Tag Archives: cancer

Swimming

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I’ve been listening to an awful lot of Jack’s Mannequin lately. Singer, Andrew McMahon, was a teenhood idol of mine (Something Corporate anyone?). I was fortunate to see him honored at the 2014 Stupid Cancer conference in Las Vegas this past April. Andrew is not only a soulful artist but has thrived through a cancer battle of his own. It is no surprise that his music resonates even more with me now.

It is likely that I have listened to (and cried to) this song at least 100 times in the last week. It serves as a reminder to keep going despite the obstacles working against you.

Go ahead, take a listen, I’ll wait…

Here is where I get real with y’all. I’m swimming and swimming and goddamn the current is fierce.

I generally look normal, I’m working full time, and I’m social, right? Though I do not feel defeated, beneath the surface I am worn down to my core. The trial is physically so taxing and isolating. What’s worse is that there is no defined ending to keep my spirit afloat. Thank goodness I made an internet friend from Belgium on the same trial because there is literally only ONE person on the earth that can resonate exactly with what this is like (whattup again Trudie!).

On Tuesday I had my check up in Boston. I’ve been putting off writing about it until today because I am still processing. It wasn’t the worst news but it wasn’t the best either. My CT scan showed zero progress. It is exactly the same as it was in November. The exceptions are that the fluid-filled cysts(?) in my abdomen are slightly bigger (my doctors have no idea what they are or why they’re there). Additionally, the radiologists noted a thickening on parts of my colon and the eye doctor found trace amounts of fluid behind my retinas.

All in all this isn’t the worst news because the tumors aren’t growing so that means the drug is still kind of doing its job.

The disappointment comes from seeing no forward progress in light of all of the physical side effects that have been dragging me down. I could more easily push through the fatigue and vomitting and stomach aches and other bullshit if I was still crushing these tumors. But this time I didn’t and it was disappointing. For the umpteenth time, my medical group consoled me as I cried in the exam room (there has GOT to be a market for human tears. Please for the love of God, someone pay me for a tear donation! I’m a cash cow!).

So anyway, the doctors let me take a two week chemocation and plan to dose-reduce me when I am back on drug. I am also scheduled to have a consult with a GI in Providence as a precaution for my colon. So that’s that for now.

Generally speaking, I’m pleased that there has been no growth but the other part of me is like what the eff universe?! Cue Hulk Smash…

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After the visit, I did some soul searching. My quality of living has been disturbed and I know that I have the ability to return to a better physical and emotional space.

Work has generally been fine because the people I work with are incredibly remarkable human beings and they support me every damn day. That being said I have felt so sick and fatigued that I have let some other key areas of my life suffer:

1.) I am not eating well. By the time I get home from work all of the energy I mustered up is spent. I’ve reached my limit and I don’t eat in a way that nurtures my vessel. Paired with a poor appetite, it has not made for a situation where I am using food as medicine. A bowl of rice crispies sure as hell isn’t going to reduce the inflammation in my body or give me energy.

(***SIDENOTE: Thank you to my cousin Cris for juicing for me all weekend when we were in Florida! My body thanks you!!!)

I need nutritious food that will not be rejected by my sad chemo tummy. 

2.) I’m not maintaining my beautiful apartment as I would like to. Dishes will sit in the sink, floors will go unswept, clothes will sit in my hamper for days on end. I’ve never claimed to be a neat freak, I’m far from it. A small mess doesn’t bother me but when it accumulates it does. I’m again so exhausted physically AND emotionally that I can’t get myself to do simple tasks like this.

This is the negative self-talk that goes through my head: “There is only one of me for goodness sakes! How effing hard is it to wash a pan??? Whatever I don’t have it in me, I’ll do it tomorrow” Then I stick my head in the sand, pretend not to feel bad about my negligence, wrap myself up in a blanket and call it a day.

I need to maintain the harmonious environment that I have created by keeping my space clean and uncluttered.

3.) My emotional health has been fragile. I’m too hard on myself often. I compare my abilities to others that are not facing the same types of obstacles and expect too much of myself. I put on a facade that everything is just fine when deep down it’s really, really, hard. Aside from doing more yoga, exploring creative outlets, and talking to my social worker there is something else that will aid my emotional health and because I am stubborn, I rarely do it. I don’t ask for help enough.

I need to ask for help. 

If you are my friend, you may be thinking to yourself “well if she just asked I would totally help her!”

