The Ten Commancerments (?)...that was stupid.

So yeah I suck and didn't post on Monday when I said I was gonna post on Mondays.  But in my defense, Grease opened this weekend:  (so here's my shameless plug)  315-479-SHOW

And also, my boyfriend came from Pittsburgh to see it, and visited until this morning, so naturally we went to Seabreeze yesterday, which kept me from posting.  I'm sure you were all eagerly awaiting the post.                                               YAY MATT!

I guess I was just too damn busy for y'all.  But anyhoo.  I thought about what I wanted to write about.  YAY THOUGHTS!  And I decided I would reflect on a question I was recently asked and puzzled by.   A friend of mine was telling me about someone she knew who was just diagnosed with cancer, and she wasn't sure how she should behave, act, or treat the person now.

    

Well, you would think I'd know exactly what to say.  But I really have no idea.  I still don't know how to behave around people who have cancer even though they are my very own brethren.  (wowww brethren!  good word!)

So I came up with a no holds-barred, no bullshit, blunt guide on how to approach a situation with someone who has cancer.  We'll just say the person with cancer's name is Jesse, because it's a perfectly plausible name for a cancer survivor/fighter.

*First of all, don't be a pussy.  I'm sorry to be so crude, but I don't feel like I can effectively get my point across without doing so.  Jesse has already made the decision to fight this thing head on, and is therefore not behaving like a pussy.  So if you come into the room all teary and sniffly and crying, you are being a pussy and Jesse has no time for you.  SERIOUSLY.

*Secondly, Jesse's hearing has not been affected by the cancer or the treatment.  Therefore you do not have to speak louder or softer than you normally would.  DO NOT TALK TO JESSE IN A PATRONIZING TONE LIKE SHES A FREAKING PUPPY.  You know what I mean?  When people get that whiny, sympathetic, soft tone to their voice and get really close to your face???  You shouldn't do that to Jesse, especially because if the Jesse in question is anything like me. (also a Jesse)..she is ready and willing to slap you in the face.
  Some people think that because Jesse is sleepy and nauseous and probably pretending to be asleep so she doesn't have to talk to the hospital volunteer, that she is also deaf.  They therefore speak extremely loudly and slowly so as to make sure Jesse understands you.  I promise she understands you.

*Thirdly.  Jesse doesn't want to hear about your great aunt who died of cancer.  I don't know why people insist on sharing stories like that as soon as they hear about someone who has cancer.  Because the last thing Jesse needs right now, is to hear sad stories about people who died of cancer.  THIS INCLUDES FACEBOOK.  I can't tell you how many people messaged me or IMed me saying things like this:

'Hey Jesse.  I know we haven't been close the past few years. But I'm really sorry to hear about your sickness.  My great aunt Sue had cancer.  It was just awful to see her suffer.  She died last year.

Sincerely,
Clearly Didntthinkthisthrough'

SERIOUSLY FOLKS???? SERIOUSLY????  I understand that people have the best of intentions and are only trying to be sympathetic...but really THINK ABOUT THINGS BEFORE YOU SAY THEM OR TYPE THEM.  HOLY SHIT.  I got so many of those messages.  And if you are reading this and saying to yourself 'OMG I did that to her'...IT'S OK...DON'T DO IT ANYMORE TO ANYONE ELSE.


*NEXT.  Don't ignore the obvious.  If you're visiting someone in the hospital and they are hooked up to shitload of tubes, and nurses keep moving in and out of the room...you don't have to ignore that.  I know it's awkward for you.  But it's even more uncomfortable for Jesse when you are having a conversation with her and you can't look straight at her because you're trying to pretend you don't notice the giant bag of blood being pumped into her chest.  You don't have to freaking stare at it.  But you can ask about it, comment on what's happening...it just makes things worse when you pretend the medical shit is not happening.

*But now I'm going to confuse you.  I said don't ignore what's going on.  I really mean, don't ignore what's going on TANGIBLY.  Because the next rule, is DON'T START AN IN-DEPTH CONVERSATION ABOUT DEATH AND EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON AND BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE AND GOD IS WATCHING OVER YOU AND BLAH BLAH BLAH----UNLESS:  Jesse brings it up.  Because if Jesse brings it up, it means she wants to talk about it.  If you bring it up, chances are high that Jesse wants you to cram it.

