Someone recently asked me how I deal with the anger that comes with being dismissed for so long with rare disease.
So you just got your diagnosis. It’s hard to know how to feel, right? Thankful that you have answers? Angry that countless times you were told it was in your head? That you couldn’t POSSIBLY have that, only to have EXACTLY that..
Pheochromocytoma/paraganglioma are considered a very rare disease. The diagnostic process is a bit different for rare disease patients, and it comes with a different set of emotions when the diagnosis is finally delivered.
I’m going to talk a little bit about how I personally cope with the emotions that come from diagnosis, and what I do with the anger that comes along with it.
Of course no one wants to be sick, but with the untreated symptoms wreaking havoc on your body… honestly, by that time we are often praying for a diagnosis. Without a diagnosis, there’s no opportunity to heal, to take control back. To do something! It’s a strange dynamic, praying to be told you’re sick. Then the moment it’s confirmed.. we will give anything to be told we’re ‘fine’ again.
My first diagnosis came as a complete shock, I was 19, I’d understandably never heard of pheochromocytoma before. I never actually thought I had a 1 in a million tumor, not once did that run through my mind. I just thought I was just having sporadic attacks that made me feel like I was going to die every day. I was also relieved. I was relieved that I didn’t have to argue anymore, to prove myself to anyone. I was finally going to be able to take control over my body, and get treated. Or so I thought…
My second diagnosis was different, it’d been 4 years since my first Pheo, and I’d never been symptom free. I still dealt with the daily attacks from the adrenaline, and was being told that I was fine all over again. It was like I was stuck in a time warp that would repeat itself every day for years. I was continuously being convinced that I was ‘just’ anxious, that my blood pressure machine was wrong, my blood sugar is probably just low, etc. I heard it all. I still hear these things every day from people around the world.
My second diagnosis was a different experience, because I knew I had the disease, I knew exactly what it was, I just needed the proof. And then by the time I got proof, it was considered terminal. I was now terminally ill at 24 years old. Tough pill to swallow. How am I supposed to feel this time?
There’s no right or wrong feeling. The first time- I felt shock and then the fear of uncertainty quickly set in.
What will my future look like? Will I be able to go back to work? Will I have a normal love life? Will I always be in pain? Am I going to constantly have to be worried about it coming back? Am I going to be treated differently? Do I want to be treated differently? Am I different?
The second time- all I felt was numb, and then anger set in. I was so angry. My husband was angry. We were outraged that this could be able to happen, only… I’d find out later that it happens more than I think
I think I can confidently say I hear at least 1 person per DAY that is going through this. With this specific disease. This incredibly rare disease. It’s been six years since my diagnosis, so that’s a lot of people.
I’m generally a very happy, positive, bubbly-type chatty person. I don’t like feeling so negatively for extended periods of time. Holding onto anger. But I also know now that it’s important to acknowledge your feelings, so that you can work through them. Toxic positivity isn’t a better solution, being positive and hopeful needs to come from a place of true belief. That way the negative emotions don’t become pent up little balls of anger that burst at any given random time.
I initially channeled my anger into taking my control back, my plan? Getting a new medical team. One that would hear me, and be specialized. I needed a miracle team. I felt like if I could regain a sense of control.. I’d be able to feel different. I didn’t know what emotion I was looking for, I just needed to get past anger. I didn’t realize that I’d be holding onto that toxic feeling for longer than I’d like to admit.
It’s similar to the process of grief, you’re grieving your old life, your sense of normalcy, your old self. The ability to do mundane tasks, to relate to others in your circle, in your age group, the feeling of not knowing the importance and impact of living. It’s a hard dynamic for me because I was always so young, and I felt cheated out of a lot of opportunities I KNEW I would be amazing at. We all have things to grieve, it needs to be done.
So let’s talk more about how I regained that control. 48 hours after my diagnosis, I had arranged to see a new specialist, a whole new team. I knew I needed the best, I was 24 and given a poor prognosis. Honestly? I was dying, and they weren’t shy about telling me so. You don’t mess around when it comes to your health, you do anything and everything to change your circumstances.
Securing this new team… it made me feel I had purpose, that I was capable, I felt proud. These emotions are a lot better than anger, am I right?
As I rebuilt trust with these new doctors, fragments of anger would slowly chip away. My fear of not being heard, was slowly diminishing. Time. It takes time.
But what if we don’t have time? I’m terminal, I don’t have time to go through this long process.
Terminal illness isn’t a ticking time clock, it FEELS like that at the beginning… believe me. But I am here to remind you, eventually, with this precious time, your mindset changes.
I decided I needed an outlet for the fear, anger, and acceptance I so badly needed.
That’s when I started my blog, as a way of channeling these feelings into something good. Something with purpose. I wanted to know my experience meant something. I wanted my diagnosis to be an example for health care practitioners around the world. I wanted my story to be told to EVERY single pheochromocytoma patient.
I wanted my words to live on forever knowing they were making a difference.
Channeling your fear and anger into helping yourself? That’s a beautiful feeling.
Channeling fear and anger into helping someone else? That is when those fragments become whole again.
But let’s back up, I’m not saying everyone has to start a blog. What I am saying is that it’s important to get your feelings OUT, write them down somehow. Whether that be a journal, a support group, a diary, or a video blog. Even if you just talk to your camera and never share it! Whatever you feel comfortable with, it’s important to let your story be heard. Even if it’s just for you, this type of therapeutic action is something that for me, changed my life.
I’ve recommended different types of journals, diaries, gratitude practice, all different sorts of ways of expressing feelings to many people over the years: I’ve never heard someone say it didn’t help them in some small way.
Here’s the hard part: forgiveness. Eventually, down the road… I forgave everyone who I was still holding onto anger towards. This is NOT an easy step, I won’t sugar coat it. To get to this point, it’s a lot of work. Self discovery, trauma healing, mental health practices, growth. However, actually doing it? Meaning it?
It’s so unbelievably freeing.