This is what I need you to know: 

1.) Sometimes I don’t know what I need. I have made it a point to prioritize and clarify some of my needs above for this reason.

2.) Asking for help makes me sometimes feel exposed and vulnerable.

3.) Asking for help with things like meals and cleaning makes me feel guilty that I am monopolizing time that you could be using for your own life. I cannot think of a single friend that would make me feel like a burden, but again, negative self-talk is a nasty bugger.

4.) Because I work full time and maintain a social life (not out clubbing but still out and about) I am afraid that I will be perceived as a fraud if I ask for help. It’s not obvious to others that my energy is depleted at the end of the day because I put on too good of a front sometimes. I would never want anyone mistake me for abusing their kindness.

5.) I love you, care for you, and don’t want to bring you down or make you worry.

Asking for the help of people that you love and care about is one of the hardest life lessons I’ve encountered. Giving up control and opening up my world in this way is hard. You may think nothing of picking up some groceries for me but I OVERTHINK it.

I have had many wonderful talks with my momma and boyfriend about accepting help. They have done a great job of helping me see from their lens that this disease makes them feel helpless too. What is in their realm of control is being able to assist with some of the things that I’m too worn out to do all the time. In a situation where all they can do is watch from the sidelines, it is important that I allow them to be active in this process in the ways that they do have control.

Please know that this is really hard for me but I am going to make an honest effort to be more transparent and do more asking (within reason, obviously).

My last note is a giant, enormous, thank-you to my cousins: Dave, Cris, Mason & Alex. They graciously shared their beautiful home with Cory and I in Florida last week. The trip was therapeutic and full of relaxation, laughter, and love. I have but a wee little family but boy are they amazing.

Now to come full circle, back to Jack:

“You’ve got to swim and swim when it hurts. The whole world is watching, you haven’t come this far to fall off the earth”-Jack’s Mannequin  

27th Birthday Musings

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On the surface birthdays are kind of weird, right? You rally your friends and family to celebrate you simply just being born (with little to no props to mama for housing you rent free for the better part of a year). You … Continue reading →

Remember when Christmas wasn’t ruined? HECK YEAH!

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So how is everyone holding up post-Christmas/Hanukkah/Holiday madness? We good?

I hope everyone enjoyed some time off, spent quality time with their families, and had a chance to recharge their batteries (or in the case of the Blythe family, got new batteries from Tom Tom).

After my epic, amazing, Hanukkah with family in Connecticut I had to head back to the littlest of Rhodey’s for work on Christmas Eve. Believe it or not I had not one but two student appointments. I was shocked but it certainly helped to move the morning along. Around 11:30am, President Machtley got on the horn and announced that Bryant would be closing at noon (surprise!) and if our supervisors said it was okay, we could leave right then. I’m pretty sure we had the lights off and door locked by 11:32.

Later that evening I was taken in by my second family and spent Christmas Eve with Katie Carlson’s family. Now that I’ve spent Christmas with them, and am basically a cousin, I think it is overdue that I legally change my name to Jessica Gail Sultaire-Blythe-Carlson-Cunha-Hart-O’Hara-Shmase. It has a distinctive ring to it and will secure my place in future secret santa’s. But on a more serious note I am so thrilled to have been included in both the Cunha and Blythe Christmas parties. As always I was made to feel at home like part of the family. I appreciate the warmth and unnecessary gifts (that I love so much!).

Thank you Bear Family!

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The best gift of all was snugs with my love, Major. How hard do you think it is to steal a big, dumb, dog roughly the size of a lion? Hypothetically of course…

I would like to thank everyone else that kindly extended invitations to spend Christmas with them! It was incredibly thoughtful to think of this lil’ jewbie on Christmas.

On Christmas day I turned down the gracious invitations because I had something else in mind. The past two Christmas’ were soured by illness and surgery. I know what it feels like to be in the hospital on Christmas (see last year’s Christmas Entry: Bah Hum Bug). Jewish or not, it sucks. It’s depressing and isolating. So this Christmas I was determined to go back to the hospital so I decided to sled off of my roof…KIDDING!!!!!!! I asked to be a volunteer.

I was hoping to volunteer in women’s oncology but there really was nothing established that I could do. In the future I might try to develop something. This is something I need to remember to tell the oncology advisory council (oh yeah I do that too now. It’s pretty awesome. More on that later). So instead I turned to Dr. Robison and The Izzy Foundation.