*Which somehow sort of brings me to my next guideline...and I'm sure some people aren't going to like or agree with this one.  But this is my blog, so I can say whatever I want.
>FAITH< is different for everyone.  If the Jesse in question is a religious person and you guys usually talk about God and the Bible and such...then go ahead and talk about it.

But there are a lot of Jesse's who don't know what they believe in.  I think this happens a lot with young adults who are transitioning into adulthood and are trying to discover their own way in the world.

I'm going to talk specifically about me now, and not the hypothetical Jesse we've been cunningly referring to. I don't know what I believe in.  I'm not saying I don't believe in God or that I'm an atheist or anything.  I just wasn't brought up in an extremely religious family, so I don't know a lot about Catholicism, Christianity, or any religion for that matter.  So it was really uncomfortable for me when people would start preaching to me about God and about his plan for me, and how he is watching over me in my time of need.  I even felt uncomfortable when people told me they were praying for me.  I almost felt like they were saying, "I pity you so much that I've asked my God to pity you too."  I KNOW THAT IS NOT WHAT PEOPLE MEAN BY THAT.  But when you're the one in the hospital bed, it's hard not to take everything as pity.

  Therefore, I like to use the phrase "I'm sending you lots of positive energy."  I say that to anyone I know who is going through a rough time.  Because what could be better than positive energy and positive thoughts?  It works for anyone from any walk of life, and any religion.  Positive thoughts, positive energy.

Again, if you are close to this person and know that they are religious as well, then great.  God is a great place to turn to in desperate times if the person chooses to.

OK.  So back now to the hypothetical.

*DO NOT and I mean DO NOT buy Jesse a hat.  For the love of Snooki, do not buy your friend ANYTHING having to do with hair loss.  Would you buy a person with facial deformities a mask??? No.  You wouldn't.  So don't buy a bald person a hat unless they ask you to.  Let them deal with it themselves.  I had some people buy me hats and headscarves and stuff...and I knew they meant well...but for some reason I was somewhat offended...My advice is just stay away from that stuff unless they specifically ask you if you could buy them a hat.

This goes the same for shaving your head.  Now, I'm all for St. Baldricks day and all that and I think thats great.  But let me tell you:
    Jesse's parents asked her if she would like them to shave their heads with her.

UMM NO THANK YOU.  The last thing I wanted to see was my mom and dad's baldass head walking around my house.  So I say this: DONT DO ANYTHING DRASTIC.  DO NOT SHAVE YOUR HEAD FOR A FRIEND GOING THROUGH CHEMO UNLESS YOU HAVE ASKED THEM FIRST.  BECAUSE IF YOU DONT....shit could get real awkward.  Because chances are...your friend is gonna wear a wig...and what are you gonna do?  Buy a wig too???  Idk.  That whole gesture seems a little drastic to me.  I know what people are trying to do by shaving their heads for someone going through chemo...but I just find it a little much.

*Do not stop asking Jesse if she would like to hang out.  I can't tell you how many of my friends stopped inviting me places because they thought I would feel bad if I was too sick to go.  What felt worse was not being invited.  So.  Remember that.  But then don't be upset if Jesse actually is too sick to go.

*Don't take some of the things Jesse says to heart.  She might be having a bad day, and therefore say some things she doesn't mean...cancer patients are going through a shitload of shitty, shitty shit.    They have no control over what is happening to their body.  Their body has betrayed them.  It is making them sick.  It is causing them pain.  It is taking away their hair, their eyelashes, eyebrows, stripping them of who they are.  It is changing relationships, life plans, and goals.  It is wreaking havoc on their entire being.  I'm not saying that it gives them the right to treat people badly.  I am saying that it sometimes makes them just not care about what they say and how it could impact people.  I know I sure as hell didn't care.  I, for example, once screamed at my entire family and boyfriend at the time to get the fuck away from me and find me a doctor who could speak english.  Was it appropriate?  No.  It wasn't.  Did I care?  No.  I didn't.

