Some This, Some That, #NerdAlert and Cat.

Today was an awesome day. I woke up at quarter to ten after my mom just walked around the upstairs like a buzzing alarm clock.

"Courtney, Court, CEEBEE, COURTNEY, coooooourtttttneeeey, COOOOOURT!"

After about three "I"M UP"'s I finally got up. I threw on my long grey and black maxi skirt and black lulu tank. I don't know what I would do with out my lulu, its just.... no really I don't know what I would do. My friend D tweeted a little while back

"One does not simply throw out Lulu"

or something to that effect and I remember laughing hysterically because its so true. I still own everything I've ever bought from there, even from when I first discovered it, about 8 years ago. I have some haggard lulu pieces exhausted from being worn to death, but I just simply cannot part. If there is a place, where lulu is not acceptable attire, I think I get uncomfortable. I've had friends literally stop me from walking out the door, because I don't fool them. I did not take leggings and make them bar chic. I'm in leggings, not even like dressy ones with shine or faux leather but lulu ones. They've busted me with a

"nice try, now go change, we're going to a country club (::insert anywhere fancy, ok not even that fancy here::) for dinner not the library!"

HAHAH Ok but enough about my obsession.

I was bouncing off the walls today. I couldn't sit still, and I don't know if its because I finally got an amazing sleep, which in actuality, I didn't or what, but I was just in a long overdue good mood. My body was starting to feel a little bit better having had the weekend off from chemo. The Eagles played tonight (AND OMG WON) and I can't tell you how long I've been waiting for the season to start. (Although it makes me really sad, because there's nothing I love more than working in a sports bar, and chirping customers on their "football knowledge" or lack thereof. Its a wonder I make any money.)

My mum and I headed into radiation and I was so me. I have these days where I'm feeling good, I'm perky, I'm loud, and I'm just the bubbly blonde that people know and expect. Then there are other days where I emulate Anna Wintour's signature scowl behind HUGE sunglasses. (She's the editor and chief of Vogue, basically who the Devil Wears Prada was based off of.)

On the way to radiation I saw a white SUV with Ontario plates. The homesick pangs hit me hard. I should have known from a mile back that they were from Canada, you can just tell. Philly drivers cant drive, like at all, and New Jersey ones either anally assault you by making you fear for your life, or sit, in the passing lane, on their phones with a confused look on their faces. Long story short, it was nice to see some fellow Canadians, even if they did, dare I say it, not realize I was one of their own and think I was a New Jersian.... GASP!

I think it hit home even more so because there was a benefit back home for me this past weekend that I couldn't attend. It was just so cool to see first hand the support of friends and family. Its really frustrating because I feel more confident with words on paper (or screen) than I do anything else but how do u adequately thank people. People donating their time and money and how can you honestly show them how grateful you are. If I could, I would write every individual a thank you note, but its just not realistic, although I would be the one to try. So thank you to all who were involved, A, D, R, K, C, K... etc. etc.

My mom was on a roll with the funnies today. I developed a twitter page for SassyBlonde (You can follow @SassyBlondeCBG) because I find I forget so many things through out the day. I think my most common hashtag will be #ShitMyMomSays. For example,

"Court I'm driving, can you cloud message that for me."

I was like Uh mom, what do you mean by cloud message. I'm thinking something related to Icloud. She's like

"You know the green cloud- to send messages."

I burst out with a

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHA Do you mean text or Imessage."

She's so cute, once again so smart but sooo just ... hahah love you mom. ooooh But I can't let her get off that easy. After radiation we went to get food. Take advantage when I have an appetite. So we went to get pizza slices at Vitos (we're going to try the Paleo diet so we splurged). As we're pulling in she see's a black Acura SUV, A black Honda SUV and a black Hyundai SUV.

"LOOK they're twins!!!"

I was like

"Uh mom, they're all different, the only thing in common is the color."