I know I probably don’t need to remind anyone of this, but forgiveness is not for the other person. It’s for YOU. It’s so that you’re not suffering with those toxic feelings all your life, those fragments that are making you feel broken, while they are out in the world not even giving it a thought. You don’t have to personally forgive them, you do it however you want to. Whatever makes you feel safe.
It can be through prayer, you can again write it down, or just sit alone with yourself and say it aloud. You can role play with someone you trust.
I personally did just that, all of the ways. I had a lot to get off my chest, a lot of years of trauma and forgiveness. I only recently got to this step, after 6 years. Everyone’s time line is different, and that’s okay. Even if you decide, “no, I can’t possibly forgive someone who did this to me”
That’s okay too.
This is YOUR healing process, and you do with it what you decide. I can only let you know what I did, and what helped me. Made me feel whole again.
I’ve had a lot of people come to me and say “I could never do that”. I’m with you, I’ve been there. I said that repeatedly in the beginning, then it shifted to “one day, I think I’ll be ready” and then one day, I knew I was
So as you can see, it takes time, no one situation is a one size fits all. However we are all still very similar, and much closer than you think. That’s what being part of a community is. No matter what type of diagnosis you’re receiving, it’s going to change your life. It doesn’t have to change you, the person you are inside.
“Fabulous is your light, your smile, your energy, your positivity, your willfulness, your vitality, passion, excitement, beauty, laugh, and how you share it!” – Pheo VS Fabulous
I’d like to send out a personal acknowledgement to everyone surviving and thriving today. Being national cancer survivors day, I thought this would be the perfect time to share this incredibly important article.
When people hear cancer survivor, they think past tense, someone who’s ‘beat’ cancer and is alive today.
A survivor is someone who’s been diagnosed, actively in treatment, in remission, and someone like me, who’s a mix of all of the above. Someone who’s surviving every day, never having the time where they can say it’s in their past. But they can say –
I’m feeling very inspired lately, my urge to make a difference is strong.
I sometimes get an overwhelming feeling of responsibility to prevent what happened to me, from happening to someone else.
I know I can’t save the world, I know I can’t prevent every terminal diagnosis, misdiagnosis, and suffering.
That’s not going to stop me from trying.
There’s a number of things I’ve learned over the past year or so, my brain is more awake. I’ve come to realize there are so many important aspects of healing, and improving quality of life.
The issue started with the moment I was diagnosed with terminal illness, it was like my life became less important. That my life was no longer going to be about living, but dying.
I don’t accept this view, this is why I’m challenging the way terminal illness is viewed. Even by ourselves.
The purpose of this post was to share some specific points of my treatment and management journey, so that maybe someone who’s living with metastatic pheochromocytoma or similar, can maybe take something from my experience. As we know, there’s no cure. Only symptom management.
But as I write, it’s become more powerful than just a bullet point list of things that have helped me.
Treatment isn’t a one size fits all, nor can it happen overnight.
I’ve suffered, I’ve triumphed, I’ve lost hope, regained hope, fought for my life, and continue to keep living. Really living. I’ve accepted that I’ll never ring a bell that tells the world “I’m cured!”
So I’m going to share with you a recap of my treatment journey, and then I’m going to expand into what I’ve learned about healing and improving my overall quality of life.
Feel free to get lost in the highlighted linked words and read detailed past experiences
November 2014– changed doctors and formed an entire medical team specializing in rare neuroendocrine tumors
I didn’t know why, but I felt that overwhelming urge to share. To document. I wanted my misdiagnosis to have purpose. I wanted to be heard. I wanted it to matter.
April 2015– started my blog, sharing my experience, channeling my anger into helping others.
May 2015- first treatment effort: had a massive surgery to de-bulk the amount of disease
(I had over 50 tumors at this time)
November 2015- started losing my hair, no known reason at the time other than stress on the body, started to see more physical impact of the disease
Exactly one year later after my terminal diagnosis, I received another life changing diagnosis.
My remaining adrenal died. I was now going to be reliant on steroids to live for the remainder of my life. I was now adrenal insufficient.
Atleast this explained the hair loss and not being able to keep my eyes open for more than 30 seconds at a time. Problem solved.
Not quite… but more on that later
January 2016- happy new year! Just kidding, time for my introduction to specialized radiotherapy. This is not radiation, this is direct radioactive poison into your blood stream.
Things would move quickly now, my symptoms were out of control. They needed to intervene, and quickly. But there’s a lot of prep to do for a serious procedure like this safely.
Within the first 20 days of January:
Bone marrow transplant: This was one of the most uncomfortable things I did, as far as pain. Who knew I’d have to go through several procedures just to get ONE treatment? It’s a stem cell transfer where you donate your bone marrow to yourself in case of failure after radiotherapy treatment. It’s quite genius actually. I highly recommend doing this, because if your marrow fails, you need to find a transplant match. In my case, it was just waiting for me on ice in a special vault. Cool, right?
pharmaceutical blockade: preparing my body for the extreme dose of poison. Trying to get my vitals to a low level so that when my tumors explode adrenaline during treatment, I won’t die.
Complications: my thyroid stopped working. More medication for life. But atleast I won’t keep suffering from all those weird unexplained symptoms, right? Wrong, my adrenal insufficiency would continuously be an issue with all of the stress on my body, I could never get enough cortisol. I was burning it too quickly, my body was too stressed from all of the prep, I hadn’t even done the treatment yet.
Well now that I’m ready for MIBG, it’s time to administer the treatment.
January 20th: 3:30pm-5:30pm I became a medical experiment, a spectacle. One of the first to undergo such a treatment at the hospital for this disease. A scary, and confusing time for everyone involved. You can read about my experience here
All better. Just kidding, I actually felt a lot worse. I was in so much pain, and I couldn’t get my attacks under control. The MIBG treatment actually set off my tumors more, so I was suffering greatly. I was praying every day for a moment of reprieve. I thought I’d never see a good day again. I didn’t know what it felt like to be normal anymore. I just knew pain.