*And lastly for today...perhaps the most important thing...YOU.DO.NOT.UNDERSTAND.  Clear?  You will never ever ever ever ever understand.
   When someone is diagnosed with cancer, it's said that they become a member of the club that no one wants to be in.
    I would like to add to that by saying that not only do they become a member of the club, but everyone around them gets bounced.  You're not allowed.
   So remember that no matter how sympathetic you try to be, you do not understand.  SO DO NOT REPLY TO ANYTHING JESSE SAYS WITH, 'I UNDERSTAND.'
    It's not your fault that you don't understand.  But you just don't.

So there, my friends.  A no-nonsense outline to how you should be around a person with cancer.

To end, I'll add a few additional, more straightforward rules:

*If the nurse comes in during your visit, as long as Jesse is ok with it, you can stay.  If the doctor comes in, GET THE F**K OUT.  It's a lot more personal with the docs, and chances are he's going to ask Jesse the last time she freakin' used the bathroom.  And she does not want you to know this information.

*For the love of all that is holy, don't bring a stuffed animal, because chances are, Jesse already has received several hundred.

*If you want to bring food, call ahead and ask them what they'd like or what they are able to eat.

*Wear odorless deoderant.  No cologne.  No perfume.  People undergoing cancer treatments are extremely sensitive to smell, and they don't want to have to ask you to leave because you stink.


With Love,
Jesse

PS. OMG OLYMPICS AND STUFF.

Dear Peter Griffin

Dear Peter Griffin,
Well.  We did it old friend.  We made it to 2012.  We squeaked in those three years between the cancer diagnosis and the end of the world.  And they said it couldn't be done.  Well.  Okay. They never really said that.  But for the sake of keeping things dramatic, I'm gonna leave it in there because this is my blog and I like everything to have dramatic flare.


But honestly, how could I have done it without you?  You taught me everything I know about life.  You taught me that it's possible to personally and completely offend every single person who ever lived, ever.  You don't leave anyone out.  No, no.  You know how to offend people of every race, background, religion, and political party...and I think that that's great.


So great, in fact, that by the time you got around to making tasteless jokes about cancer...I found it hilarious.  You taught me how to laugh at all of the shit that was happening to me.  And that is very important.  If you can't laugh at yourself...well, frankly...you kind of suck.


You see, a lot of people don't like you, Peter Griffin.  They don't like your show.  They hate it because you can be so offensive.  But what they fail to realize...is that you are just pointing out the faults and failings of a society that takes itself too seriously.  No one wants to laugh at how ridiculously awful life can be...but if you don't...you're just contributing to the awfulness.  That's what this kid thinks.  Yeahhh.  Think about it.  It's kind of trippy. 


If there's one thing a cancer patient can't do...it's take life too seriously...because after all...he/she's seriously in some serious, serious, serious shit already.  Seriously.  I'm serious.  So why not put on some Family Guy and laugh at other people's expense?  And then laugh when the joke is at your own expense?  After all...if you can't have a good sense of humor...you'll never make it through the trials and tribulations of life with all of your sanity.


So thanks for that too, I guess.  Thanks for keeping me sane.  If it weren't for you, poop jokes, anti-depressants, and oxycodone...I wouldn't be the charming, witty, and lovable chick I am today (haha).


Thank you.  Thank you a million times.  I am forever in your debt.  Forget the doctors, nurses, chemotherapy, radiation and whatever the hell else...the cure for cancer is Peter Griffin (and the doctors, nurses, chemotherapy, radiation and whatever the hell else).  Ha.


I guess what I'm trying to say is that laughter is the best medicine, and that a good sense of humor can cure even the weakest of souls.  I can't get everyone to like you, Peter Griffin.  But maybe I can get them to like what you stand for.  Even if what you stand for is poop, beer, farts, and vulgarity.


There's a lesson in there somewhere, folks.  Just figure it out for yourselves because I'm too tired.

I love you, Peter Griffin.  Now and forever.


Love,
Jesse


PS.  What happened to Reuben Studdard?  Idk. Random thought.

I HAVE NO SHAME.

Well, friends.  A week and a half ago I started this blog so I could keep up with what the crazy youngsters are doing these days.  I try to keep hip, even though I have the soul of a 65 yearold.  Anyhow, the little blog experiment has been very successful.  Thanks to you, the readers, we are up to 1115 pageviews!  Thassssaaaaa lott!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANKS!!!!!   WOOO!!!!! So many exclamation points.  I am tickled pink that you enjoy reading the shit I write, or you at least pretend to.  So thank you very much.  I really do appreciate it.
Now.  Let the bitchfest commence.