My dad doesn't get off so easy either though. He's a gem too... haha as much as I make fun of the rentals, we're so alike. I couldn't resist, I actually laugh every time I look at this. Can you say #NerdAlert

Today was a good day, but I got home and finally it started to hit me. Its amazing how fast I feel it, nauseous, tired. I mean in retrospect we're microwaving my insides. I sat on the couch, I watched criminal minds. I read, but I just couldn't have it. As I was walking into the hospital this morning, I got a flash of nausea, and I knew it was just me being classically conditioned to feel like $#!% from the hospital. I didn't want my couch to have that same association, so I ended up falling asleep upstairs. It was needed, I wasn't feeling so hot and I didn't want a repeat of last week. Last week was terrible for me. I started the week off with my lunch box all ready to go- kids went back to school, I went back to radiation.

Mid way through the week I was hating my life. On Wednesday at chemo, as I sat in my chemo chair, I zeroed in on two trash cans mentally calculating which one was closer. I was pale, I was not feeling well and I was ready to just hide.

Days like today remind me I'm going to feel better... eventually. I'm going to get back to my old self. Its going to suck and take time but it will happen! I have friends and family who's support is out of this world. My Eagles are winning. I've got good books, finally a Christian Grey to look forward too, and now a new fondness for Sons of Anarchy because of it. My parentals are hilarious and MY SIS IS BACK FROM A FESTIVAL! Finally butt head, I've missed ya. Most importantly, I've got Dex. As I so proudly proclaimed to my bff back home

"I send selfies, trying to look hot and my cat photo bombs me" #ThatsHowIRoll (selfie not attached)

Overcompensating At Life Just To Miss Out On It.

This morning while on the phone with someone, something clicked, and no it wasn't the sound of me hanging up. I was up very early, it was 9am. Granted I had not been to bed the night before but I had a chance to lay back and have one of my "Courtney Panic Attacks". Those happen, when I can't control the amount of things racing through my mind.

The reason for the call, or who it was with isn't important but it got me thinking. Why does this suck?

This week I had a terrible time coming up withing something to blog about. I felt that my updates were monotonous and had an air of "been there done that." I have things I want to write about in the future but I'm not quite there yet either. My motivation is wearing, this week wore me down.

When I'm at my best, I'm the most motivated person I know. I will work two jobs, intern, take on extra responsibilities. I attribute it to never wanting to be bored, but when I sat back and analyzed it, I had a different perspective.

Maybe its me not, not wanting to be bored but that feeling of I have a lot of catching up to do. I'm afraid of missing out on something.

My first diagnosis and treatment put me a year behind where I should have been in high school, which is why I graduated in 07 instead of 06. This never bothered me because I thought it was such a privilege to get to stay at Lakefield another year. Plus I had some pretty awesome friends in both grades, so it didn't bother me all that much.

I only graduated from LCS because I had to work my tail off till the final hours. Legit, it came down to hours whether or not I would finish high school in time to get to college. Everyone assumed I had graduated at my graduation, but my diploma was actually a piece of paper reminding me I had two credits to finish. The school let me walk, because they knew I would eventually finish. They didn't want to let me miss out on yet another thing, especially something as important as graduating. I worked my tush off that summer and nailed those two credits, with in hours of the Queen's submission deadline.

I LOVED Queens. I never doubted for a second I made the right choice. My first year was awesome but I was kind of a social recluse. I did great at school, but I chose to get an apartment off campus as opposed to living in residence. I knew my body and immune system couldn't handle the late party nights and dorm-esq living conditions. I was ok with that though, I would come home every night to my puppy Roxy, and do school work. It was conducive to good grades but not so much a social life. It was quiet and perfect for what I needed. Just as I was getting my footing socially, a week before exams, I relapsed.

I didn't end up graduating because when I went back to Queens after treatment, I had a lot to make up for. I was volunteering with the Make a Wish foundation. Working as many hours as they would let me at the bar. I volunteered with disability services. One would clearly say I was overcompensating. I loved my job, I loved my friends, I loved my extra-curriculars. I also passionately loved my classes, I just didn't have the time to focus on the work for them, or should I say make the time. Anytime I had left over, was for recovery. My immune system was still rebuilding its self. I slept, a lot. I got sick all the time, and my health was just not cooperative. However I was cancer free, so I had no complaints.