March 2016– “I don’t know what to do next…” this is not something you want to hear from your highly specialized doctor. But even the best doctors become perplexed when it comes to such a rare disease. Especially when it’s not cooperating. At all. It was just getting worse. It would be a bit of time before I’d get the official round of data compiled to know whether or not it had worked. Let’s stay hopeful
May 2016- it had kind of made a difference, but the results were ‘disappointing’. Great. Now what do we do? More tests of course.
June 2016– test month. Sooo many tests. So much travel. We are exhausted 😢
July 2016- it can’t get worse? Can it? Until it did. Chemo is being discussed. No no no, chemo is the last option. That’s what I was told in the beginning and it never left my mind. “Chemo is only something we do when there’s nothing left, it’s not a very effective option for this type of cancer”. So why are we doing it now?! It’s not the end. I’ll keep fighting. I promise! I’ll do anything.
Too bad, it’s time to introduce another team member: an oncologist.
July 27 2016- the oncologist. I actually really liked him, I still do. He’s an essential part of my team. Every mind is better than one. But I didn’t agree with his ideas at the time. I did NOT want to chemo, I did however that day learn about immunotherapy, TK inhibitor therapies, and so much more.
August 2016: new plan. I want PRRT. I heard about it from a support group, yes that’s right. A potential radiotherapy experimental treatment I was betting my future on, I heard from another thriver. See the importance of sharing? So we pushed heavily for this treatment, but it was still in clinical trial phase, oh boy. I’d need to meet a lot of requirements, only 50 people were being accepted.. only 4 places in the world were doing it.. ok my odds aren’t looking great.
You haven’t met doctor cupcakes.
Within 24 hours I was accepted into the testing for the clinical trial. My husband is a miracle worker, or he just really loves me. This is only part 1, a highly specialized scan that can look at the tumors at a cellular level. This was considered the gold standard. I wanted it, I needed it. I was getting it!
Here’s the thing with the scan, it’s not like a regular CT scan or MRI. These types of scans are specific to neuroendocrine tumors like mine. It won’t pick up a regular cancer. It also requires your tumors to be receptive. Still following me?
In order for your tumors to light up on the scan, a gallium scan is designed to be highly sensitive to somatostatin receptors. If your tumors don’t have this, they won’t light up. And you can’t get the PRRT treatment.
Lucky for me… my tumors lit up like a Christmas tree.
Isn’t it weird you can be excited to see an abundance of tumors on a scan? This disease is weird.
I’m getting tired, so please read about my PRRT experience here. In one year I did 3 super high doses of radiotherapy, different treatments entirely, and so many tests your head would literally spin.
January 2017- I still needed 2 more rounds of PRRT. It was so hard on me. It seemed like I had every side effect possible. My experience wasn’t going as smoothly as others. I kept wondering 💭 why do I always have it so much worse? Am I weaker? Do I just complain more? No, it can’t be. This is too much.
Fast forward ⏩
I had completed the 2 more rounds of PRRT. I had such high hopes. It was getting more difficult to live, to function, stairs were impossible, I was living in the main room of my house, in a hospital bed. My life was very different now.
We sold our home, I moved into my dream condo. No stairs, open concept, cozy, peaceful view, everything I ever wanted to be comfortable and continue to find a way to live with this disease. You have to find ways to adapt. This was ours.
November 2017- I spent my first night on my new condo, I slept beside my husband for the first time in months. Since the bedroom was accessible now.
I received a phone call, unknown caller. I always know that’s bad news. It’s the hospital.
“Can no longer participate in the clinical trial…”
“Tumors not responding…”
“Just keep her comfortable”
This is what I remember. I’m sure there was a lot more to it. But what I took from it, I’m dying. I’m being told this is the end of my road over the phone. There’s no more hope. I politely asked my husband and my mom to give me some time to myself. I locked myself in my room. This seemed like another moment I should document. I felt I should grieve privately, but my heart was telling me I should share my raw feelings and reaction. I thought of all the other people who had been in this situation, and I felt that urge to share again. It was bigger than me. So I filmed my initial thoughts.
Palliative– I went down a very confusing road, it all seemed to blur together. The only time I got out was to go to hospital appts. I could barely make it to the bathroom alone. My home care team always wanted to talk about ‘my wishes’. My wish is to live, for as long as possible. My wish is to not talk about dying. But that’s apparently not an appropriate wish when you’re palliative.
Unbelievable things started happening.. I started to realize what it really was like the moment your status changes to ‘palliative’
You’re seen differently. You no longer get the same options. Your life becomes about dying. When to die. How to die. Where to die.
It was when I was kicked out of my local hospital for refusing to sign a DNR (do not resuscitate) that I realized… I’m in trouble. This is no joke. I need to get better, I need to show them! I’m still here, I’m not dying, I have so much life in me, please listen!
My husband and I started to feel very overwhelmed and for the first time… unsafe. Unsettled. We no longer felt protected. Nothing made sense. He would keep me alive with breathing machines we bought ourself, to treat my pneumonia at home.
We clung to each other, we held onto our last shreds of hope, we would lay down in my twin sized hospital bed that made its way back into my living room. We would hold each other so damn tight, as if I’d disappear if he let go, the tears falling on one another, reminding us that I’m still alive. I’m still here. You can feel me. My heart is beating against yours, my tears are warm, only he could see it.
Everyone else was giving up on me.
The trauma we went through during this period… it’s indescribable. So much happened. I’m not going to go into it, you can choose to look further into my blog, but this post isn’t for that.
My pain was out of control, despite “keeping me comfortable”, home care was unable to get my pain under control. My medications kept increasing, the pain would get worse.
Any time we would call for advise, they’d say to give more medication. Get me out of pain. The cycle would repeat, and I’d be in more pain.
What is happening? Is this what dying feels like? You’re just in a constant state of pain? I thought it was supposed to be comfortable.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to die
I will quote myself from a previous blog entry:
“As my limbs become so weak I can no longer walk around, touch becomes unbearable, my speech is becoming more strained, my brain becoming mush. The pain is excruciating. My doses become even more frequent”
“So tired. So so tired”
“As my breath becomes more and more painful, more shallow, harder to gasp for air, my skin begins to heat up so much that it starts to fall off. Why is this happening? It has to be the cancer. Time for more medication”
“Miranda is having a lot of breathing troubles, what do I do??”