The Izzy Foundation built a gorgeous family room on the 5th floor of Hasbro Children’s Hospital that they staff with volunteers regularly for maintenance and periodic activities. My experience there was great but certainly different than I had imagined. There were less children than I anticipated, I only came across 3 in the 4 hours I spent there. It was mostly parents and family that were tired, rundown, and in search of respite (and coffee). I made friends with a 9 year old name Kyle after making him a hot chocolate. He was in and out of the room throughout the day and I was always happy to see him return. He didn’t tell my why he was in the hospital, nor did I ask but it was refreshing to see a smiling face despite his circumstances. Kids are awesome in that way. No matter how sick they are, when push comes to shove they are just kids who laugh and smile and want to play.

Many parents reminded me of my own. Each one was eager to tell their story. They needed to be heard so I listened. Between the burst appendices, mystery diagnoses, flu’s and pneumonia’s, each person had a unique story to share. Each person was stoic and brave for their children but clearly internally exhausted and fearful. I didn’t do anything special that day. I just made sure the room was clean and that patients and families were comfortable but I felt that my time couldn’t possibly be better utilized on that day.

For privacy I did not take photos of the families but I did take some of the room when it wasn’t being used:

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I definitely enjoyed my interactions with the families at Hasbro and certainly intend on volunteering in the Izzy Room for the Izzy Foundation again soon.

On that note I’m off to Connecticut to see a certain, handsome, bearded fellow. Spoiler Alert: It’s Cory. Sorry to everyone that was hoping that I’m secretly dating Gandalf.

Gandalf

Twas the Night Before Chemo: Take 2

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After much anticipation and a few trips back and forth to Boston tomorrow is the ACTUAL day that I will start my chemo trial. The format of the day, as explained to me, should be pretty painless (if you don’t count the needle accessing my chest port).

Arrive at 10am –> vitals & blood draw –> meet Dr. Birrer at 11am –> Take first dose of the study drug –> wait an hour –> EKG –> Home.  Hopefully it will not be much more complicated than that. I can handle that.

It is interesting to think about where I was on December 30, 2012. The night before I started chemo for the first time. I was a ball of nerves, sleepless, emotional, and hopped up on steroids. I imagined that my hair would fall out immediately and that the drugs would tear my flesh apart like an acid burn as it coursed through my veins. I had many expectations and fears that did not come to be. On the flip side I encountered side effects that I did not necessarily expect. Chemotherapy is such a mixed bag.

This time around I am going into the trial with an open mind. I am turning down the volume on the apprehension and anxiety that initially hit me when posed with this opportunity.  I am deliberately using the word opportunity because I have come to accept that this is a gift. I am  being offered the chance to try something completely new that has the potential to revolutionize how women with Ovarian Cancer are treated.

Today, I am okay and quite thankful for it.

The Pine Cone

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I had lunch with  a friend at work today. She is a fellow cancer crusher and beat the crap out of some breast cancer last year. Unfortunately due to the timing of my recurrence, the holidays, traveling, busy work schedules, and what have you, I was never able to tell her that I had recurred. In some respects it was harder for me to tell my cancer-crusher friends about my recurrence. I feared that I would trigger any lingering fears they had regarding their own medical challenges. It did not feel right to just send something like this through a work email:

To: Judy

From: Jessica

Subject: Womp womp

Hey Judy,

Any fun holiday plans coming up?  Oh by the way I have cancer again. How are you?

Keep it classy,

Your pal Jess

Needless to say, Judy ended up finding out through my blog. Two months later we were able to meet and talk about it. Now something you should know about Judy is that she has a phenomenal perspective when it comes to illness. We share a similar viewpoint that all of this chaos has to serve a purpose. With her insight came a bonus gift:

pinecone

She said that this is a very special pine cone. It came from a Sequoia tree.

YUP this kind of tree:

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Impressive, no?

Judy explained to me that in order for this little pine cone to turn into a massive and beautiful tree, it must burn. In order for Sequoia trees to regenerate, they must be exposed to the extreme element of wildfire.

The pinecone is now in my possession to remind me that through the chaos of the fire (cancer), I am on the other end determined, wiser, and stronger than before. No longer a mere pine cone.

What a beautiful metaphor.

Cancer as chronic

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Recently I feel as if I have been on an upswing. Perhaps I can attribute this to being back at work, going back to the gym (slowly), and socializing per usual. I have really enjoyed the way I have felt, both emotionally and physically.