If I let something slack, I would be letting someone else down, i.e. make a wish, but if I let my own studies slip, the only person I was letting down was my self. I was always putting others first, and I still don't regret that. My priorities were not balanced but I finally had some fun too. I accomplished a TON. It was also a good learning point, because I got to see how badly the chemo affected my brain. My memory was gone. Bartending was easy, I memorized where the bottles were, knew which colors made which shots and it was my favorite thing to do because I didn't have to think about it. As soon as I tried to put the effort into my school work, my brain rebelled against me. I would have to reread notes hundreds of times just to remember a simple concept because I couldn't remember anything. I would read a page in a book, go to flip the page, and realize I didn't remember a thing I had just read. Chemo brain made me feel like the biggest idiot alive. Class was great because I enjoyed the lectures and material but taking notes was difficult because my mind couldn't handle the task of listening, writing, and absorbing. I would get so stressed out, I would either just sit there and listen and do the best I could or avoid it all together because I knew how stressed out I would become by feeling like a failure... at note taking. I eventually realized that I needed to take a break from higher education which was why I left Queens. My brain could not handle not dedicating 100% to school. I'm not in the situation where all I had to do was focus on school, I had to work, so I knew I needed to step back from the situation.

I hate that I didn't finish my degree, but I know that if I really want it someday, I can always go back. I'm stoked about the prospect of event planning. I am OCD because I've learned how my brain works. I need structure and organization and the little details are what makes remembering the bigger picture easier for me. I'm constantly writing everything down, I have lists and note pads galore. All qualities that go into planning an event. The education for it is online, work at your own pace, perfect for me. I'm excited to get into this field and can't wait to just get started.

However

When I'm laying in bed for a week, tired, nauseous, sore, my motivations weans. Couple that with homesickness and all I want to do is escape. That is where I am right now. I'm in my "need an escape phase". My panic attacks are back and I get overwhelmed at the most miniscule of things. My best friend K keeps reminding me (among other people)

"You need to just focus on your health!"

But by focusing on my health, I feel like I'm losing my future yet again. A girl with big dreams to plan huge beautiful events, in different cities and to travel and motivate is being reduced to a girl who wants to hide in her bed. I have difficulty waking up and blogging. In fact, I have difficulty getting out of bed. Its my cocoon. When people ask me to do something, it feels like the BIGGEST task in the world. They say if you want to get something done, give it to the busiest person, well I get that, because I can't get anything done. I can feel myself slipping away and there's nothing I can do about it.

I find my self losing myself day by day. I'm the most self assured person I know, and know this is a phase but fear the outcome. Its so hard to recover from an experience like this, and I know this having gone through it three times already. Every time I start to get ahead and actually put some savings in the bank, they're gone, because I'm sick and have to use them up. Once I feel like I'm getting caught up on my student loans, suddenly I'm behind again. My poor car is dying a slow death, because I keep telling myself, deal with your loans, and your bills and soon enough you'll be able to invest in a new one. But that time just gets put off again and again because my health wont cooperate. I get started at an awesome job, working my way up, and boom I have to take a break. I get a sweet job interview, sorry can't go. Meet an amazing guy, WHOOPS can't see you anymore. When will I have my time, to be on a similar level with people my age. They've all graduated and some are getting married and having kids. I'm not even asking for that, I'm just asking for my chance to work towards my future at my life so I can start living my life. At this rate I'm going to be too selfish to adopt children, because I wont have lived my life, experienced my life enough to give them the lives they deserve selflessly.

I picked a career that I can completely dive into, because I know my work is going to be my life. I don't want to have to feel like I'm wasting anymore time to try and get somewhere that I'll enjoy, I want the journey to get there to be just as enjoyable.
I have friends that are literally keeping me alive. I have parents who thank god are taking care of me, because right now I can't take care of myself. I know how lucky I am.

Why does life keep teasing me? Lets me get so close to starting to achieve my dreams and goals and just as I'm about to taste them, pulls them right from under me like some joke.

I'm homesick. I miss my friends, my work, my fam. Mostly I miss my independence. I miss being in control of my life. No wonder I'm an OCD control freak, because I rarely have control in my life, that when I do, I cling to it like no other. Just ask the girls at work about the spoons. (I really do apologize girls, but my logic does make sense ;)

Regardless, I know I will get back to the road that will lead me to becoming the person I want to be. I clearly should never be trusted with the directions because I've taken more detours than a dyslexic cabbie.

Chopping It All Off: Screw You Chemo, My Hair, My Way, My Time.

