Farah Fawcett – RIP

Farah Fawcett died today. 

I don’t know much about Farah, but Charlie’s Angels has left a significant mark on popular culture. I remember watching Charlie’s Angels as a kid at my Grandmother’s house in Toronto.  I have happy memories of summer days watching Charlie’s Angels and running around the house, flipping my hair with my cousin Kristen pretending to be an Angel myself – I think Kristen was always Farah.  My cousin Tim and my brother, Cam, would sometimes leave us notes as “Charlie” with secret missions that were probably “Get us some cookies”.     In recent years my Bakers Dozen (university girlfriend), well we try to morph into the Angels at many events as demonstrated in this picture – whose location will remain classified. 

I have become more interested in Farah, not her Angel,  since my diagnosis, as all cancer survivor stories seem more interesting now. 

I was diagnosed on May 7^th.  I received my diagnosis in what I considered a “ standard follow up” appointment from my surgery to remove my brain tumor the week previous.   When I was told I had an appointment at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre, I was quite naive about what the result could be.  I literally thought it was a rubber stamp appointment, that everyone had  to attend, even people who didn’t have cancer – like me.  I had recovered from surgery so quickly, certainly it couldn’t be serious, and it certainly wasn’t cancer.  My friend Jan told me she had felt the same – felt that it was routine “Better check if it’s cancer” –   just in case.  Never thinking, cancer would be the case.   

When my oncologist told me, Jared, my father, my mother – “You have a Grade IV, Glioblastoma, a very aggressive tumor.  It is the kind that fingers into your brain.  It cannot be cured, but we believe with treatment that we can control it.”  I know I was the most shocked and surprised by the diagnosis.

Looking back I can see how naively I had approached the whole process.  Jared, in the week leading up to this appointment, had sent me a link with information on the different types of brain tumors to help me prepare for our May 7^th appointment.  He had asked on May 6^th “Did you read the link I sent you?”  I replied casually “No.”  Shocked he asked “Why?”  I replied confidently and casually “Because I don’t want to be an expert on brain tumors.  I had a brain tumor, tomorrow they are going to tell me what type of tumor I had and then I will go research that.   I don’t need to know about the other ones.”  My dad piped in and said “But Alyson, you may still have a tumor, and the doctor said it could be a Gliobastoma.”  I knew what a Gliobastoma was, not how severe it was, but knew that my neuro surgeon talked about how these tumors are very serious, rare, severe and often terminal.   In my heart I believed that I couldn’t be that unique to have such a severe diagnosis at 32.  I cut my dad off and said “I know he said that, but there is no way I have a Glioblastoma. I’m not that special”

After presenting me with my diagnosis, my oncologist asked if I wanted to know statistics.  My response was immediate – No.  People who I work with know that I love statistics – use them every day.  However, in the case of my cancer, statistics don’t me anything to me.  I know that I am 25 years younger than the median age of people who get this type of cancer so statistics don’t include me.   I know that my recovery from surgery was remarkable – released in 2 days, eating within 2 hours, alert and talking within 45 minutes of completion of brain surgery to remove a 6.5 cm tumor.   I know that I have an army of support in friends and family protecting me who all believe unequivocally, that I will survive this.   I know that I have taken good care of my health and have an optimistic attitude that has prepared me for this moment.  I also believe that you are never given anything you cannot handle and that everything is given to you for a reason – even incurable cancer.  I have been chosen for this and I am ready for this journey.

But I am the Cat afterall – and a curious Cat at that.  I went looking for and found statistics on the morning of May 9^th.  It was early in the morning, 4, maybe 5 am.  My steroid was keeping me up and I wandered, by myself, into some links a friend had sent me.  Buried in the pages I saw numbers and statistics.  Found out that majority of  brain tumors grow back even after treatment  and repeat surgeries are often necessary.  That the “survivor rate” is incredibly low and those that do survive, the numbers of years as a survivor is more the timeline of my short term professional goals, not what I would consider a “survivor” life span. 

Again I was shocked.

It was Day 3 since I had been diagnosed and I was coming to terms with the fact, that I had an incurable Glioblastoma, a rare form of brain cancer, where the survivors rates are even more rare.    I really am this special.  This is a really serious, severe and potentially terminal condition.

 I couldn’t be naive about my cancer anymore.

The Farah Fawcett special, aired May 15^th – which would have been Day 8.  I had several friends email and call me to let me know that it was on, which I appreciated.    Many also contacted me afterwards to tell me how inspired they were by her story, her strength and her courage in the face of terminal cancer.  Before my diagnosis this would have been a special I would not have missed.

I didn’t watch it.   I couldn’t watch it.  It was too close for me.  

I did want to see someone that brave that put her story out there that was fighting with optimism, support and passion – like me.  But I thought her survivor story would just reinforce the bleak statistics my curiosity had found.  I didn’t want to see someone with cancer who was “dying”.  It was too soon.  I thought it wasn’t the right time and I avoided that special, even turned the channel when commercials came on about it.

Today, June 25^th, is Day 48.  A lot has changed since Day 3.  It is officially my half way mark for my radiation. Tomorrow when I go to radiation, I will have less treatments to do than I have already done.   Even more remarkable, I am still breaking the statistics. 

• They told me radiation would make me tired – I feel fantastic, as active as I want to be including runs, bike rides and lots of walks.   Very few naps or changing in sleep.   
• They told me I couldn’t drive because I would be a seizure risk – I am not driving, but I have had no seizure symptoms whatsoever. 
• They told me that the chemo would make me nauseous – It hasn’t and I am barely taking any of the anti –nausea to assist.
• They told me my headaches would come back – No headaches, haven’t even needed Advil.
• They told me I would lose my short term memory and problem solving abilities – I am focused on being more organized, and I don’t feel that this has changed in the least.

I am not saying there are no side effects.  My face is super swollen and I have gained 12 lbs due to the steroid I am on.  I am losing my hair, albeit it slowly but I doubt I will even need to shave it.  I have a great wig coming next week and everyone says I look cute with my cheeks, since apparently I have great cheekbones.   All things considered, a little extra weight, and some chubby cheeks,   I will take those side effects.

I had seen some information about Farah Fawcett last week and thought that I might be ready to read a little about her survivor story.  Made a mental note to visit her website – didn’t get around to it.  I will soon and sometime over the next few months I will source out “Farah’s Story” and watch it. 

I feel genuinely sad today that she has died.  I find it’s unique that it happened at my half way mark.  The special and the choice not to watch it was a significant moment in my first few weeks – I journaled about it privately.  Somehow I knew her death would again be significant event for me, allowing me a moment to reflect on the strength in my own journey.

It’s always strange when a celebrity dies – you don’t know them, but you feel that you do.  I feel sad that she lost her battle and I shed some tears today.  62 seems young for me; my dad is only 63 and I could not imagine life without him.  She seemed too young as well to have had to fight this battle in the first place.  I am grateful that she chronicled her story and I know that when I am ready, I will find strength in her story.   I know that the moment I choose to hear her story, will be a moment where I will feel inspired and I will have stronger outlook on my diagnosis because of her journey.  I have no doubt this legacy of strength will put her in a different light as an Angel.  Tonight my thoughts will be with her family, friends and fans. 

Thanks Farah for your strength, courage and for the inspiration I will seek in you soon. 

RIP