“She’s unable to walk or and can barely form a sentence, she’s passing out ALL the time, can’t keep her eyes open! What do I do??”
November 2018- if we weren’t going to get the proper help locally, it was time to get me to my super doctors. The ones who kept me alive before all of this palliative care nonsense. If my husband had to carry me on his shoulders to the car, he would have. Luckily I had a wheelchair. We drove to Montreal, I was admitted immediately. No one could figure out why I was so damn sick. Why I was in so much pain. How could I be on so much pain controlling medication, but be suffering THIS much? I was a medical mystery, sometimes a zebra is a unicorn.
Every.single.day was a guessing game, what’s wrong with Miranda?
I will quote myself again from a previous blog post …
“The one thing I knew so far: every nurse, doctor, and specialist could not believe how much pain medication I was taking. Some didn’t even want to administer it. I was getting worried, it’s the one thing that gives me relief, why are they so against it?”
“My nurse, we will call her Angel, she outright said to Serge that the medication is what’s causing all of my pain. She said that some people react differently to opioids, and that not everything meant to help you is going to. Sometimes it can be the problem, and you can have a reverse effect. Just like that, mind blown”
“But it can’t be that. I have cancer, it’s what’s causing my pain. I’m dying. They told me. All my doctors told me. That’s what everyone has been saying for years now, take more medication to be comfortable”
I was so angry at Nurse Angel, what did she know? Medication, bullshit
Fast forward two months in the hospital 🏥
It was my medication, kind of. What no one knew at this time was that I had suspected mast cell disease. Even as I’m writing this I am not officially diagnosed but being actively treated.
Since the very beginning, the unknown sensitivity to treatment, to chemicals, my amplified side effects, my heightened symptoms, the unexplained pain, the inability to breathe, the declining unexplained health… it all makes sense suddenly
My master cells were being attacked by the disease, causing them to be broken. High levels of mast cells mediators were being released into my system, similar to my tumors, bursting chemicals into my system that make you flare up into extreme reactions.
The pain medication was making everything worse, since it was making the mast cell flares worse and more frequent. It was just a vicious cycle that wouldn’t end.
Until we fought like hell for answers. Until we demanded that I wouldn’t die like this. Until we changed the narrative. We saved my life. You can read about that part here
The funny part? I wouldn’t have known about mast cell disease had it not been for another patient/friend/advocate. I was too sick and confused to understand it at the time. So I didn’t push for answers.
I accepted that it was the medication causing it, and I moved on.
It would be an incredibly long road of healing, it still is.
Healing – we moved away, we moved to the city that saved me. We wanted to be close to the hospital that saved my life. We wanted to feel safe. So we left our friends and family, took our life savings, and we moved to what I imagined would be my ‘retirement home’. I still thought I was going to die soon, but I was happy to do it in peace. Without pain. With a clear mind.
But that’s not what happened is it?
I started walking to the elevator, using my legs, my muscles had completely died at this point. So I walked little steps every day. I finally made it to the door of my building. Then outside to the street. Then around the block. Then down to the water.
My body was healing, it was slowly recovering from all of the trauma. I was reconnecting with myself. We were finally able to take a breath.
Remember that moment when I started writing this, when I said I never thought I’d have a moment of reprieve? Well I did. I finally experienced it that day I made it to the water.
My mind was next, I was healing physically, but now I needed to heal mentally. We both did. We had gone through so much, how do you come back from that?
I was unable to share for quite some time during this period, I lost my ability to share my story.
The minute I got my voice back, I started sharing slowly, cautiously. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand it myself.
I didn’t understand how this could happen to me. How something could go so wrong. How I could be so close to death… but be so alive. I could have died because of a lack of knowledge.
I don’t like to blame, it’s not healthy for my mental well being. The lack of knowledge that exists is not a fault of anyone, it’s a flaw in our medical system that exists because of the rareness of this disease. It’s not fair, but it’s real.
Why do I share? Because it’s going to educate whoever reads this.
It’s going to push boundaries of the rules we are supposed to follow. We are supposed to be good patients and accept our fate.
Well I’m reclaiming my power, I’m slowly every day working on myself mentally and physically.
I’m doing things that bring me joy, I’m sharing things that make others aware, I’m connecting with who I’ve always been, I’m learning why I started this blog in the first place.
It wasn’t a choice, it was my purpose, it was a promise.
I promised I wouldn’t let this cancer take my fabulous, “Fabulous is your light, your smile, your energy, your positivity, your willfulness, your vitality, passion, excitement, beauty, laugh, and how you share it!” –
What you’re about to read is the very first statement I made when I started this blog. The blog that changed my life and so many others.
“This is my very first post, my first time writing a blog, and my first time speaking freely about my personal journey with pheochromocytoma cancer…. and staying fabulous while doing it!
Pheo VS Fabulous was born from the promise that I would never let this disease take away the one thing I could control, and I’ve labeled that my fabulous. When I became ill I realized how much we take for granted, and it started with how day to day tasks are so challenging when you’re battling an illness like pheochromocytoma cancer, that’s when I decided I wouldn’t let it that away from me. It’s more than just looking a certain way, it’s about BEING fabulous, strong, and positive when you have every reason not to be.
The danger of something being so rare is that it goes undetected, unrecognized, and is one of the most misdiagnosed conditions. Leaving many of us undiagnosed, and looking for answers.
If you’re reading this, you might still be looking for some…
My goal is through sharing my vulnerabilities with all of you, finding the courage to share something so painfully personal, someone else may have less of a challenge in the future of being diagnosed, treated, and living with this disease, #pheochromocytoma – or any other ‘neuroendocrine cancers. #netcancer #raredisease
The idea is that the more I share, the more information there will be available for a disease where this is so much lacking. Every procedure, every test, every treatment I will suffer through – I will continue to share my experiences so that others don’t have to keep grasping for answers like I did.