All girls twirl their hair, its just what they do. A lot of people can take it to mean that they're nervous, or bored, or its just a habit. I love my hair. I absolutely consider it a huge part of the reason I am who I am today. I mean, I wasn't called "Sorority Barbie" in high school because I was a brunette who was socially inept. Social stereotypes aside, there's nothing I love more than throwing in a good old "Ooops, Blonde Moment." I've never dyed my hair because I never wanted anything else. I've always loved it, just the way it is. So getting my hair cut = nerve wracking. I go to reach for it to twirl and its barely there.

With all this being said, think about society and how it reacts to quite simply: hair.
In university I conducted a social experiment. BOYS! I wanted to see how boys react to different looks. I had the ability to do this because my hair was short at the time. Very short. I could whip in extensions, throw on a wig and with in seconds, transform my look. Now granted this wasn't a top notch academic study, I understand lots of variables were at play but it was fun none the less. I would go to the bars with the girls, and try different combinations to see how they affect the opposite sex.

Long hair, with flats.
Long hair with heels.
Short hair with flats.
Short hair with heels.
etc. etc. etc.

Guys don't really care what shoes you're wearing. In all honesty they probably don't even notice. What they do notice is whether or not you can actually walk in them. You look like an idiot if you can't. Just watch Bambi stumble to the bar to order another drink, that's not a model strut, that's inexperience and alcohol hunny, take off the damn shoes. This is besides the point. Realistically, guys flocked to me when I had my extensions in. When I was bartending, the nights I wore my extensions I made double the tips. Something about longer hair excites men. Check out Maxim's top 100- how many girls have short hair? SIX, and 4 of those 6 are still to the shoulders.
*Both Bartending shifts on Halloween below with extensions in*

My main conclusion, was that people are superficial, not just guys. However, maybe not totally superficial in the off chance that there is one variable that really affects this... confidence? Was I just predisposed to believe that I looked better when my hair was longer because that's how it had always been?
*Me- very little*

*Me at approx 11 years old.*

*Grade 8 and 9*

Confidence is what made the difference and my long Victoria's Secret model hair gave me confidence that was magnetizing. SO my point, being a 15 year old girl and losing your hair = devastating.

I liked being an inpatient in the hospital because of my hair, or lack thereof. Nobody wasn't used to seeing a bald girl, so it wasn't unusual to see me prancing around looking like a member of hells angels. As soon as I stepped out into the real world, I was different. My lack of hair made it very obvious something was wrong with me, which made it more apparent that I was the "sick girl". Even while in the hospital, there came a point where I wouldn't allow visitors anymore. I didn't want them to see me at my worst, I didn't want them to see me ... ugly.
I wanted to be remembered like this, which was conveniently taken a week before I was diagnosed the first time.

Not like this...

I lose my mind when people say to me, "its just hair." Ok then, go ahead, shave your head. Now I know people who have just up and shaved their heads. A girl I went to high school with just did to raise money for the Canadian Cancer Society's Relay for Life, in honor of her mom. She looks INCREDIBLE and I wish I had her strength. However, not many of us could do that. Yes it grows back, but it takes time. Years.

It sucks that I'm admitting, that my confidence comes from my hair, but it does. (RATED R ALERT) My favorite sex scene of all time is a girl, riding a guy, and she leans down to kiss him. As she's coming back up, her hair flies up and over her head and she shakes it out of her face. A few strands cover her tatas and it is the epitome of "freshly f#@$%@" hair. Just think Christian Grey, braiding Ana's hair. Long hair is a symbol of sexuality. This is why its SUCH a big deal when female celebs chop their hair off. Anne Hathaway, Demi Moore, Kelly Pickler. It gets plastered on tabloids and becomes first rate celebrity news, because its not the norm. Call me a conformist, but hair, this stuff, helps me to feel like I fit in. I have no problem being my self and being different in a world where everyone is trying to be someone else, I just don't want to be "different" because of my look, my hair, being the sick girl.

We all want to feel beautiful. I had one boyfriend J, tell me to stop wearing my extensions because he liked me just the way I was. I also had another boyfriend, whose initial I'll leave out because as much as this hurt and I know he scarred me with this one, I don't harbor resentment. I caught him with another girl. I was fresh out of treatment, fresh out of confidence and in a really low place. He told me, and I'll never forget this

"It's not that I don't love you, I'm just not attracted to you anymore."

