is happening to you.

Together with lack of control comes the endless feeling of profound disempowerment and uncertainty.

“Can I really do whatever I want? Or do I owe it to my beloved partner, my family, my dearest friends, all of those who believe that I am Wonder Woman and beyond, to put up a tough and protracted battle against this disease? Do I want to subject myself to being cut open, maimed, poisoned, and radiated with the hopeful perspective of being, ultimately, reassembled and reinserted into the beautiful life?”

The answer to these questions is yes.

And so as to make sense out of the answer, and the questions, and in order to gain myself back in the process, reach deeper into myself, and deeper into you, I am starting this blog. I am sorry to say that it will not always be fun—it might even come to be impossibly dark. But it will be my honest attempt to transmit to all of you, near and far, who love me and wonder how I am, what it is that I am going through.

These are the cancer diaries of Toxic HH, a.k.a. Flying Piglet, a.k.a. Cosmic Mouse.