What if...?

The connotation when one thinks of the giant C-word isn't usually a good one. Cancer doesn't present itself at your doorstep in a suit and tie with a bouquet of flowers. It shows up out of nowhere, ready to destroy everything you are.

When I think of cancer, I actually think of a lot of things and one of the biggest things is, what would my life be life if I never had cancer?

Truth is, no one's life is perfect. I think we all know that. Everyone has their problems whether it be at work, at home, at school, illnesses, deaths, breakups, whatever. Each and every person has demons that they face but have you ever really thought about what your life would be like if you never had those issues?

I wonder what mine would be like sometimes if I was never born with cancer - if I were "normal." If I had things my way, I would be an author with an insane amount of books under my belt. I would have three dogs, in a huge house, with a nice car. Maybe a husband. But, reality is that that's not my life.

Life had different plans for me and your life may have different plans for you. Who's to say we shouldn't enjoy how our cards are handed to us, whether we think it sucks or not.

I wonder how my life would have played out if I never had cancer.

I wouldn't be worried about every pain or ache I get in my body. I wouldn't be scared that the cancer could come back and that I'd have to go through treatment again. Every possible pain I get floods my memory with hospitals, needles, my port, chemo...

I wouldn't have lost my long hair. I would have felt like I looked normal.

I wouldn't have gained so much weight after treatment because I would have stayed on my healthy lifestyle that I had made for myself. I wouldn't be beating myself up day in and day out because of my outer appearance post-cancer.

There are a lot of things that I wonder about and how my life would be if I didn't have cancer, but then I remember what cancer has taught me...

Its taught me to be strong. I'm proud to say that I'm one of the strongest people I know.

Its taught me to love each and every day, the good and the bad (and the boring).

I've met some of the most amazing people on the way who have become life-long friends.

I'm proud of the outlook on life cancer has given me. I wouldn't trade that for all the healthy days in the world. It's a blessing to be alive.

Body Image and Cancer

I'm going to go off the grid a little bit today and talk about something non-writing related. Since this blog is aimed at young adult writers (and just young adults in general), I feel that talking about this issue and bringing some light to it could help others who feel the same way and somewhat feel isolated because of their feelings.

*Disclaimer: If you have a weak stomach and don't like to look at "graphic" images, I suggest you leave this post now.*

In a world where body image is the main concern of our society, where exactly do young adults (or any age for that matter) cancer survivors fit into the mix? We're not exactly the cookie-cutter image of good health and beauty. We have scars, implants, bald heads, no eyebrows or eyelashes and the list goes on.

Nobody says they want to look like the "ideal cancer patient." Nobody wants to look weak and frail or so blown up from steroids that they can't recognize themselves in the mirror anymore. Beauty falls on the celebrities or your hottest friend who just dropped 50lbs (that she certainly didn't need to lose in the first place). Women want to have long, luscious hair that reaches their butts. We all want abs of steel and will sweat out countless hours in the gym every day just to make some attempt to get them.

I know when I was first diagnosed, the fear of losing my hair was one of the scariest thoughts that ran through my head. Now looking back I'd like to slap myself. Oh silly me. My looks were the very first thing that popped into my head - not my impending health with a very real chance of dying. Nope, my long, beautiful brown hair was my first concern.

After my first surgery I had a giant scar running down my stomach. One of my first reactions when the bandage was removed was "I'll never wear a bikini again." Seriously, that was all I cared about, not the fact that the surgeons had just removed some of my cancer - I was worried about what kind of bathing suit would cover up my scar.

This scar had consumed my mind. All I wanted was some Bio-Oil or some magical cream to cover up the hideous cut that ran across the stomach I had worked so hard to get (after losing 50+ lbs).

My second surgery was the exact same thing, except this time, I was worried about how ugly the scar would look since the doctors would be cutting into the same place they had cut the first time. How much uglier could my stomach get?

The cancer wasn't my first worry which it should have been, but of course, being a 20-something year old, my health wasn't my first issue. I had plenty of years left to worry about my health. I was young, fit and had a whole life ahead of me. I needed to look half-decent, right? Oh silly me again.