We stayed together for a while after this, because I loved him with my whole being. He broke me with that one statement. He reduced me to appearance after we had been together for a while and my view on life was forever changed. This person who had been my rock for so long in an instant became a rock crusher. I've said before, "the treatment hurts, it sucks, but if I didn't lose my hair, I could do it easily." I think this all stems back to that moment with that love who showed me how superficial this world really is. I laugh because another boyfriend broke up with me because I was "Too Marilyn and not enough Jackie for where he was at that point in his life". I took that one as a compliment.

People can say, wigs. I used to refuse the "W" word when I was first sick. I hated it. Wigs are hot (as in heat), they are mind numbingly hot. They are continual hot flashes on your head. They are itchy. They never look right. They are a pain in the @$$ to wash and style. Lady Gaga makes it look easy- its a lie. On top of that, they never stay where they are supposed too. I would ALWAYS have a headband or hat or something holding it in place, which added to the extreme heat. Even with my extensions, I added something.
*Brunette wig, which I clearly didn't pull off very well and then blonde extensions*

After my first bout with cancer, I was with my ex T, on our lake. He had friends up, a few were couples. We all went wakeboarding, and they weren't that good. I knew I wasn't a pro, but was way better then a first timer. I had to risk though, going in wearing my wig. I could have taken it off but I didn't want to embarrass T, by having him have a bald ugly girlfriend. It was bad enough the steroids to save my heart after heart failure had made me fat, I didn't need to be bald too! I took my chances, jumped on the board and gave it my all. It went really well for the first bit and they were impressed. Then I caught my front edge. The board dug in to the water flinging me forward. I hit the water and my wig flew off. I wanted to drown right there in that second. Tangle my self in the weeds and hide. I only had a few choices and the one I went with: pretend like this is not big deal and I'm not bothered. I could have cried, I wanted to cry, I could have made a big scene, I could have played the victim, but I knew I needed to retreat into my self and harbor the biggest amount of self loathing I had ever experienced until later. When T brought the boat around, everyone was quiet. I threw "cousin it" into the boat and tried to pretend like it didn't bother me. No one said anything, because obviously, that wouldn't have been right on any level but I knew what they were all thinking. A mash of pity, embarrassment, wow she's stupid, WTF. When we got back to the cottage I retreated into a bathroom and cried harder than I think I ever have. It should have been a reality, that his friends didn't care. He didn't care, he was still with me, still loved me. But I cared. To be honest, I've never once told anyone that story. He and I never spoke of it ever. I always talk about feeling naked from the vulnerability of writing this, but that is the most personal of scary, embarrassing stories I've ever shared.
*Our annual cottage Wakeboard competitions, Waketivis: My first year and my second year there*

Another time, after my second transplant (third bout), a bunch of us were out boating again in the water. One of our mutual friends who we hadn't seen in a few months jumped in the boat. He took one look at me and said "Oh Court, you chopped off all your hair!" He didn't realize that no, I hadn't, but this was it just growing back. I was once again mortified, and he later apologized and I felt just as bad for him. Thats the other thing about losing your hair, its a constant reminder that Yes. You didn't do this by choice. You have no control over your body and life when disease takes over because your disease dictates everything from what you're capable of, to what you look like. The only thing you can control, is how you handle it.

This is a superficial topic, so its hard to talk about. I don't want people to think that the right things are not important to me. However, this is important to me. My hair gives me confidence. When I'm sick I lose my hair, when I lose my hair I lose my confidence and when I lose my confidence I lose myself. Its a domino effect. When I went to Costa Rica, no one knew who I was, so I didn't care if I was the weird girl with short hair and a different bikini for every single day. It was liberating, but a huge part of me knew deep down inside, that this wasn't what the real world was like. It reminded me that in the real world, Kate Spade or Kmart, doesn't change who you are, it just changes the way people around you treat you. Hair is the same way, its the kmart in this metaphor. Sidenote: I think that's why its the BEST feeling ever when someone says "OMG where did you get that?" and I can confidently say "Target!"
*In the airport on my way to Costa Rica and nail painting sesh in Costa Rica*

I learned how to transform myself with my extensions. You would never know that in these pics, my hair is actually above my shoulders.
*First pic- actual hair length and then some transformations* -Sorry Dad for the Duck face pic... I know how you feel about that ;)

I rocked wigs when I had too, I made due. But I hated it. My 19th, I was bald.

