The Liz Army:
A blog
Patient. Patient advocate. Researcher. Student.
There are more than 500 posts here. Use this search to look for something specific. Good luck!
A note about my oldest posts: I began blogging about brain cancer in 2008, at age 29. I had no background or knowledge about healthcare when I started. Please excuse typos and other misconceptions. What you read here is me in real time, like a time capsule.
Together we're giant: forgetting about brain cancer for a day
To me, 'without struggle there is no progress' totally applies to cancer. It captures us, and holds us hostage. And if we are lucky enough to be physically freed from cancer, and escape treatment intact, there are parts of us, at times, that are emotionally enslaved by cancer. I don't want to admit it--because it sounds embarrassingly weak--but I know I am, at times, enslaved.
Baseball: the ultimate cancer therapy
Whenever Tim Lincecum struck out a batter, Buster Posey hit a home run, or Pablo Sandoval wore his hat sideways during a rally, I felt like I was part of something greater than myself. I became one of hundreds of thousands of fans in orange and black who leave their hearts in San Francisco.
Should a 32-year-old with brain cancer save for retirement?
Should one save for retirement when they have an incurable form of cancer with a high mortality rate?
Surprisingly, no pre-scan jitters this time
Dr. L., asked if I would be OK having one of those super long MRIs... the kind that last for over an hour... Since I am a big fan of scans and medical procedures I said, "Hell yeah!" He already thinks I am crazy. Big long scan. New doctor to scrutinize my medical history. Should be interesting.
To have a slow-growing brain tumor
"But really, aren't there cases when grade twos just stay a grade two forever?" I implied that with my youth, health and intelligence, someone as awesome as I must be spared from this injustice.
Forgetting I even had cancer, for a day
To top it all off, I forgot my purse at Nugget Market in Davis and went the whole day without emergency seizure medication, extra anti-nausea pills, my medical insurance card, and an ID. It felt like I was in a witness protection program for cancer patients.