I've just looked through the last few years of entries. It's something I do very rarely.

life has been hard these past 3 years.

Thankfully in my life there will always be family, friends, iceman and ukeleles.

updates from the babe in toyland

It has been confirmed that I will have a job until our A/W12 Show this February.

I'm not sure I could've lasted longer anyway, as much as that breaks my heart to admit.

After this I hope to devote more time to our comic and YA cancer advocacy, and perhaps freelance writing to pay the bills. Any suggestions? What should I pursue?

I've been having severe hip pain lately, much more than usual; I think it's the joint. I know several people who suffer from avascular necrosis after radiation, and am concerned it is this. I was able to sign up for HHC discounted medical service here in NY, so I will be seeing an orthopedic oncologist next Monday, after spending all yesterday in the Bellevue ER. For now I'm taking an increased dose of pain meds, although it's difficult to work when they make me so groggy. I often find myself trying to communicate, searching for a word that just won't come out. It's embarrassing. I hate opiates.

I'll miss the BJ team; they've become like a family to me; an overworked and overstressed but pizazzy family.

Here's a picture from our Xmas party last month.

betsey quit toying with me!

i am here, where are you?

today has been hard.

Since October my work-week has averaged 60-70 hours; I'm unable to take breaks/lunch because of the tremendous workload. I am paid (an embarrassingly) flat weekly sum as a freelance assistant designer for Betsey Johnson. This Monday I worked from 9:30am-2am, and on Tues had to be in again at 9:30am for our line review. This is not uncommon.

I've developed a cold that seems to linger melodramatically, and no longer have the privilege of free time or time alone (two very different and equally important things). I also find it hard to accept the severity of the industry-- everything must be done yesterday at any cost, and if you fuck up, it's your head on the neon-leopard-print platter. Fuck up = accidentally ordering a 16mm charmeuse instead of 19mm. Digging through an office load of trash to find a printout of a BOOT because your boss forgot to save the image to her desktop. I love the job but it's ridiculously stressful. And no health insurance, of course.

At times like these I wonder... whatthefuckhasmylifecometo?

And I realize that virtually no one I work with (except Betsey herself) has an iota of understanding as to what it's like to be a cancer survivor, to accept death, to drown in chronic pain, and try to continue on as "normal". I'm not normal, I'm another species. I can't relate. You can't relate.

Lately I've been mourning those few people I've met that could relate, and that made me feel connected. Devon, for instance. Diane. And this chap, Justin. Remembering him, I revisited his old blog and rediscovered his writing. I was still going through treatment when I started getting to know him, and I couldn't grasp his jaded-yet-reflective veteran perspective. Now I get it, and now his words sink deeper than ever.

http://superfluke.typepad.com/

here's something he wrote me that rings especially true right now, and brings tears to my eyes:


"I hope the best for you. I've been through a lot over the past five years of treatment and ICE was by far the worst of my experiences. How much of the bone are they looking at? The hip, right? I've been reading some of your blog. It's always weird for me to hear people say things like this but at the risk of sounding bland and uninformed... I love your words. I think we all get to a point when we think we are professionals and know all there is to know about this disease and it's effect on our entire beings. In my case, I have made this disease somewhat of a profession. However, I am always learning something new and regardless of how many times I've heard the same words from so many people our age - it is still encouraging to know that I'm not alone here. Whether it be my head in the clouds, my heart in the pit or my soul in the darkest regions of what seems to be the end of all creation, I know someone is floating close by. A blip on a map perhaps - but at times a beacon to find my way back to the mother ship. This probably makes no sense what so ever. But in plain English, I'm glad you still express yourself. And I'm grateful that I can witness that expression. Currently, I am sitting in the lobby of the National Institutes of Healthin Washington, DC, waiting for my cab to take me to the airport. From there I fly to Dallas, TX where I will stay for a week working 14 hour days on a fashion shoot. Next Saturday I return to NYC for the first time in four weeks to drop of some equipment, change out some clothes in my bag, sleep in my bed for a night and then return to DC for a week of radiation. It can be cold and dark and lonely out here. And every day is a fucking battle. I hope it's not too crazy that I write you. Feel free to do the same."


So Dusty, I am picking up where you left off in 2009, here in brooklyn, here with 14 hour fashionable work days, here trying to survive. I wish you were still around. Here's proof that sharing ourselves through words can reach far beyond our own lives.

{This blog seems to have become more "letters to dead people" than "cancer is hilarious". Do I relate more to the posthumous, or is it that posthumous writing grips us more intensely, knowing the mind that made it is gone forever?}

Suprise Disease

Listen to this haunting song by my friend & soul-mate-poetess Elaine Kahn-- I'm glad my suprise cancer inspired something so good.

I'm sorry for my lack of posts.

I've been working 70 hour weeks for the last 2 1/2 months.

I hope to pick up blogging again soon... there's so much to tell!

more soon.

faking illness cheapens mine.

I've recently found out that a fellow cancer blogger, who I have mentioned before, has been thoroughly faking the whole thing. I'd recently sent her a gift but hadn't heard from her in a week or so. She said she was in hospice and I thought she had died, quite frankly.

What makes me nauseous is that she used my blog as a textbook on how to have cancer. She studied my blog diligently, as well as many others. She took advantage of dozens of real cancer patients like you and I.

Here is a link to her (fake) blog.

I skyped with her, sent her texts and gifts. I treated her like all of my other cancer friends who were dying, with the utmost compassion and respect. We even talked about cancer frauds -_*

A quick google search turns up many more. CANCER IS TOTALLY TRENDING RIGHT NOW.

look here:

example A

example B

example C

and so on...

Fuck you, Cara Goodman of Sugarland, TX.

ps... unfortunately I am not faking.

beautiful passing

It is with a heavy heart that I announce another cancer friend's death.

This one is hard, because I've never met another cancerite who reminded me so much of myself; I loved her from the moment I met her last February through a mutual friend (you MUST meet Diane!). We bonded instantly, and when she had a recurrence (in the form of a rash-- weird, right?) we talked on the phone for hours about how difficult it is to be young and ill and to have your future snatched so suddenly out from under you.

Let me tell you of the awesomeness that was Diane: She was a historical fashion dynamo which none could rival. She knew her hemlines, decades and artists, a jabot from a cravat, and I looked forward to gushing with her about fashion's obscure geniuses. She published a magazine called Zelda (presumably inspired by Fitzgerald) about 1920's deca culture, of which several copies are still strewn about our house. Even though she was only 5 years older than me, I looked up to her as this monumentally beautiful, stylish, funny, intelligent, accomplished woman. She had a black bob, just as I did. It was like looking in the mirror. And, even when she had cancer, remission, and recurrence... she never stopped working towards her passions.

I cry as I write this because I am so utterly sad I wasn't able to know her better.

Diane died suddenly last week after complications with pneumonia, which was due to chemo and her lowered immunity. She battled aggressive breast cancer and recurrence.

The day I found out was the day before my fashion show, so, in my head, it was dedicated to her. Afterwards I spent time with her good friend J, and D, at our home. We talked & drank cider well into the night. Diane had told J that I was of great comfort to her, an inspiration, and that touched me deeply, because I'm not sure she would've ever said that to my face. These things are hard to talk about.

So, Diane Naegel, I am honoured to have known you.