Come to think of it, I was for my 21st too. I spent my 21st birthday in a wig.

BUT, I've been dealing with this since I was 15. I went to prom with no hair, twice. This is one of the proms I rocked a wig, some of the others I didnt... Those pics are hidden, I can't even show you if I wanted too. They're hidden deep.

I graduated High School in a wig.

I never was promiscuous with guys because I was afraid if they kissed me, and put their hands on my head, they may realize I'm wearing a wig, and then wonder whats ACTUALLY wrong with me. Those were some big milestones that I had to adjust for. I couldn't just be me comfortably. I had to be the best version I could be of me given what I had to work with. 15, 18 and 20. All three times I lost my hair, all of it. I'm sick of waiting for it to grow back. Someone special to me recently told me "the difference between a bad hair cut and a good hair cut is two weeks". For me its not a hair cut thats the issue and the two weeks is actually years.

When I first heard I was sick again, my first thought was OMG my confidence, my hair. So as I was sitting in the waiting room last Wednesday, brushing through my hair with my hands, watching it fall out, my heart sank. My hair was at a length I loved. Mermaid hair as one of my best friends back home and I strive for. I could rock BIG country curls. I could straighten it. I could do my Victoria's Secret hair. Three weeks prior, I had spent $200 at ULTA on hair products because they were having a huge sale and I thought I should stock up. Now I have all the hairspray in the world, and may not have hair to use it on.

Now granted, I may NOT lose my hair, but after one week of treatment and its already starting to shed, I panicked. I convinced myself that if I cut it, the weight of it wont drag it down. If I cut it, it will be super healthy. This is coming from the girl who takes prenatal vitamins just for her hair. SO I did the most UNCourtney thing ever and went and chopped it off. If Chemo is going to take my hair, I'm going to do this my way. Its my choice this time!
Pre/ During cut

My adorable hair stylist J, was so nervous apparently to cut my hair.

"What if I'm cutting it and it all falls out."

Luckily that didn't happen. She was so sweet and understanding with me. She even emailed me after and apologized for taking it too short because she felt so guilty. I told her she had nothing to worry about because it was exactly what I wanted. It's a fresh start. A way for me to be proactive in controlling the way the chemo affects my confidence. Its my way of keeping control and not letting the disease control me. This is my "Britney" moment. (Except slightly more sane, ok a lot more sane)

It's short, but I'm excited to try out my hot rollers with my short hair. I may actually be able to pull off a sock bun now. J said that my hair was extremely thick and didn't fall out more than the average persons. This really reassured me, but its still in my head. Everyone just wants to feel beautiful. I am covered in scars and cursed with a body that doesn't seem to cooperate with me. The one thing I could rely on to feel good about my self was my hair. Now I have what I'm calling my mom cut, but I'm planning on rocking it. I look innocent as hell (which can be devilishly fun), and that can only be used to my advantage. Its so much lighter and less hot which helps when I'm fevering. I'm learning to love my new do. I'm also learning, that it really shouldn't be my source of confidence. It's a lot easier said than done, but everything is a learning process.
The final product: (sorry for the delay, I know a ton of people have been DYING to see!)

I had one of my good guy friends F, tell me

"That's hot, I've gotta say, I'm diggin the new look."

Even when I insecurely said "Really?" He replied with "Uh YEA" along with some other R rated comments. Thats what friends are for :)

So we'll see what happens but my hair is just another metaphor for my womanhood being taken away from me. Long hair typically symbolizes feminism, and mine is potentially being taken away, just like my lady bits. It never ends, but really this is the least of my worries. Its just room for another social experiment ;)

Flashback: January 3, 2004: How it all began.

Flashback January 3, 2004.

