Being a new cancer patient I haven’t been able to use my “cancer card” for it’s full potential. However, I have already come up with a theory; when you have cancer you are part of an elite club where your needs are put before anyone else’s. What I mean is that the patients on my floor have it better than all the others. Instead of focusing on why this is bullshit and moping about being chemo’s bitch I wanted to share several of pros that come with my stay on the cancer floor.

1. Free shit

I guess when you have a diagnosis that doesn’t have a one-hundred percent survival rate other people donate items that they feel will help battle the annoyance that is cancer. Whether it be toiletries, books, blankets, girl scout cookies, or cards with encouraging messages they do everything to make the patients here feel more comfortable during their inpatient stay. Honestly, it’s amazing what people will do to help the dying kids feel at home. I watch as the smallest patients light up when they receive small toys or anything sweet. I have been here for seventeen days and I can say with assurance that the people who take the time to send my floor mates as well as myself are the most thoughtful, inspiring people I have ever met. Whether sending a hair loss pack (lint roller, body markers, and beanie included), small games to keep busy, or my personal favorite, gift cards (hint* great gift for when the hospital food tastes gross) these mysterious donors are always on top of it.

2. Friends

If you are above the age of 26 walking through the oncology halls here in Cincinnati you would be considered old. Surprised? I was too. Most of the nurses that are in charge of my care throughout my cancer are my age. I like this situation because I get to talk and act my age regardless of the fact that this is a children’s hospital. You would think as an aspiring elementary school teacher I would be playing blocks on the floor or making homemade crafts but most young patients are under isolation (can’t leave the room for risk of infection) or grumpy from all the steroids (roid rage is real). Now I have met some patients that i know and talk to when we pass in the halls, but for the most part I am in my room sitting and talking to the nurse that is in charge of me for the day.

3. New perspective

Even before finding out that I have cancer I have tried to remain a positive person and look at who people really are before judging them because I have seen and been through a lot more than you average twenty-one year old. However, staying on this floor has given me a better understanding of what it means to be brave and grateful for all that I have been offered in life. The most inspiring stories to me are the ones that the parents have to share. These people are here twenty-four seven taking care of their children and not knowing for a fact that their daughter or son’s treatment won’t take a turn for the worst at any given hour. They pause their lives and give up so many experiences that could have been. This is the same for the children battling cancer who are stuck laying in a hospital bed for a year or more of their young lives. What surprises me about the parents and patients is their unfaltering hope and kindness. One would assume that these people are bitter and constantly walking around cursing whatever luck put them in this situation when that is simply not the case. Everyone shares extra sweets. talks for hours in the lounges, and goes out of their way to help support all the other inpatient families. The hopefulness and desire to get well is what makes the oncology floor one of the most comforting floors regardless of what is being treated here. These families and patients are what help me notice even though my situation sucks and I’m going to feel bitter about it that I am not doing this alone. The only thing I can do to help me get through this is to stay determined and optimistic.

Peace, Love, & Fuck Cancer,

Katie Voytek

PS. This is the only time I will ask for something but if anyone would want to send gift cards to restaurants I would love you forever….hospital food is crap.

For the past seventeen days in the hospital I have been in shock, mixed with doses of anger and grief about my cancer because I haven’t felt like I am fighting a disease with an eighty percent survival rate. To be honest the first two weeks were more boring and annoying than anything else. However, recently I have begun feeling the symptoms of my diagnosis and I can say without hesitation that cancer sucks. I have constant jaw pain that pain meds aren’t controlling, my joints ache as if I have arthritis (I’m talking eighty year old man arthritis), I’m being fed a whole pharmacy’s worth of medicine twice a day, and I am having trouble not throwing up anything I eat. Basically cancer is stupid and there is nothing I can do about it but watch as the meds they pump into my body make me sicker and sicker before they can work on getting me better.

What I am working on learning to accept is not the physical pain that I have to go through, but how I can remain emotionally stable. I have to come to understand that what makes fighting cancer so huge is that your body isn’t the only part of you under attack. Mentally you are pushed to your lowest point and forced to sit back and hope for the best. You can be the strongest, healthiest person in the world but without remaining motivated or hopeful you wouldn’t stand a chance of getting over cancer.