Yesterday, I decided to check my email, since I'm important and get so many emails from Ulta, Sephora, Michael's, and Tops-your-neighborhood-store-with-more.  One of the top stories on the yahoo homepage was about a 4 yearold girl named Mckenna May, who battled leukemia for two years, and the Make-A-Wish trip to Disneyworld that her father refused to sign off on.  He is against his daughters trip, because she's in remission, and he feels that she isn't sick enough to deserve one.

Wait.  WHAT??? EXCUSE ME, SIR???  

Well I nearly peed my pants, as you can probably imagine.  

Now, look. I'm not a parent (THANK.GOD.), so I can't tell this man how to raise his daughter. And he doesn't know me and probably doesn't read this blog so even if I tried to tell him he wouldn't ever know what I said in this run on sentence that I don't know how to end so I'm just gonna use punctuation or we're just gonna keep going and going and going.  But I can say this.  Half of this little girl's life has been spent in hell.  And no matter how positively you spin it, that's still what cancer treatment is: pure hell. So your daughter spent half of her life attached to a medicine pole, with a PICC line in her arm and her face in bucket...and you don't think she's deserving of a trip to Disneyworld????  OHH HELL NO.  

Don't get me wrong...I'm glad this little girl is doing well.  And I see where the dad is coming from.  There are many cancer survivors that have been through a shitload of bull, but have to remind themselves that there are people still who have it worse.  And I know that I have said myself that everyone deals with shit.  But this is a little kid.  And the MAW Foundation wants to help her.  Why the hell not?


This little girl hasn't been allowed to be a KID.  She's seen shit that I still can't cope with and I'm 21.  Let the kid go to the happiest place on earth.  Or immmmaa show up at your house in a mickey mouse costume...and that is creepy.

The father, William May, said this: "Spend the money on a child who this might be their last memory.  Kids who are only going to live a year or six months."  I'm not going to tell you that this isn't a respectable thing to say (I'm also not going to say that it's grammatically correct, Mr. May). A terminally ill child deserves to have amazing final memories.  And a child who has been through just as much and is lucky enough to survive deserves to have amazing memories to live with.  Especially when she's just getting old enough to remember things...do you want her only early memories to be of pinpricks and hospitals?  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, TAKE THE KID TO THE MAGIC KINGDOM. 

I know, Mr. May.  I, too, was afraid of being captured by Captain Hook.  But he's just misunderstood.

Trust me.  McKenna May deserves a trip to Disneyworld, and the Make-A-Wish Foundation is more than willing to give one to her, and to all of those children who aren't doing quite as well.  They even gave one to me, even though I screamed at them for calling me a "wish-kid" (I am clearly a very sophisticated woman).  


All joking aside, the MAW Foundation is thorough about making sure they review cases before allowing them a wish.  If the trip for McKenna was going to mean no trip at all for a child who is a lot sicker, then I understand.  But people need to trust that MAW would never let that happen.  They're on top of their shit.

And you know...it could be worse.  

Your daughter could be like me:  I, for one, have comprised a list of the ways I plan on using my experience.  And I HAVE NO SHAME:

*You're all out of Strawberry Coolattas?  Are you aware that I had cancer?

*No, no it's okay.  I understand this is the VIP section but I had cancer and it was devastating.

*I know I was speeding, officer, but I have an appointment with my oncologist.

*I can't pick up the dog poop because the fumes could be hazardous to my frail health.

*I know the coupon for the free haircut is expired, but I had no hair when I received it.

Love,

Jesse

PS.  My heart goes out to the victims of the Aurora, Colorado Massacre. 

"Life is eternal and love is immortal; And death is only a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight." --Rossiter W. Raymond

Me, Myself, and Myself, and Myself

So recently my room got a massive cleanout, and the good ole wig bin was just calling my name.  So I decided to have a little fun with today's post, to show one way in which I expressed myself during treatment.  Especially since I've mostly only focused on the negative aspects of treatment. You might have a deadly disease, but is that any reason to look like you have a deadly disease???...You gotta have fun somehow!