My parents met when they were in the seventh grade in a small town 2 hours east of Toronto. They were married, had my sister and I, and we got to live all over because my dad was a professional hockey player in the NHL. When they got divorced, we were living in New Jersey. My dad chose to return to the small Canadian town and my mum stayed in New Jersey. Initially I stayed with my mum for a few years in New Jersey, but I hated everything about it, because I felt like it hated me. I just did not fit in, and so I moved in with my dad in Canada when I was 15. I like to joke that I was raised by guys, a hockey team of sorts and its why I speak dude fluently. It was hard leaving my mum and my sister, but it worked out well for us. So January of 2004, I had been officially living with my dad since the summer, Christmas had just passed and my sister was staying with my dad and I for the holidays. My mum just so happened to be in town as well visiting her mother, my grandmother. As far as all that was concerned, the timing couldn't have been more perfect.

My dad had gotten a brand new LCD TV for the holidays and we were so excited to watch "Finding Nemo" that night. My dad was broadasting for TSN and had to be on the air the next morning, so I made sure to keep quiet so he would look good on the air, not tired. My dad had the biggest couch of all time. It was fabulous. Natalie and I snuggled up to watch Nemo. We grabbed some popcorn and started the movie. About half way through the movie, I tasted blood in my mouth. I assumed a kernel had cut my gum. I played it off as nothing had happened. My Dad was in bed by this point so my boyfriend T snuck over (we started dating a few weeks after I had moved to Canada in June- his sneaking over is not as scandalous as it sounds). When the movie was over, the bleeding had increased in my mouth but I thought nothing of it or at least tried to think nothing of it.

It was late so Natalie went to bed. I told T to sleep in our guest room, because something seemed off about the blood in my mouth but I didn't want to alarm him. That's one of my downfalls, I ignore all the warning signs because I want to assume the best, I don't ever want to burden anyone with something that could potentially be nothing. He went to sleep in the guest room, and I grabbed a large plastic cup. The blood was accumulating a lot quicker and I had to spit it out in the cup to avoid swallowing it. I remember feeling light headed and woozy but still thought it was nothing serious, because I didn't want anything to be seriously wrong. I didn't want to wake my dad up to have him take me to the E.R. for it to be just a cut on my gum from popcorn, and potentially ruin his broadcasting career. So I just kept my cup, spitting in my cup.

My room was baby blue. I had baby blue walls and sheets and a comforter with white trim. I had a white dresser with baby blue drawers and baby blue closet doors with a full size mirror. The headboard of my bed was a white picket fence my mum had picked out of a trash and refurbished for my room. I had pictures from my cheerleading days in NJ, and posters of kittens. I wore a baby blue tee that night and crawled into bed with my cup. I started coughing because I was beginning to swallow the blood that was accumulating in my stomach, there was just so much of it. I grabbed tissues to try and wipe the blood away from my face but knew I looked like a character from a low budget vampire movie. I was glad I asked T to stay in the other room, because I didn't want him to see me this way. I eventually passed out, probably from being so lightheaded.

When I woke up the next morning I instantly knew that it was worse and this was an extremely dangerous situation. I had a raging headache. Everything was blurry. My sheets were no longer blue, my walls were no longer blue. There were puddles of blood everywhere. There was a spray pattern along my sheets no doubt from coughing blood in my sleep. Everything was covered in blood. I vomited copious amounts of blood up, from everything I had swallowed in my sleep. It was early in the morning because my dad was up getting ready. At this point, I knew something was seriously amiss and I could no longer hide it, nor should I. I yelled for my sister and she came rushing in.

"Nat, please go get dad."

To which any unruly concerned little sister would reply

"WHY? Court what's wrong? Tell me?"

I choked back a yell and simply said again

"Seriously Natalie, GO GET DAD. PLEASE!"

My dad rushed in wearing a brown suit and as he walked in my doorway stopped cold in his tracks. With absolute fear in his voice stammered,

"What the hell happened?"

The first words out of my mouth were

"I'm so sorry. I don't know whats wrong with me, it started last night but I didn't want you to be tired today so I didn't say anything and I'm sorry because I think something is seriously wrong."

Tears started to flow as it became a reality that this wasn't me being stoic, but something dire and I was urgently ill. My Dad jumped into action,

"Call T and have him come pick up your sister, that way we can head to the hospital right now, I'll call your mother and have her meet us on the way."

