About Our Comic

I want to make a post to let my readers know about our comic-book project that was funded by Kickstarter last year, and I want to be very direct & honest, as usual. We grossed $7,000 in funds to finish the project, and this went into our living expenses for 3 months as we worked, supplies for backer prizes, and supplies to produce a professional comic, including drawing materials and a scanner.

The plan was to have everything done by the time [ehm-tee-vee] airs a documentary series focusing on my life as a young cancer survivor. The show also covers our production of the "preview" comic & how we found our awesome publisher.

Unfortunately, our money ran out before we could finish the book. The reasons for this are many-- some personal, some not. Originally our goal was to publish a 26 page comic. But as we went along, Jon, our illustrator, wanted to make it bigger-- 100 pages bigger. I have always expressed my concern over this, that we should edit to stay in budget & meet our deadline. Jon is very enthusiastic about this bigger, more involved comic, and assured me that he'll finish the illustrations. I share his enthusiasm, because the story & potential to help people is great. However I feel very uneasy about asking the community for more money to finish this project.

The money would go to backer prizes, and Jon's living expenses as he finishes this 100-page comic.

What do you guys think? Do you want to see another Kickstarter fundraiser, or are you happy with the "preview" comic we have published? The story that Jon & I have developed has a lot of potential, and I want to see it finished. But is asking the cancer community for another $5,500 morally acceptable? Am I reading too much into this?

I would really appreciate your input. I feel the project was somewhat mismanaged, and I am partially to blame for this, because I've got a lot of other cancery things on my plate-- I don't have the energy to micromanage. I put it all in Jon's hands, and although he's done an amazing job so far, the scope of the project has overwhelmed its creators.

thoughts? I want this project to be for you, and I want you to have a say in its fate.

here is a link to check out the new project.

Thanks for reading, guys!

For that Badass, Becca Babcock.

Last month I was perusing the blogs that I follow, and I was sad to realize that our Becca is gone. I say "our Becca" because she was a vocal (and super-awesome) young adult cancer blogger, who shared her journey and followed along as we shared ours. She was part of our collective voice, and she will always be, thanks to her writing.  I am extremely touched that her mother continues to post her journal entries, so that we may benefit from Becca's private insight. I have years and years of journal entries just like Becca's, and I would hope that my mom would do the same. I think our shared goal is always: I want to be of benefit. I want my life to mean something to someone.  I think that by sharing our deepest fears and pains, we can accomplish this in an especially intimate way.

I met the fiercely intelligent Becca in 2008 through Planet Cancer. She commented occasionally on this blog and she always had good advice. I guess it was as if she'd done 5 successive tours of duty-- she'd been at war for awhile, and she knew the ropes. We all exchange battle stories, but in the end it seems we still feel hopelessly alone. We fight alone. Nevertheless, there are things that Becca wrote, privately, that make me feel not-so-alone:

"You know what one of the most awful parts of cancer is? Knowledge.Of course, that is an odd statement, because at first I would be inclined to say that is one of the gifts of cancer. When trying to appease myself somehow with the thought of cancer and all that it entails, I would find a very small amount of comfort in certain knowledge that comes with diagnosis.That knowledge includes things such as: I KNOW the true meaning of the phrase 'Life is Short'."

[I often feel that I "know too much" for my own mental health, due to what cancer has taught me.]

"I think often how I don't think I'll be alive very long. not like I think I may keel over, say, tomorrow. but unless a miracle happens very very soon, I feel inevitably, I'll be defeated :(  (incidentally, it's now tomorrow & I didn't keel over...). I sometimes wonder why i can't just get it easy & fall asleep one night & just not wake up? I wonder if people that has happened to, if they could ever appreciate how lucky they are to have that happen. they not only have no idea that's coming, they don't have to spend time agonizing over unfinished business... they don't have to worry about the pain and suffering associated with a sudden violent death. I really envy those people. Anywho, I'm kinda just weary on life today. I can't wrap my mind around my life at this time. I don't seem able to find motivation in order to "care" about things. & in general...I'm just tired of people. normal people. they bother me without even trying or attempting to. oh, that, and it's back to cold.  BAH."

[link to Becca's amazingly articulate, literally bad-ass blog here]


I want to dedicate my life, somehow, to young adults with cancer-- there is nothing else I feel passionate about anymore. I've spent the last few months in an incredibly deep depression. It has been difficult coming to terms with life in the afterglow of cancer. It has left an indelible mark of uncertainty and finality upon my life. It has left physical and mental pain that has yet to resolve, and at times is overwhelming. I am still searching for a life after cancer. Turns out it doesn't just come to you naturally, like breathing, as one would expect. You really have to fight for stability and your own ideal future. You have to come to terms with the knowledge you've been given-- that pain endures, and death is imminently unknown, and therefore life is precious and bullshit is insufferable. Right now, that's what I'm working on. If I can get past those things, and stay healthy, I'll be golden.

I am unsure what role I will play in cancer advocacy, but I'd like it to be an ongoing goal. For now, Jon and I are continuing with our Cancer Comic. If things go as planned, we should have the entire graphic novel finished by September, just in time for the MTV documentary to air. We are adding some of my personal writing to the final publication, and I've been thinking about opening up a submissions process to allow fellow cancer writers and artists to be published. Thoughts? Anyone interested in submitting an essay or illustration to Terminally Illin? I feel that it could have a monumental effect on the future cancer community if it became a communal, collective effort... but I'm unsure of how to facilitate this.