Last year I wrote about a mental state that I fondly refer to as “cancer purgatory”. Cancer purgatory is when you’ve been treated but you’re not totally sure if you have no evidence of disease. Cancer purgatory haunted me last year. I hated the uncertainty of it. I despised the “living between the lines” as my mother so perfectly phrased it. I was not in the wrong for feeling that way. In fact, I am likely in the majority of cancer crushers that just want to do what they need to do and put it all behind them. It’s easier to compartmentalize in your head if it is black and white, cancer or no cancer.

Since having a recurrence my perspective about what this all means for my life is a lot different. Both Dr. Robison and Dr. Dizon have made me feel secure in the fact that medical science is in my favor. Just yesterday I went in to W&I for a check up and Dr. Robison told me that there is a MEK inhibitor trial starting next month that the most current literature finds to be quite promising. That didn’t exist a year ago. Basically I know that if this disease continues to “be a nuisance” (as Dr. Dizon put it) we will have more and more tools to fight it as the months and years go on should we need them (for the record, I do not need this trial at this time). I am in a place emotionally where I think about cancer on a regular basis but how I regard it is different. I feel that I am able to stay more present and can buy into the notion that this is a chronic and manageable disease instead of the Loch Ness Monster of medical conditions.

Right now I don’t know if there is evidence of disease or not. Regardless of the answer, it will not change how I continue to operate. Cancer has a funny way of scaring you and empowering you at the same time. As of this moment, it is fueling a lot of positive opportunities. I’ll take it.

funny-cancer-meme

January Unfolds

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A few people have mentioned that they were concerned that I haven’t been writing. Not to worry! I am alive and well. The past couple weeks of recovery have been great and I more or less feel back to normal. The only issue I have is still sleep related. I need to figure my sleep issue out quick because I go back to work in ten days and I must be bright eyed and bushy tailed for 8:30 am (thank goodness for free tea & coffee in the Gulski dining room). ZzzQuil has been my most trusted sleep aid but it also makes me sleep for 10-11 hours at a stretch so that is no good. I am sure that when I am working full days again I will tucker myself out enough to be on a more regulated sleep schedule.

So what have I been up to over the past few weeks? I have been taking advantage of programming at the hospital. For example last week I did a meditation/art group. It was SO relaxing. There was about 20-25 minutes of guided meditation and deep breathing. After that the instructor put out paper and paint and said: GO! We were free to create whatever came to us. Mine ended up being some sort of fierce fire goddess? I don’t know where she has been hiding but I definitely unleashed her on canvas.

 

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I loved how therapeutic the expressive arts session was and have done a little bit of painting at home as well. I’m no artist but I think I would have made my Grandma Esther and Uncle Eddie proud. I come from a long line of musicians and arts and I am mediocre at best in either category.

When I am at home I try my best to answer emails from my students. I am getting antsy and cannot wait to return to the office. I have tried to sneakily work my way back in but my director is looking out for my best interest and has told me to stay home until the return date established by my oncologist. I’m only a little more than a week away! Only a few short days until I can return to bantering with Krystal through my office wall and demanding that we have a window installed between our offices. Even though this time of the semester can be a bit crazy I certainly miss the face to face interaction with students. 

Otherwise I have focused my attention to my fundraiser which is fast approaching! I am so humbled by the number of people that have RSVP’d and expressed interest in contributing! I sat down with Donna, the president of the RI chapter of the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition and we hit it off. I am very interested in the work that this organization does and look forward to participating in their OC walk in September. She told me that at the walk they used to have a moment of silence for our departed OC fighters. They have since replaced the silence with a new tradition. Making as much noise as possible!!! OC is nicknamed “the silent killer” so I admire Donna and her team for wanting to take the silence out of the equation.

What struck me the most about my conversation with Donna was hearing her niece’s story. Her niece, Jessie, was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer at age 18 and lived vibrantly until the very end. Her story left me a bit more than misty eyed. I want to use this opportunity to fundraise for a cause that has significantly altered my life. Now it has a second purpose, to honor the life of a young woman that meant so much to this community. I wish I had the chance to meet her on earth but I know that she is with us, breathing life into what we are doing. 

If you are thinking of joining us the details of the fundraiser can be seen below! Wayland Square is a great little neighborhood. If you’re looking to make a night of it perhaps you can grab a drink or dinner at Farmstead or Redstripe then make your way over! 