Little did he realize that T was two bedrooms over, but I left that part out. Last thing I needed was to feel like hell AND get busted for unauthorized sleepovers in the same day. However, if I was ever going to get out of it with the sympathy vote, that day was the day. My Dad went to change and call my mum and I woke up T and explained what happened. We left immediately for the hospital. I didn't pack a bag, or bring anything. I knew I was sick but had no idea with what, and no idea how severe it was.

It was a 45 minute car ride to the hospital because we lived on the outskirts of town. It was long and quiet. I looked at my dad and said

"I don't think this is just an iron deficiency anymore."

We met my mom at the hospital and she took one look at me, and knew. It was the first time I had seen her since she arrived in town. I was pale as anything and covered head to toe in bruises. If you didn't know I was sick you would have thought someone beat me silly. There was no waiting in the E.R., they took me right back and began blood work. The doctor said he knew exactly what to test for because he was pretty sure he knew. While we waited for the tests I was starving. T went to get me Harvey's because all I wanted was a cheeseburger. When he finally got it to me, I was too weak to even lift it to my mouth. There was so much blood pooling in my stomach that I couldn't stop vomiting. They had i.v.'s running fluids but it wasn't helping. I tried to take a bite and savored it while it was in my mouth but simply could not swallow. The simplest task of taking a bite of one of my favorite foods on earth was impossible. T patiently tried to continue feeding me, but it would simply not work. The doctors came back in, and we knew they had nothing but bad news.

"We need to get her to Toronto immediately. She is DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation) and needs blood transfusions. We can't be sure which type, or how severe but we believe she has leukemia and with out further testing and treatment she may only have a week or two. So we need to act immediately."

They arranged to have an ambulance take me to Sick Kids in Toronto, and my father rode with me. I was in and out of consciousness the whole ride. I had one of those turquoise kidney shaped puke buckets and it was full to the brink of bloody tissues. I kept spitting the blood into the tissues. I knew I was sick. I knew it was serious, but I had no idea I had cancer. If anything, I was excited at first.

My parents lived in different countries, I was the baby of the group of my friends. I was the new girl at my school, and I had an older boyfriend. I craved attention and needed any sort of validation to feel secure in my new roles in the new life I had created for myself. I thought to myself,

"I'm going to head to the hospital for a few weeks, get a lot of attention and be back and at it in a couple of weeks."

I had no idea what was ahead of me. No idea what so ever. Here I am, nine and a half years later... still wondering when I'm going to wake up from this dream. Still trying to come to terms with how this happened. Still... fighting.

The signs were all there. When I got to LCS (My high school) I was in the best shape of my life. I played on their basketball team and hockey team. I trained as hard as I could everyday and ate really healthy. In December I said to my hockey coach

"I'm so sorry, I don't know whats wrong with me. I'm training just as hard, if not twice as hard as the other girls but I am always exhausted and feel like I can't keep up."

I was taking advil like it was pez from a dispenser because I constantly had headaches. I was covered in bruises to the point, I had an adult ask me about my relationship with T. T didn't go to my highschool, because he was a cottage boy from Toronto. He was an angel and they couldn't have been more off base asking me, but based on how I looked you never knew. I attributed the bruises to hockey. I only joined the team because my school didn't have a cheerleading squad and I could skate, and well! I learned how to skate before I could walk. At the winter formal, while getting ready at a friends house, I walked into her dresser. It just grazed right below my shoulder but with in minutes I had an enormous bruise. I would think to my self when things like this happened

"Wow, I must have walked into it a lot harder than I realized."

The final give away was my period. I was always bleeding. Somedays it was so bad I couldn't go to school. My blood was clearly trying to tell me something was wrong. I just always had an excuse.

"Oh maybe I messed up my birth control. Oh Hockey was a little tough today. I have headaches because I'm dehydrated. I'm tired because I'm not sleeping enough. I can't keep up at practice because I'm not training hard enough."

T's family had looked into it and said that it sounded like I had an iron deficiency because I was not a fan of red meat. Nobody knew, but nobody wanted the reality to be true.

Canadian health care is not the best, and I will gladly and openly talk about it's downfalls. All of this was happening in November, I couldn't get a doctors appointment until January 6th. I went into the hospital on January 3. Round one. Ding Ding Ding.... and the race was off. That was how it began...