As Gandhi once said, a bald head is an empty canvas (omg he nevahhh said that).  And I changed my look almost daily.  No one ever recognized me.  When I was out in public, wigs were a way for me to hide my bald-ass head to avoid the pity-stares from across the Applebees. 


These are just SOME of the wigs that got me through chemo in style.  


I give you....The Ladies of Ewings Sarcoma.  

**works at Walgreens.  will make her 4th appearance on Jerry Springer in September because she's tired of Tyrone cheating on her with that skank, Janis.  IT NEEDS TO STOP TYRONE!  get your Jerry beads ready!!!

**got her start in the ballet corps of the Opera Populaire. thinks shes hearing the voice of an "angel", but really its just a masked murderer/composer/architect/genius who really needs a girlfriend.  some call him The Phantom of the Opera.  I call him, 'friend'.

**starbucks barrista who will spit in your mocha if you step outta line or take up more than one parking space with your fancy car. enjoys long walks on the beach, art museums, and reruns of Trading Spouses.

**prefers to be called 'Moonblood", loves anime, vodka, and marilyn manson.  volunteers for PETA and thinks that plastic bags will take over the world if we don't all switch to re-usables.

**works at Louis Vuitton, LOVES the Kardashians (except Rob because he's SUCH a freeloader), and applied to be a Playboy bunny but hasn't heard back yet so STOP ASKING.

**runs a car repair shop from her garage.  enjoys monster trucks, red bull, and eating at hooters.  gender/sexuality questionable.

**cheerleading captain, student council president, Justin Beiber's #1 fan, has not kissed a boy (yet)!!!

**teaches salsa dancing, loves celeste pizzas (PEPPERONI ONLY), owns 4 cats, and is SINGLE, SEEKING STRONG GORILLA JUICEHEAD GUIDO--the tanless NEED NOT APPLY.

YEAHHH LADIES!!!!!! 

Love Always,

Jesse

PS.  Deoderant is a must in 100 degree weather, my friends. Use it.

Jesse: The Monster of 7H

Well, now that I'm an official blogger (3 WHOLE POSTS!!!)  I've been getting a lot of feedback.  Some compliments on the blog, people saying they like it or don't or whatever.  And some from people who say that I'm very inspiring and such.  I appreciate that you think I'm inspirational.  But let me tell you the truth.
   
Jesse P. was the big bully of 7H.  I took my cancer out on everyone around me.  Seriously.  I GOT COMPLAINTS FROM THE HOSPITAL STAFF.  The childlife specialist had to sit me down with my parents and tell me to be nicer.  WOOPS!  I was out for blood (literally and figuratively...DONATE BLOOD TO THE RED CROSS :) )
  
My goal was to make everyone---friends, doctors, nurses, hospital volunteers, and everyone in between---hate the shit out of me.  Because if you hated me, it was hard to feel sorry for me.  And I honestly would rather be hated than pitied.  That's still true.  But I'm a lot tamer now (just don't cross me, fools or I'll probably call you a poophead and then run away because I don't like confrontation).

So here's the 411, my friends.  My body turned against me.  And it sucked.  But you know, it all leads to that famous cliche SHIT HAPPENS.  And that's how I felt from day one.  Don't treat me any differently, because shit happens to everyone and we just deal.  Is it terrible to have a tumor wreaking havoc on your body?  Yes.  Is it terrible to spend the majority of your time in the hospital?  Yes.  But isn't it also terrible that so and so's favorite uncle just got in a car accident and died?  Isn't it terrible that so and so had a miscarriage after trying for years to get pregnant?  Isn't it terrible that person A lost their job, and person B's husband of 6 years is having an affair, and person C can't seem to keep their grades up and won't be getting into college, while person D, E, F, and G battle addiction, poverty, loneliness, suicide, divorce, mental health issues, etc....

Because cancer is such a widespread and often fatal illness, people flip a shit when they hear about a diagnosis.  Everyone felt so f***king sorry for me, and I couldn't understand why.  In my mind, I had some shit happening to me, and I was dealing with it.  No one paid attention to the fact that the chemotherapy made noticeable differences in my body after 48 hours. My body had an almost IMMEDIATE RESPONSE.  And no one paid attention to the fact that my cancer has an 85 percent cure rate.  Everyone just saw the bald head and puke bucket and the waterworks took over. 
  