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There will be light refreshments served and free LIVE music courtesy of the ever talented ladies of The Sugar Honey Iced Tea. Music will begin after 7:30!

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Again, if you cannot make it you may still make an order over the phone:

1.) Browse a beautiful selection of jewelry at: www.alexandani.com and make your selection 
(*Please note: the NOCC will NOT receive 15% proceeds on any discounted items or items from the Charity by Design collection)

2.) Call: 401-919-5467, the location of our fundraiser between 7-9pm EST and an Alex And Ani representative will take your order. Please tell the store representative that you are calling in support of 
The National Ovarian Cancer Coalition fundraiser! Your order will be mailed to you!

I am excited for this event! I cannot wait to see everyone there!

 

A zebra amongst horses

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You know your life is jacked up when you are delivering the following as “good news”.

Good news everyone! I went to Mass General in Boston yesterday, escorted by the lovely Sheila Enderby (my chemo nurse). We had a consult with Dr. Dizon, a former W&I colleague of my oncologist. I entered with the intention of learning about a trial chemo that I qualified for at the recommendation of my gyn. oncologist.

I sat in the little examination room with Sheila before the Doctor came to see me. Anxiety through the roof. A sweet, 24 year-old medical student came in and took an extensive history. As much as I liked her, my nerves were getting the best of me, and I wanted to rip her head off if she asked me ONE more time the age of my first menstrual cycle. I think she was nervous and trying to be thorough. Seriously though, how many times do I need to answer the same questions? After the medical history interrogation, the doctor finally came in an hour and 3 minutes later (but who was counting?).

When Dr. Dizon walked in, I instantly loved him. He is a small, stylish, Filipino man. He wore a purple velour sport coat and matching purple socks. His outfit was completed with a bow tie. He put the CT scans on his computer and we looked at the images together. He showed me exactly what I was looking at and pointed out where the tumor is. You could tell that he was surprised and relieved to see that it was small and only in one location.

He confidently told me that it was his professional opinion that treatment beyond surgery is unnecessary at this time. I think we all let out a collective sigh of relief as there were talks of chemo initially. Cue twisted thinking: Thank goodness it’s only a little bit of cancer! Thank goodness I only need another major abdominal surgery!

He said “On this earth there are horses and there are zebras. You my dear, are definitely a zebra.” This is a really polite way of saying that it is effing bizarre that I have the disease that I do. He also said something that helped me to reframe my thinking surrounding this illness. He is a straight shooter and flat out told me that this may not be the end. This could be the beginning of many more recurrences. He basically said to consider it to be like my own version of diabetes. It’s not ideal, it’s not good, but as it comes we will treat it to the best of our ability. If it comes back we cut it out. Grow tumor, find tumor, zap tumor, lather, rinse, repeat.

So many times over the past week my friends and family have heard an emotionally-taxed me say “is this really my life?” Dr. Dizon essentially said yes, this is your life, but we will do everything we can to manage it. Before the goal was to never do this again. I was sure that my cancer was one and done. His honesty forced me to embrace the fact that, yup, this is my reality. Who knows, maybe I’ll never have a recurrence again, or maybe I will. Either way right now, it’s not a death sentence.

This has not stopped me from thinking about mortality. I know you’re thinking, “oh stop you’re going to live until you’re 96 like the rest of us poor souls. Stop being dramatic.” I am sure that I am scaring my mother right now by writing about death (Sorry Mom, but don’t worry. I still plan to outlive you). I had a long existential life talk with Sheila yesterday and I realized that I am less afraid to die and more afraid to live an unfulfilled life.

It may sound extreme to think about but sometimes you have to go to that dark land of “what if” sit with the irrational fears, grieve, make peace, and come back up for air. So that is what I am doing. Problems only arise when you get lost in the land of “what if”. Do not fret my friends, I do not intend to stay there. It’s healthy to visit but not to move in.

My biggest fear surrounding living with the prospect of continued disease is having it prevent me from reaching my goals. I’ll be damned if cancer-recurrence prevents me from traveling, publishing written works, celebrating the accomplishments of friends and family, growing professionally, watching my students graduate, adopting children, and/or marrying my future best friend (TBA). If living with disease means needles, blood work, surgery, recovery, hospital beds, CT scans, and medication, so be it. After last year, short of getting shot in the face with an AK-47, I can handle any physical challenge that comes my way. I just don’t want to miss out or continually feel like my life is on hold. Although looking back at my photo review of the past year I guess I did a better job of “getting busy living” than I thought. Perhaps this is all within my control more than I think.