Although there is so much to cover… first off, pheo-chromo-cy-whatta?! We will get there darlings, I just want to say…
This blog is meant for awareness:
Awareness for a disease that only a handful of people in this massive universe know about, probably only because they were diagnosed”
Isn’t that incredible? I told you, it was my purpose. Before I even knew what was I was talking about, why I was saying it, and what it would mean. I knew.
NOW – I’m finally in a place where I feel things are improved and better controlled. I have good days, I never thought I’d say that.
I think the most important aspect is treating comorbidity, if you have other illnesses going on, and they’re not being treated as effectively or focused on as much as the main cancer, the issue is it exhausts the nervous system and keeps triggering the Pheo episodes. Everything from the adrenals, the thyroid, mast cells, anything that can be impacted, make sure it’s being properly treated. Even my endometriosis finally being diagnosed and treated has helped, because it took so much pain and stress off my body. Pheo is so triggered by stress, so the more stress we can eliminate from our bodies physically, the better quality of life we will have.
I started this blog post wanted to share a bullet point list of what has helped me, my meds, my treatments, but I think my heart needed to share, and my soul needed to be emptied of everything I’ve been holding onto.
I started this entry by saying I sometimes get an overwhelming feeling of responsibility to prevent what happened to me, from happening to someone else. So now I’ve shared everything I possibly can to do that. Even after I’m gone, my story and my information will remain available forever.
I will continue to share, every experience, every new piece of the puzzle, but most of all… I’ll continue to share why I have hope.
We can’t heal until we are treated, so hopefully this will help you begin your journey for better treatment. I truly hope you will be able to feel that moment of reprieve I described.
Doesn’t mean I’m terminally ill, confused? I was too.
I still might be, but I think it’s time someone explained what it is to have a terminal rare disease.
With rare disease day approaching, I’d like to do my part in educating about this rare terminal illness I LIVE with everyday.
When I received my grim diagnosis of metastatic pheochromocytoma, it followed with “you have 1-5 years to live”. I was sentenced to death, and given a time frame to live my life. It’s haunted me ever since. It’s shaped how I perceive my world and how I went about living in it.
It didn’t have to be this way…
Delivering a diagnosis should be one of the most sensitive topics there ever is in a career. It should explain the illness you’re facing, and explain how to live with it.
Just because I’m terminally ill doesn’t mean I have to die…
It can take years upon years to die, a terminal illness means you will EVENTUALLY die of that illness, but no one should be signing your death certificate.
Just because I’m terminally ill doesn’t change the standard of care, I want to live. I deserve every treatment, every intervention, every respect that someone else with a chronic condition or just a condition gets.
I’m still living, and should be treated that way.
Just because I’m terminally ill, shouldn’t mean I’m given palliative care to help me die.
It means I should be given palliative care options to help me live, to extend my life, to improve my quality of life.
Just because I’m terminally ill, doesn’t mean I don’t have a beautiful life ahead of me.
It just looks and feels different than yours, but it’s still worth living.
When I was given my grim diagnosis, it’s all I could think about. Everyday, dying. My time was ticking. My rights were being taken away as a normal patient.
Just because I’m terminally ill, doesn’t mean I should sign a DNR to get treatment
Yes, this is illegal. But it didn’t stop the hospitals around me from withdrawing treatment, and making me too scared to call an ambulance when in an emergency because I thought they’d kill me.
Just because I’m terminally ill, shouldn’t mean I had to move three hours away to be close to a hospital who gets this.
It’s so important to have proper, quality, care. Doctors who understand what a terminal illness is, that are willing and excited to treat your rare disease with the respect it deserves. Ready to give you the respect you deserve.
Just because I’m terminally ill doesn’t mean I should have no dignity…
When I was “dying”, I lost my dignity last. I held onto it for quite some time, but eventually it went away. It was the hardest thing to lose, it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. It didn’t have to be this way.
I don’t consider myself dying anymore, I consider myself someone who’s living with a terminal illness.
I consider myself someone who will eventually succumb to this disease, but not for a very long time.
I consider myself someone who’s fought hard and long enough to share this information with you all.
I consider myself someone who can help change the way terminal illness is perceived.
If you receive that grim diagnosis, please, please, don’t give up. There ARE treatments that work.
There IS a way to be stable.
Quality of life CAN be different.
You need support, in all forms, you need palliative care, (proper care), you need a team of doctors who listen and respect you. Most of all.. you need hope. That’s what this gives you, your hope to hold onto and never let go.
Five years ago I was told I had 1-5 years to live. I sat in a white office with the same diabetes posters and bland medical facts I had looked at several times, and contemplated how angry I was. Angry because had I not been so ‘rare’, something might be different. Perhaps someone might have listened to me, instead of blaming my symptoms on anxiety. This was the worst day of my life.
If someone had just listened to me while I complained of symptoms for years, I would not be sitting here listening to how I had 18 tumors that metastasized all over my organs, and were now killing me at an aggressive rate.
I left the office that day SO angry, but that anger turned into determination. The fiercest determination I could have ever felt, I was not going to die because I wasn’t heard.
I would be heard.
For the last five years, I’ve been heard. I may have suffered along the way, I may have had to do every form of treatment possible, but I’ve been heard.
Not accepting my fate was one of the best decisions I could have made, even after countless disappointments and setbacks, despite being told again and again mountains of bad news, I didn’t give up.
We didn’t give up.
I have news …
Today I sat in a white office, waiting to see my oncologist to hear an update of my cancer progression. For the first time in the last five years, I held onto the hope I felt countless times, and waited for news.
It’s always bad news …
Not this time.
Today, for the first time since my diagnosis, I was told I was stable.
There’s no cure for the cancer I have, not at this stage. I was given palliative care, and supposed to await death. I was sent away to die at 24 years old.
I didn’t accept that, I fought. Hard.
Now I’m stable!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?