Once the bandage came off from my second surgery, I couldn't help but feel utter disgust for myself. Whatever the doctors had done to my previously gross stomach, they turned it into a hack-job this time. My belly button was no longer a belly button, only a slit in my stomach (hello naval reconstruction!) and my scar was longer than before. The staples they used to close me up were messy and I just wasn't a happy camper. I started Googling stomach reconstruction in Canada.

The thought of my selfishness at the time makes me want to slap myself. Here I was, laying in a hospital bed with the people who loved me the most surrounding me and all I cared about was how my vanity would be affected. I hadn't even thought about the aggressive treatments that were around my corner in the months/year to follow. I hadn't thought about how I might potentially die. I mean, I was 20-something, I was invincible, right? Wrong. I wasn't. I had cancer and the truth was, death could quite possible be right around the corner for me but in this beauty and body image consumed world, I fell short of being the "ideal cancer patient" that was supposed to "help others." I was self-absorbed.

After a while, things started changing. I started chemotherapy and before I knew it, my long locks were cut to the floor and I was sporting a pixie cut. I had never had short hair and to be honest, it was kind of a relief to not have such heavy hair dragging on my head. But at that time, I would have given anything to have it back.

The short pixie cut soon became handfuls of hair on my pillow, in the sink, even in my mouth?! Enough was enough. Trying to look like a "normal" girl my age just wasn't possible for me. It was time to look like a cancer patient. I knew the inevitable was upon me.

So I shaved my head. It was one of the most awkward times of my life. Never had I remotely come close to having no hair. My beauty standards were officially out the window.
It wasn't long before my eyelashes and eyebrows had no hope of their own. They were soon to follow which meant I would have to use a ton of eyeliner and eyebrow pencil to make myself look like I had somewhat of a normal face. Fake eyelashes just weren't a possibility for me. They should have a cancer beauty school where they teach you to do these things, sigh.

After a while, I got used to the bald-headed me and started to go out in public (when I wasn't in the hospital) without my wig. I started to embrace the fact that this was me and this was the way I looked now, so I might as well rock it. And rock it I did. I had a pretty sweet bald head and if people stared, I would either be extremely ballsy and stare back with a type of hey-whatchu-looking-at face or I'd simply ignore them. I knew what they were thinking - "Does she have cancer? Oh poor girl." Boo hoo, poor me right? Society felt terrible for me. I felt terrible for society that I didn't fit the standards of what "normal" was. I wasn't your cookie-cutter 20-something year old. My hair was no longer down to my butt and I didn't have the perfect body. I felt bad for how people think they have to look a certain way in order to feel beautiful. For the first time, I felt beautiful as a cancer patient and I continued to barely ever wear a wig.

They don't tell you when you get your port or lines put in how to "style" them. "How am I supposed to hide these tubes coming out of my chest?" They don't teach you how to cover your scars or how to explain to people why you have these devices planted inside you. Ports and lines are the fashion of the cancer world (along with your awesome bald head, of course). I remember comparing with tons of cancer patients I met along the way what kind of line we had. But they all had one thing in common, they wanted to cover up their scars. Instead of being proud that they didn't have to get their veins poked and prodded with needles anymore and this device was ultimately saving their lives, they were worried about how to hide it. Yet again, society's standards wins.

I didn't know "chemo nails" were a thing until I discovered them on my own. My fingernails and toenails would split, crack, make lines on their own, everything...it was a mess. I talked to one of my cancer pals about it and she said she would cover them up with nail polish. Easy solution. Conforming to society again.

All in all, I learned that society is what is ugly. No matter what you look like - if you're black, white, 400lbs, 50lbs, cancer patient, etc. it doesn't matter. Everyone is beautiful in their own skin. Never conform to someone else's standards of what they think you should look like. That is what is wrong with the world today. We feel like we need to conform to the standards of how we should look.

I challenge you to look in the mirror and be happy with how you look, not just today, but every day. If you are healthy, that's all that matters. And remember, you are ALWAYS beautiful no matter what.

No Pain, No Gain

Cancer was brought into my life at the most awkward time - I was in university studying English Language and Literature, hoping to pursue a degree in Secondary Education so I could teach high school then the C-bomb came along.

Cancer popped up again after my life had taken a different direction and I had finished college for a hairstyling diploma. There it was again, peeping its ugly head around the corner.