I am also planning on being much more active here on CIH, because I've realized that my writing continues to positively effect people's lives. I want to say that I appreciate immensely the feedback that my readers give-- there are many visitors largely unknown to me that have been following my story for years, probably out of morbid curiosity, but also out of compassion and a genuine appreciation for human expression. People like me, people like Becca. People like you. Let's keep sharing, no matter what.

Vintage Cancer #1

thorazine for your cancer woes!

this sanatorium used lye to burn tumors off! 

we've been slashing & burning since the Victorian era. 

...

death is not the end of this song

it's been stuck in my head lately.

"How astonishingly (here I must premise that illness, as far as I can judge in so short a time, has relieved my mind of a load of deceptive thoughts and images, and makes me perceive things in a truer light),--how astonishingly does the chance of leaving the world impress a sense of its natural beauties upon us! I think of green fields; I muse with the greatest affection on every flower I have known from my infancy--their shapes and colours are as new to me as if I had just created them with a superhuman fancy. It is because they are connected with the most thoughtless and the happiest moments of our lives. I have seen foreign flowers in hothouses, of the most beautiful nature, but I do not care a straw for them. The simple flowers of our Spring are what I want to see again."

Keats 1821

reflections and predictions

Since I was too busy with work to properly reflect on New Year's resolutions, I'll do so now.

But first, a little catch-up:

Monday was our a/w 2012 fashion show at Betsey Johnson, and sadly, my last day with the company.

backstage

this plaid was my doing (via style.com)

1/2 of the assistant design team

Working at BJ (however brief a stint it was) has proved to be one of the highlights of my life-- purely for the amazing people I've met, and the chance to know Betsey herself,  a personal idol of mine since I first resolved to navigate a sewing machine. How many people can say they've fulfilled a dream job they had at age 13? 

Unfortunately mine was a temp position, and my body ultimately couldn't sustain the 12 hour workdays for more than 5 months. The day after show I flew out to CA for scans to determine the source of my increased pain. I'll see my oncologist one last time this Tuesday for the results.

This break in Work brings up many questions about my future, which is something I am always reluctant to think about since Cancer. How can I find a job with a lower physical impact? How can I find a position that actually offers health coverage ( i.e., how to escape freelancer's purgatory)?  On a broader scale, what do I want to do with my life, now that I know my body can't quite hold up to 7th ave fashion industry? Now that I have crossed a life-goal off the proverbial list?

My thoughts scan back and forth between what has made me most happy in life, and what I could do to make others most happy.

Sometimes I settle on my past, on faults and bad coping mechanisms, or physical pain, but only briefly, as I remember all of the good I am capable of doing if I so choose. Without intending to sound melodramatic-- every single day is a struggle. But the days seem to keep coming.


So, what now?

what happens after cancer?

Symptoms of PTSD

Symptoms of PTSD fall into three main categories:

1. "Reliving" the event, which disturbs day-to-day activity

• Flashback episodes, where the event seems to be happening again and again
• xRepeated upsetting memories of the event
• xRepeated nightmares of the event
• xStrong, uncomfortable reactions to situations that remind you of the event

2. Avoidance

• xEmotional "numbing," or feeling as though you don't care about anything
• xFeeling detached
• xBeing unable to remember important aspects of the trauma
• xHaving a lack of interest in normal activities
• xShowing less of your moods
• xAvoiding places, people, or thoughts that remind you of the event
• xFeeling like you have no future

3. Arousal (heh)

• xDifficulty concentrating
• Startling easily
• Having an exaggerated response to things that startle you
• xFeeling more aware, hypervigilance (to health issues)
• xFeeling irritable or having outbursts of anger
• xHaving trouble falling or staying asleep

You might feel guilt about the event (including "survivor guilt"). You might also have some of the following symptoms, which are typical of anxiety, stress, and tension:

• xAgitation or excitability (these next 5 only happen in hospitals)
• xDizziness
• xFainting
• xFeeling your heart beat in your chest
• xHeadache

I've found that most PTSD information available online doesn't mention cancer at all. Perhaps because 30 years ago the survivorship for agressive cancer was much lower, or age skewed more towards the elderly, or there aren't enough cases to merit any research. Or no one cares. I'm sure it depends on the subjective experience-- how threatening the cancer was, how drastic the treatment, a person's predisposition for anxiety, genetics, etcetera. The only solution to PTSD: a shit ton of therapy.

I mention this because most of my week has been spent in NY City hospitals, and my god. my. god. It's a whole different type of crowded. It's like the airport in a snowstorm. It's every anxiety I could imagine. I sat on the dirty floor in a packed room for 3 hours waiting for my prescription. It's a lot like I imagine Ellis Island felt like; tons of helpless people stuck in a tiny dirty room, no one speaks english, and everything smells really... funky. Bad funky, not good funky. Going from insured in CA to uninsured in NY is like Dorothy going from Kansas straight to the second circle of hell (my favorite circle btw).

I didn't think this part through very well. because I avoid hospitals. because I have a little ptsd problem. see what I did there?

look i drew you a map