Stable means that for now I don’t have to continue treatment, I can take a break. Stable means I don’t have to go do any more scans for 6 whole months, 6 months! Stable means I can be in less pain, it means less attacks.
It means hope...
I’m writing this with tears in my eyes, because when I started this journey I just wanted to make a difference in as many peoples lives possible. To prevent suffering like mine. Today I feel that I can finally GIVE hope, the hope I’ve been clinging to so hard for the last few years.
Many of you have followed my journey from the beginning, clinging onto that hope just as hard. I’m finally able to tell you that I have good news, and it feels incredible.
If you’re reading this and you’re going through treatment, if you’re in pain, if you’re suffering, if you’ve just received your diagnosis, wherever you are in your journey… just know that I’ve been there.
Now I’m here.
It’s an amazing thing.
My life will never be normal, and I’m certainly not cured, but this is the first time I can say that I’m able to breathe a little. I don’t have to plan my life around what treatment is next, wondering if it will work, or what side effects it will have. I can just live. For now, I can breathe again.
If you’d like to see more of my journey, and learn about what treatments I’ve done… take a look around my blog. My most recent treatment plan was PRRT, although scary, it definitely made a difference in my condition.
Not giving up saved my life, being heard by the best of doctors for this condition… changed everything.
Never, ever, give up.
Hope is the hardest thing to have, but it’s worth it.
Pheo VS Fabulous 🚨 Coming to you live from the comforts of her 15×25 hospital suite 🏥
It’s incredible when the mental fog begins to clear just a touch and you’re able to begin to make the smallest of revelations.
Such as, did I just type a sentence?
Or spell revelation without going into one of my “coma like states”?
Or the bigger ones…like, it truly has been exactly a year since I fell off the planet. But did you guys really think it was by choice 😐 ?!
Warning: things may get a bit sassy while my brain function is working, I’m not letting this opportunity waste ⚠️
Do you think I would devote my entire personal life to opening up about this disease and then suddenly withdraw that responsibility unless it was for the fact that I was too sick myself? …
I made a promise, a vow if you will, and I HAVE every intention of keeping it: to not let this cancer take my “Fabulous”
….Then, what good is it if there’s no one to share it with? PheoVSFab was started for others like me, and others like me seeking guidance for the ones who SO desperately need it. My greatest devastation over the last year has been losing the ability to communicate, not knowing why, and being so confused all the time that I didn’t know how or where to even begin.
Yes, that’s right, updating a status, sending a text message, menial tasks sent me into a 🆕 full “crisis” mode. Eventually leaving it impossible to do just about anything. Depressing much?
You’re telling me.
I’m just beginning to talk about menial tasks that have to do with blogging, but that was my direct connection with the outside world, also my outlet. I’m not even skimming the surface on how it’s felt to lose further mobility, forget the days of bathing yourself, most recently even the bathroom became a hot date between my husband and I, sometimes even breathing was a chore. When you can no longer sit on your couch, or touch your legs at ALL because you’re in so much pain, when your facial “flushing” is so bad that you feel you’re in an actual oven because your skin literally comes off like an inside out sunburn 🥵 , you start to question WTF IS HAPPENING TO ME!
This isn’t Just MY disease anymore.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
This disease, my already very weak body, and what will be known as incredibly sneaky symptoms are responsible for yet another impossibly long road to a complicated diagnosis.
But before I get into any of that..
I just want to share one very important thing, without support we are nothing, and over the years I’ve come to have such a massive family throughout the PHEO VS FAB network. YOU guys have kept us alive, and full of hope.
It has killed me every day to not be able to actively participate in helping others. Without being able to do this, I had never felt so isolated. This isn’t me.
I would never distance myself like this by choice.
So, if you DO know someone who’s sick, do everything you can to adapt to them, with them, and for them. Even if it seems they don’t want to, or can’t, they do. They maybe can’t tell you, like literally physically cannot tell you, but they need you. Everybody needs someone. No one can do this alone.
Most importantly, never ever ever ever, give up hope. No matter how bad it gets. Hope is one of the scariest things to have – but it’s the only thing worth holding onto, and when everyone & everything else is gone, it will be the only thing you have left.
Hope is something no one can take away from you. Not even cancer.
This disease can change your sight, your mental capacity, your ability to walk, it can put you into so much pain you can no longer move, it will even change who you are as a human being via a shit load of foreign hormones everyday that don’t belong, but it can’t change deep down who you are in your soul. Who I will always be is fabulous – Broken, scarred, bruised, but fab AF and ready to say F you to whatever this new chapter is going to be.
That’s the thing when you come after a fighter, eventually they WILL find a way to fight back.
Although we are still very early days and don’t have answers just yet — the fact that I am finally in my “super hospital” surrounded by my angels, being taken care of by my specialists, being HEARD, contributing, they’ve already given me the ability to write this blog post.
I’ve been in the hospital now (2018/11/30) for 2 weeks and we are slowly on a road to a very complex and delicate recovery, yet also a diagnosis progress.
Yes, you heard me. A diagnosis. What? Don’t you already have 17 diseases some may ask?
*insert laughter attempt here*
I thought I had enough as well.
WELL Apparently not.
This is what I’ve been getting at.
Some may be thinking, how come no one helped sooner?
WELCOME TO THE DANGERS OF BEING RARE
I have never been sent home so many times to die in my life.
That part was a little depressing.
One year, a lot of Dejavu, endless suffering pain, new fun attacks and a long- but -urgent -semi -coherent drive to Montreal in the end of it all ➡️ …..
…. We are now safe in the Montreal hospital, where they are amazing, and actually treat their patients 🧩
Thanks to MY own personal doctor cupcakes. My Superman. Who I think hasn’t slept in the last year in order to keep me alive and also smiling every day despite the screaming in between.
If you’re going through something similar, whether you’re in early stages of diagnosis, newly diagnosed, or like me, being diagnosed again, and again, and AGAIN.. remember this one thing – no matter how difficult, or how unexpected, eventually… things WILL come together, and when they do, only YOU have the ability to decide what you make of the rest of your story.