End rant.

Anyway, I will be channeling my inner Esther Garbus as I approach surgery #5 with feisty energy. Perhaps I’ll also channel the “I don’t deserve this crap” anger into scaring the piss out of my tumor so it never grows back.

On a lighter note I had the most lovely day in Boston post-oncology consult with Sheila. My chemo nurse, on her day off mind you, took the time to come to my appointment with me cross state lines and proceeded to take me out for celebratory cocktails after at the Liberty Hotel:

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This is the selfie we texted to Dr. Robison, my primary oncologist, after receiving news of no chemo:

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I am so lucky to have this medical team. They are family. I don’t know many other medical professionals that care more about their patients than these people. I love that I can go to an oncology consult and follow it up with lunch and cocktails with my nurse. We can talk about life and death and laugh about it. It’s remarkable.

I’ll end by saying thank-you again for the continued support! I will be updating the chronicles as details unfold regarding surgery and recovery timeline.

With love and gratitude,

Jess

“We’ll go up, up, up and everything will be just fine”

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I am feeling such a surge of positive energy! I don’t know where it came from, or why, but I am not one to ask questions. If I am feeling on top of the world, I’ll take it. Perhaps it is because I have been channeling the vibrant and brave energy of Zach Sobiech by listening to his song non-stop today:


I am in week three of the Transition to Survivorship group. I find that not a ton of what we  cover fully applies to me. For example, this past week a representative from Livestrong came to teach us exercises to help with cording and lymphoma (common in breast cancer patients). She is operating under the assumption that we are all breast cancer survivors. This is true for most of the group, but not all of the group. I am happy to see that some members reaped the benefit of her presentation so it was not at all a waste of time. Part of being in a support group is supporting each other more than getting support for yourself.

What I have gained from this group is an ongoing opportunity to be introspective. We often talk about “what is my place in all of this?” more than “why me?” I am certain that every woman in this group has anger and resentment regarding this illness but generally I hear people saying “what can I do now?” in a productive sense.

I think about this constantly. I lived. My chances of dying were huge and apparent but I got to live. What now? This is two dimensional. One dimension is “what do I need now” and “what can I DO now”.

What I NEED:

What I need is the camaraderie of young cancer survivors. I need to talk to an interact with other young people that are facing/have faced this disease in one way or another. Today I took action. I joined the www.studpidcancer.org facebook page for the Northeastern chapter. Stupid Cancer is an organization that supports and advocates for young people with cancer. There was a regional conference in Boston that I missed but other than that I haven’t seen much activity in my area. So I took the plunge and decided to post on the facebook page. I simply asked if there were any other young people in the Providence/Boston area that are involved in Stupid Cancer events or meet ups. It turns out that I am not the only one because within a few hours I had nine responses! It seems as if I am not the only young survivor feeling a little isolated. I proposed that it would be fun to have a little meet up event like dinner/drinks/bowling/etc. The social aspect is really important often more than an intense support group. It’s just really nice to know that someone knows, REALLY knows, what you are going through. In the upcoming months I hope to organize something between Providence and Boston to get together some with young survivors for a fun evening. I will keep you posted if this comes to fruition.

What I can do:

Now that I am healthy, strong, and have my normal life back, I am in a position to give back. I expressed this to my group on Tuesday. I feel like because I was so well taken care of, I owe the world in some karmic way. Little by little in small ways I will repay the kindness of others by putting that energy back into the world to the best of my ability. Thanks to the Livestrong rep I learned that I can host a fundraising party with a local business. I have emailed the local RI chapter of the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition to propose an idea for a fundraising/awareness event in Providence. I do not want to reveal too many details until I have confirmation that I can represent this charity as a third party fundraising host but my fingers are crossed that it works out. Again, I will provide more details as they unfold. Even if I raise $100 it is a tiny bit more that we can use to find preventative care for women to screen for Ovarian Cancer.

Also- I want to publicly congratulate a dear friend of mine, Eli Dunn on his engagement to his beautiful girlfriend Pam. From the moment I met Pam I knew she was “the one” I wish all the happiness in the world to a wonderful couple.

Finally, I want to wish my Dad a very happy birthday! I will always be your little girl. Thank you for the love and support, always. Have the best birthday of your life!!!!