However, just as it is hard for others to understand my point of view, it is hard for me to understand things from your perspective.  I know that feelings of pity and sadness just come naturally sometimes.  But that's why I decided that I was going to make people hate me before they could cry for me.  It was a defense mechanism that I am ashamed to say I used.  To this day, I wish I had been nicer to the people around me and appreciated that everyone just wanted to help.  But if you learn one thing from my random spewing of shit on this blog, I hope it is this: people in crisis don't want your help.  They want YOU.  They want you to be the person you've always been for them, and they want to be treated like the person they've always been for you.

So wtf was I even saying before I wrote this profound masterpiece??? Oh.  Ha.  Inspiration.  I'm appreciative that people find me inspiring.  But it's hard for me to understand why, because as I've outlined in the run-on sentences above, I just deal with the shit that happens to me.  And you deal with the shit that happens to you.  You are inspiring for battling your own personal demons.
  
Remember that cancer patients and survivors are not defined by their cancer.  They are the same person they've always been.  Only now they're f**king fighters and they ain't takin' no shitttt from anyoneeeeeeeee. 

And if you EVER THINK ABOUT feeling sorry for me:

              LOOK AT HOW SEXY THIS BEYOTCH WASSS AT DAAA PROMMMMM!!!!


Thanks for all the love and support,
Jesse <3

PS. I was serious about the bath salts.  Cut the shit.

Let me tell you a thing or two about my good friend, Tom Cruise

I don't really know anything about Tom Cruise.  Except that his divorce has been talked about on Showbiz Tonight for the past week, and seeing as I have a habit of falling asleep to HLN, he's been the last thing I think about before going to sleep.  I mean, he's Rain Man's brother, why wouldn't I think about him before falling asleep?


So yeah, we all know Katie Holmes gave him the old kickeroo to the curb, and took that little girl who wears high heels all the time with her.  But let me tell you why I, Jesse, would never marry Tom Cruise in the first place (no matter how much he begged me...we all know he would seeing as I'm such a great catch).  <----sarcasm.  maybe?? HA.


But if you recall, Mr. Cruise had a little "episode" with Matt Lauer way back in the olden days of 2005.  He got his mission impossible panties all in a bunch over psychiatry---NO, NOT JUST PSYCHIATRIC DRUGS, THE WHOLE PRACTICE OF PSYCHIATRY.


Now, I said in my first post that I was going to talk very candidly, and so I will let you know that if it weren't for the practice of psychiatry, I would probably look like this:

(Thought I'd add some visual stimulation (stimulation?? IDK if I used that word correctly.  Or inappropriately for that matter).


I was diagnosed with OCD at age 9.  I began taking zoloft around that time.  And no, I am not going to spin around 3 times and turn the freaking light switch on and off when I enter the room.  I have always just been an anxious person who overthinks things to the point where it becomes obsessive.  I've seen--in total--7 shrinks in my life. 


So, you know, for me to hear Tom freaking Rain Main's brother Cruise say that "Psychiatry should be outlawed"...I was very confused as to why it was his business.  If he is so against it, then don't f**king use it.


Any Real Housewives of New Jersey fans in thaaa houzzz?  Yeah, well the Giudice and Gorga families have recently talked derrogatorily about psychiatry, claiming that they are "old school Italian" and blah blah blah and they don't believe in that stuff (thank GOD, they decided to go anyway).  When Tom Cruise and people on popular TV shows put down the act of people getting help, they are putting the happiness of many in jeopardy.  If they (and by 'they' I mostly mean Tom Cruise since anyone who takes the RHONJ peeps seriously needs serious help to begin with) cast a negative shadow on therapy in that way, someone who really needs help may be turned off to the idea of getting it.  And I GET PISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSED.


It drives me up a wall.  There is nothing wrong with needing help.  Life is a PIECE OF SHIT unless you AGREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU NEED TO DO TO MAKE IT BEAUTIFUL. 


Now, the concept of psychiatric drugs is another matter, and I don't plan on giving ya'll a medical sermon on it.  People are against it because it's not natural and such, and I feel that.  It's all good.  I mean, I've been pumped full of chemicals, so for me to reject some xanax because it might not be natural is like when I go to Mcdonalds and ask for large everything and a diet coke. 