Through my suffering I’ve been able to reach out into so many people’s hearts and lives:
Through my pain I’ve been able to see humanity like you wouldn’t believe. Through all of the trial and tortures I’ve been able to treasure other people’s proper diagnosis and the removal of suffering.
Through the tears I’ve laughed harder than I’ve cried, and seen more beauty in darkness than I can ever describe. There is so much in the world that is to be discovered through these miracles, we just have to be mindful.
You may have to do a slight refresher from my last post, but otherwise I’m going to keep it short. I will definitely go more in detail about what’s to come soon…
I’m just so exhausted and can barely keep my eyes open while I’m typing and covered in my favorite fuzzy blankets and every pink and purple unicorn pillow/stuffed animal I own
You guessed it…… LONG DISTANCE ROAD TRIP!
To where you ask? To do what you might be wondering? We will get to all of that!
First off, I’m kind of sorry and not sorry for dropping off the planet for a little while. Since I’ve started at home chemo that is EVERYDAY, twice a day, it’s a bit hard to want to then blog about cancer when you have very little left to give. What I did have left, I ended up having to use to prepare for the upcoming cancer CLINICAL TRIAL 👏🏼 Yes, that’s a whole lot of cancer. Which we will get more into when I have more time/energy. So you can see why I am sooooo sleepy 😴😷😪
Remember back when we discussed doing the first clinical trial? The very exclusive nuclear scan that was only being done on a limited group of people to see if their tumors would light up and be eligible for ANOTHER clinical trial?
Basically, it was a special scan to see if you could participate in another form of radiation type therapy. Well… Here’s a recap of everything.
So I did that, and passed the test! My tumors lit up, lots of them, so… That means I can have the special radiation called PRRT radiotherapy. (Similar to what I did back in January, the MIBG radiotherapy) but still different.
Don’t worry, I’ll be writing all about this when I’m not so depleted.
I just wanted everyone to know what was happening so far. This week has been very overwhelming, everything has been so last minute, we were informed of my acceptance within a few days of admittance, and all I can say is how grateful I am to not be a beginner at this whole treatment thing. This last minute…. We would be FREAKING out way more, but we’re veterans, so we’re only freaking out on the inside….. A little…. Ha
-This morning we left, today is a hours and hours full of travel where we will eventually make it to our hotel and check in, and spend our last night together 😰😝
– Tomorrow (Monday) I unfortunately get checked into the hospital, alone. A new unknown hospital….! 😳🏥
(I have to start getting prepped with special meds, since the treatment will make my pheo tumors angry. Hopefully by being admitted into the hospital and being prepped with special medications, this will lessen my chances of complications)
– Tuesday @ 7:30am I begin to get prepped for treatment ⚗☠
-Tuesday @ 9am treatment commence! 🎉✨☠
The rest of the week is unknown, I do know I will be less radioactive this time in comparison to last time’s treatment. Which means I shouldn’t be isolated as long.
That’s all for now.
Will share more about our previous trip to Quebec City to prep for the trial, acceptance, and WHAT IS PRRT?
Let me explain, regardless of whether or not it will, it’s what we do with this information and how we are prepared to deal with it that’s important. Going through MIBG radiotherapy has really taken a lot from me, I am still slowly picking up the pieces… but that’s the beauty of it, I am still picking them up.
Although I have been a little more quiet during my recovery, it’s been a lot more difficult for me this time around… I felt it was important to share that I have not lost my hope, my passion, my positivity, and most importantly… my ‘fabulous’.
I am so honoured to be able to say I can share this message through The Mighty, as they have so kindly published my article.
Thank you to The Mighty for helping me achieve my goal in becoming a little less rare.
With so many awful things to worry about, feel, and experience… Cancer gives you two options: succumb to it’s misery and pain, and let yourself be one with it physically and mentally, or… Allow yourself to feel the inevitable pain and misery, be honest about the trials it imposes upon your life, and still find a reason to smile every single day… because let’s put this differently, with so many awful things to worry about, why NOT smile?
If you are still able to see the beauty amongst all that pain, that is a smile worth having.
It’s been 16 days since I did MIBG radioactive therapy (read link here) – It is definitely still an imposition, and I certainly can go on and on about my struggles, but instead I’m just going to focus on today – with no expectations, and just keep smiling my way through it for now.
Today I will get a look at how my body is performing after my high dose of MIBG radioactive therapy, and make sure I’m not in any imminent danger, we like knowing I’m safe and sound and my tumors aren’t going to do anything sneaky. You never know… Since the surprise attack we initiated on them, they can be very vindictive.
Therapy, treatment, normally implies some sort of relief right? Well let’s hope so, because I don’t think it sounds very therapeutic, but what do I know… 😂
Today is the day!
Its 6:41am and I’m about to go have a fight with the shower, be assaulted by my tumors for a good hour, and then once all at calms down… Think about leaving for the hospital for admissions, yesssss honey! It’s a glamarous life 😜
‘Mibg’ radioactive therapy should start to be administered around noon.. I have no idea what to expect… We are anticipating my body to not cooperating during the injection, it’s just a fact that the tumors are going to uptake the radioactive isotopes, and they’re going to essentially explode their adrenaline, leavin me littered with the aftermath, this is the part where they have to be extremely careful to balance with medications to protect my heart and so on! Yikes 😬
I got the greatest gift of all yesterday, because of the kindness and generosity of so many … Serge is able to stay 10 minutes away while these complications arise, being right there, VS being 3.5 hours away.. He is literally my husband and yet my caregiver, and it’s hard enough being isolated during this whole event, and several days after, knowing he is there if something goes wrong… is the best gift anyone could have given me.
Yesterday was one of the most difficult days of my life, but my heart was full of warmth and happiness because of every single one of you reaching out to me… Today you will be with me in my heart 💖 Getting me through each step, until I can update again! We love you all so very much, merci and thank you for your continued support in my journey 🏩
I must be off for now, tata my loves!