I'm not going to rant about my cancer story (and for those of you who call it a 'journey', stop now. It ain't no journey). That's for a different post. I wanted to bring up the topic that falls heavily into my cancer story and that is that I actually wrote about it. For Camp NaNoWriMo this past April, I wrote a novel called "Sh!t Happens." Yes, it has the word shit in the title. Get over it.

I was constantly told during my treatments that since I'm a writer, I should try writing about my experience with cancer. At the time, the last thing I wanted to do was write about being sick all the time. I had to live it each day so the furthest thing from my mind was putting it into words when I could barely write things I wanted to write in the first place.

My first manuscript that I started in 2013 was put on hold during my struggle with cancer. It irritated me so much that cancer could so easily take away something I worked so hard on for so long and there was nothing I could do to fight back. Every single time I thought about trying to write my manuscript, I couldn't because it was not my best work. I didn't want to write something if I wasn't 100% into it. I didn't want to write pure shit. But that's what it was becoming on those rare few days when I could manage to sit at my laptop and hit the keys on my keyboard. It was total garbage.

I went into a state of depression. Everyone thought I was depressed because of the cancer, the fact that I was dying and all the brutal side effects that came with it. Yes, that upset me but in all honesty, I was more upset about the fact that I could die knowing that I never finished my manuscript. It sounds stupid and that I should have been more focused on my health rather than my writing but when you're put in the cancer shoes, nothing matters to you only your one true love - mine was (and is) writing.

Days spent in hospital beds turned into long nights thinking about characters and plot development and how I may not get to finish telling my story that I had worked so hard and so long on. It had to be finished, that's all I cared about.

While everyone was focused on me, I was focused on my main characters, Cleo and Asha. As much as my life needed to be saved - I needed to save theirs in my novel.

Time went on and now looking back, I realize that through all my struggles with getting cancer at the age of nineteen and finishing treatments close to my twenty-third birthday had led me to this point. It made me see that I was born to do this. I was born to write and tell the story of Cleo and Asha.

I'm happy to say that as of this day, Cleo and Asha's story is in the editing process and I am currently working on query letters (if you don't know what that is, check out my other blog posts).

But with all that being said, I flash-backed to the time when everyone would tell me to write my cancer story and I actually managed to do that last month. After some time of healing and being able to talk about my struggle, I finally put it into words.

I learned that without my pain, there would be no gain of this story to have been written. I wrote about my neuroblastoma and how many people don't know about it and how it does happen in adults. Maybe some day there will be a cure, but right now I'm happy I'm alive and able to share my experience with you.

Book in the Spotlight: Lucid by Adrienne Stoltz and Ron Bass

Book in the Spotlight: Lucid by Adrienne Stoltz and Ron Bass

Happy first day of May everyone! To start off this month, I have decided to review the book called Lucid by Adrienne Stolz and Ron Bass. This book is fiction and is considered paranormal. The hardcover version has 343 pages.

This story is about two girls named Maggie and Sloane who live in completely different places, have completely different lives but somehow, they are intertwined into each other's lives.

Maggie is a teenage actress who lives in Manhattan with her mother and her sister. Sloane is a normal teenage girl with a loving family. Both girls have love interests. Maggie's love interests are Andrew and Thomas while Sloane's are James and Gordy.

What intertwines Maggie and Sloane is that at night they dream about each other's lives. They only keep this biggest secret between the two of them in fear that they could lose the people they love most or everyone will think they are crazy. In a way, the two only have each other and have a bond that no one else could quite understand.

I hate to say it, but this book was dragged out for the first three-quarters. It wasn't until the last bit that things actually began to fall into place. The beginning and middle were filled with the dullness of Sloane's daily life and the ridiculousness of Maggie's life for a teenage actress.

It isn't until the last bit of the novel, where I actually got excited. The dullness had been dragged out long enough and the authors finally let us into the madness that should have started from the half-way point. I applaud the authors for keeping me on my toes but it was way too long. The ending tied up the story but I feel that there could have been so much more explained and so much more written.

I would give this novel a 2.5 out of 5. I had high hopes for Lucid but in the end was more disappointed than anything.