My OCD was mostly under control using Zoloft until my cancer diagnosis, where it spun out of control.  You add to my initial anxiety the heartbreak of giving up my senior musical, the depression of sitting in a hospital surrounded by sick children, the nausea of Ifosfamide, and the suddenly very real fear of dying.   To be honest folks, if it weren't for that Zoloft and an additional Wellbutrin and Ativan, I would have looked like this:

When it comes to mental health...I personally feel like we should be doing whatever we can to keep ourselves happy.  I'm not saying go out and abuse drugs and happy pills.  I'm saying don't let your pride get in the way when you need some guidance.  Life is far too short and unpredictable to waste any time being dissatisfied or sad.  There's nothing wrong with needing therapy.  Nothing.  And if you're a scientologist and don't believe in psychiatry, that's ok, too.  But don't cast a negative shadow on what has worked for other people for years.


And you know, I may be on some crazy pills, but I'm not the one jumping up and down on Oprah's couch now, am I??? AHHHEMMM, TOMMYYYY!!!


Love,
Jesse


PS.  Don't cry for me, Argentina.

The keys are in the fruitbowl, why???

    Yesterday, while I was getting ready for a run through of the show I am currently in, I looked into my little box where I keep my costume jewelry, and there was only one earring.  I have a minor conniption over this (OCD--and no, not just saying that, check my zoloft), and then get to work trying to find it.  I look on the floor, the general area of my part of the dressing table, and then make a whiny announcement to the room that my earring is missing.  I get huffy, and pissy, as if someone has done this to me in order to see me poop my pants (because I would), and then start brainstorming where it could be.  
   I glance back down into the box, and there are two earrings.  What the fuck.  "I swear to God there was one earring..." the girl next to me nods in agreement as if to say, "I accept that you're completely insane."  (Love you, KW)
   Now reading this over, I can't help but think this is the most boring piece of shit story I've ever heard.  But let me explain: these sort of things happen to me multiple times per day.  I am the poster-child for chemo brain.  I lose everything, put things in strange places, walk into rooms and forget why I'm there, and could not for the life of me tell you what I ate this morning.  In more than half of my daily converations, I trail off midsentence, and eventually just give up.  I laugh it off with some sort of comment like, "I literally have no idea what I'm talking about," or "I seriously don't remember what I'm supposed to be saying."  But to be honest, it scares me.
    Yes, I know many people are saying "hey, I'm like that too, you're just being dramatic."  And to you, I say kiss my ass.  I HAVE BEEN A TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY SCATTER-BRAINED NUTCASE since chemo ended.  
   
    So let's do some wikipedia-ing since this is my blog and I can use wikipedia if I want to.  


   Ohhhh very nice wikipedia!!! They like to call it "Post-Chemotherapy Cognitive Impairment."  You see, it must have been changed to chemo brain because all the baldies who have it can't remember that goddamn name.
  Anywho. Let's learn more about Post-Chemotherapy Cognitive Impairment.   I quote directly, "Survivors often report difficulty multitasking, comprehending what they've just read, following the thread of a conversation, and retrieving words"  


OMG! I FEEL LIKE I JUST SAID THAT.


"While frustrating, the ultimate outcome is very good: symptoms typically disappear in about four years."  Oh good, good.  I just gotta hope I don't burn the fu****g house down in the next four years. HURRAH.


I think my favorite quote from wikipedia is this one:


"Post-chemotherapy cognitive impairment comes as a surprise to many cancer survivors. Often, survivors think their lives will return to normal when the cancer is gone, only to find that the lingering effects of post-chemotherapy cognitive impairment impede their efforts. Working, connecting with loved ones, carrying out day-to-day tasks—all can be very challenging for an impaired brain. Although post-chemotherapy cognitive impairment appears to be temporary, it can be quite long-lived, with some cases lasting 10 years or more."