See you after I’m radioactive and a little less pleasant … 😈💖
It’s here, that inevitable day has come.. The one I leave my warm comfortable bed at home once again, and will travel to my ‘super hospital’ in Montreal, and receive MIBG radiotherapy…
Tomorrow the actual process starts, but of course we have to leave a day in advance in order to be there, get admitted, be ready in the morning and make sure my body doesn’t have to endure TOO much stress and travel time before the actual procedure – as it’ll be dangerous enough to administer the treatment… Eeeeek! Okay. Getting a little nervous, understandably, when I did my surgery… It was basically – that was my only option for a real chance, when I still woke up with the unfortunate news that there was disease left in me and of course that disease had multiplied within just months …. You can understand our thoughts when it comes to this. I’m a realist, I know there’s no cure to this disease, but it would be REALLY lovely to not have these tumors adrenaline attack me every couple hours… And feel like I’m in a war zone with my own body, and waiting to die every minute of the day. I’m not asking for a lot, just a bit of relief, a little less pain, a little less symptoms, some better quality of life.. That way I can focus on being a little more fab for a while, help some others along my way, and perhaps take a small break from this constant battle? Here’s to hoping.
We must get through the hard part first, administering the treatment which will wake up all of the tumors… Sending all of the adrenaline into my body at once, while I’m awake, (amazing) being incredibly sick, potentially wiping out my bone marrow, monitoring my adrenal insuffiency as I’m going to always be going into adrenal crisis with the stress my body will endure, being locked away in isolation as I will be radioactive until further notice, and then hopefully… With time and lots of positive energy, we will hope I will come out free of a few friends, and a little more fabulous 😉💗
I have a whole big schedule planned and everything, it’s very formal 🏩😁
First I’m going to get some bloods…
Second im going to get a big garden hose inserted into my tiny neck… AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Then I will go get my garden hose attached to the machine where I will be hooked up for 6 hours atleast that will steal all my of my bone marrow stem cells, while I watch I love Lucy and sleep and talk to all of you.
At the end of the day I will see how I did and then repeat all over again, except I go back to the hotel with the garden hose still in my neck (ew ew ew) lol. It’s a big IV BY THE WAY…
My goodness, ok I’ll update more later – I just had to let everyone know it’s STARTING ….!!!!!
Yesterday we started the special injections needed to stimulate the growth of new stem cells in my bone marrow, so that when we actually start the transplant/collection process on Monday it will be easier to collect.
Asides from the obvious pain of being injecting by a needle, the burning sensation of a foreign liquid going into your body, and the look on your husband’s face while having to do this to you… It’s the pain it causes AFTER I wasn’t quite prepared for. I suppose I should have, given the fact that all of these new stem cells need room to take shape in your bones, but I wasn’t quite expecting a literal feeling of my bones being ripped apart. Well there you have it, I’ve learned something new.
Be prepared for your bones to feel as though they’re being ripped apart, your knees to feel as though they’re being hit with hockey sticks, your chest to feel like it’s being split in two, your rib cage to feel like it’s being pulled on either side, and your lower spine has become someone’s instrument in a very aggressive band. Yes, this is what my body has become, a painful symphony of well, PAIN. My pain level is already incredibly high, and this new development of bone pain and side effects has put my body into almost a shock like state, a trauma if you will. I didn’t mention the skull bashing headache, the intensity of nausea, and many other lovely symptoms, I think the bone pain is the main event worth noting.
We arrived home yesterday after having gone through the day of testing and first injections and appointments, I was exhausted. I slept immediately as I got home, and everytime I would wake up, I couldn’t stand the thought of being conscious for this magnitude of pain… So I would drift off into another sleep, this continued the entire night, or until I lost track of time.
Today was a new day, a new injection, no change as far as pain or fatigue. If anything .. it may have been worse if that’s even possible. They say to rate your pain on a scale from 1-10, I’m no longer sure if I can do that. My pain level has been at a ’10’ so often, it no longer seems adequate. I couldn’t keep my eyes open for long enough to care, and since I normally am plagued with the inability to sleep at night as part of my disease – I welcomed the change. What I didn’t realize is that this exhaustion was more than exhaustion, it was my cortisol once again depleting from the amount of pain I was in, and this inability to stay awake was a sign I was much too low, and needing steroids. All I cared about was not feeling pain.. So I ignored the fact that I should be watching out for this, I just wanted to not feel anything. It was when Serge finally woke me up and demanded I take steroids, I knew he meant business. What I didn’t realize is that I had been unresponsive for quite some time. Oh, what fun he must have had, wondering if I’m just tired or unconscious. I feel bad for him quite often, I must get him a present – like a whole year worth of steak.. Or perhaps the greatest gift of all would be to just see me without pain for a little while, yes I think that would do 💗
Tomorrow will be day 3 of the injections, and hopefully the last day needed. We may need more depending on collections, but so far as planned, it’s the last day for injection times… I’m not quite sure how long these side effects will go on for, a few days, everyone is different.
Tomorrow (Sunday) we will do our last injections here at home, and then leave for our hotel. Monday early morning we are scheduled to do blood, and then….. THE MOST DREADFUL PART – I have to have a line inserted into my neck 😫 My veins aren’t very good, so I will have to go to radiology, and have a procedure done where they will literally put in a big fat tube into my artery in my neck – while I’m awake. I’ve only ever had this done while out, during prep for surgery, and taken out awake… And let me just tell you, having it taken out, was one of my worst memories. LIKE THIS IS JUST MY WORST FEAR … So Monday is basically my nemesis. 😰 They will keep this in for the few days of collections, and then take it out once they’ve gotten enough stem cells. (UGH) So after I have that installed, I will go and get comfortable in the lovely machine, where I will spend approximately 6 hours a day .. and see at the end of the day if they’ve gotten enough etc! Can I just say.. It’s a good thing I absolutely love my hospital?! I spend half my life there and they treat us like.. family. Everything about this is awful, but atleast I have the comfort in knowing I’m in good hands 💗
Thats my update for now, pain 😂😁
The good news is… Our hotel is fab, I couldn’t possibly recuperate without a fabulous place to lay my poor body!