For real though.  All Post-Chemotherapy Conducive Impartialness aside, I don't remember what life was like before chemo and cancer, and I don't know one cancer survivor who does.  So for me to ever expect to go back to normal...would be silly.  I'm never gonna be normal.  I'm going to wear the strongest sunblock, most body-covering swimsuits, oversized sunglasses and large sunhats in the summer to avoid radiation.  I'm going to drink massive amounts of fluids to keep my kidneys working.  I'm going to see 7 doctors in two weeks.  I'm going to have purple neupogen bruises on my legs and a big scar on my chest, and thin wispy hair.  And I'm going to put my car keys in the fruitbowl.  It's all good, though.  "Normalcy" is subjective.

Oh my godddd so philosophical.......


Whatevs,
Jesse


PS>>>>OH MAH GAH KATIE HOLMES YOU GO GURLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG JESSE WROTE A BLOG, WHO CARES?

I decided I'm done with long preachy facebook statuses about what I think.  I always felt really weird about starting a blog, but I knew I wanted to because there's only so much a girl can deal with after being chucked into the real world for the first time just months after finishing chemotherapy.  We'll see what happens.


So. Let's clarify some things.  I had Ewings Sarcoma of the pelvis.  For those of you nodding as if you know exactly what I'm talking about but actually have no idea, it is a childhood bone cancer.  I was diagnosed at age 17 during my senior year of high school.  So all of you graduates who are so peeved because your senior picnic got rained out or your heel broke at the prom, I went to the prom with a wig, fake eyelashes, and painted on eyebrows and I still probably looked fiercer than you.  Just speaking the truth.  
   So I spent senior year on the pediatric oncology floor of University Hospital in Syracuse, NY.  For those of you saying to yourself "that nice little children's hospital with the Tim Hortons and the Cold Stone Creamery and the private rooms???"  Don't get too warm and fuzzy.  That hospital wasn't open until my last month of therapy.  So the answer is no.  I spent 8 of 9 months of treatment on 7H.  A disgusting excuse for a pediatric ward.  Don't get me wrong, everyone did their best to make things nice for the patients, but it's a difficult thing to do when you have 3 bald kids sharing a small room, falling asleep to the sound of eachother's puking.  I hate to be blunt, but then again, I don't really give a shit.
   Let us now speed up this depressing process a bit.  I had 14 cycles of some of the most aggressive chemotherapy (Vincristine, Cyclophosphamide, Ifosfamide, and Etoposide), and 6 weeks of daily radiation.  You're canceled picnic can kiss my ass.
   You know you're in trouble when "things could be worse" becomes "you could have aids..."  TRUTH.


Fast forward through the treatment, and I am now 3 and a half years in remission.  And I'm a musical theater major (I know right?  Haven't I been through ENOUGH!  Kidding.  Kind of) at Point Park University's Conservatory of Performing Arts. And let's just say that my prior dealings have given me a great sense of perspective at school when I find myself in tears because the library doesn't have the original score of Sweet Smell of Success (ONLY THE VOCAL SELECTIONS!  WTF!) 


    There are a lot of young adults who struggle with cancer, and we are the most neglected demographic of cancer survivors as far as research and awareness.  Children with cancer appear constantly on TV commercials.  We all know a great too many adults who fought cancer.  But how many 18 yearold cancer patients do you hear about?  How many 21 yearolds do you know who have a wig collection of 10 or more (ONE MORE AS OF NOW!!! THIS KIDDDDDD).  Unfortunately, there are SO MANY.  Young adults represent approximately 72,000 diagnoses of cancer each year.   But you would never know it, as we are not often  brought to media attention.


But I don't want this blog to be just about cancer and awareness and yada yada yada.  So many people I meet are intrigued by what has happened to me, and I have the overwhelming need inside me to speak candidly about not only my experience, but how I see everything and deal with life now.  I'm extremely blunt about what I went through and my way of dealing with it was a) Be a total bitch to everyone around me so it was literally impossible for them to feel sorry for me and b) Make as many jokes or wise-ass remarks about it as possible.  So if you're offended by my crooked, sometimes morbid remarks, this blog is not for you.  I try not to be offensive.  Sometimes I can be.  I just think it's hilarious that people think diet coke gives you cancer and that by talking to sick people in a quiet, whisper-y voice you are somehow doing them a great favor.


Eh.  We'll see how this goes.


Love,
Jesse


PS>>>Put your damn sunblock on and STOP DOING BATH SALTS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.