There are a couple different reasons that make me bitter and angry about my situation. I hate the fact that I am being forced to give up the rest of my time at IU. I will never get to live in a house with all my best friends during our senior year, I can’t participate in a true college bar crawl, and I have never been on Roy’s patio. I have started ignoring all phone calls and texts to my phone, I never check Snapchat, and during weekend nights I ignore my GroupMe at all costs. On top of that, it’s not even social media that is hard to look at. I walk around the hospital cafeteria and see nursing students or patient visitors and am automatically jealous. Out of all the people standing around and walking through their daily routine why am I the one that had to get cancer? Why does my life plan have to get completely fucked up when everyone else gets to live like normal students or adults? Although having FOMO (fear of missing out) isn’t as bad as cancer, it doesn’t mean I can’t at least hold a small grudge.

Cancer isn’t just about fighting a nasty diagnosis and dealing with physical side effects, it is also a personal battle inside of yourself where you must accept the fact that your life plan has changed and you have to adapt and remain resilient in order to get past this terrible time. Although I am not there yet, I am hoping that one day soon I can accept this as a stage in my life that will mold me into a better, stronger, braver person. I know that my body can handle all the poison and all the beatings I’m about to receive, but I know that the only way I can overcome this cancer is by retaining a strong, resilient mentality.

The amazing people in my life are selling shirts and holding an event to raise awareness for my type of cancer. If you are interested in contributing and wanted a shirt visit the link below.

Peace, Love, & Fuck Cancer

https://katievoytek.chirrpy.com/

Don’t tell me that you understand,
don’t tell me that you know
Don’t tell me that I will survive,
how I will surely grow.

Don’t tell me this is just a test,
that I am truly blessed.
That I am chosen for this task,
apart from all the rest.

Don’t come at me with answers
that can only come from me,
Don’t tell me how my grief will pass
that I will soon be free.

Don’t stand in pious judgment
of the bonds I must untie,
Don’t tell me how to suffer,
don’t tell me how to cry.

My life is filled with selfishness,
my pain is all I see,
But I need you, I need your love,
unconditionally.

Accept me in my ups and downs,
I need someone to share
Just hold my hand and let me cry,
and say, “My friend, I care.”

~~ Author Unknown ~~

As I lay here awake because the steroids are making my joint pain too uncomfortable to sleep, the chemo causing  my fingers and toes to go absolutely numb, and preparing to begin a rant on how much this is starting to suck until it hit me…this might suck, but it’s not even the worst of my treatment. On top of not even beginning to compare to what I am potentially going to experience over the next few years of my life, I have a fighting chance. Why did I all of a sudden decide to go from bitch to optimistic person at 3:30 am on a Wednesday morning? The answer to that is Lauren Hill.

In Bloomington I rely on daily emails from the TheSkimm to keep me somewhat informed on current events so I never bother with checking local Cincinnati news. However, Lauren Hill is no longer just local news. She started raising public attention when her college, Mount Saint Joseph moved up their first basketball game against Hiram College this past November for the sole purpose of giving Lauren a chance to play in her first (she is adamant about not calling it her last) college basketball game. The tickets to this game sold out in thirty minutes. Fast forward five months and you can see Lauren’s recent appearances on The View, The Today Show, and watch a video made by ESPN that is currently nominated for an Emmy. What makes Lauren so exceptional? Lauren Hill is a regular nineteen year old girl faced with the challenge of battling a terminal pediatric brain cancer. Moreover, she has used her shitty situation to raise more than one million dollars for medical research. For her type of cancer the expected survival rate after diagnosis is nine to twelve months. Lauren has been diagnosed for a year and a half. She is outliving expectations and giving a voice to her cause while simultaneously dealing with knowing that no matter what she is going to die (I highly suggest you do more research on this awe-inspiring individual).

So why am I bringing this up? Because just by spending two hours in the “teen room” gluing on paper cutouts of butterflies to canvas as a way to stay entertained gave my enough of a chance to see how lucky I actually am when there are so many worse types of cancer. I have an eighty percent survival rate and that’s a hell of a lot better than Lauren’s zero percent.

My grandparents are visiting this weekend and because I am letting others contribute to this blog I offered an invitation to past to my grandpa and he gladly accepted. 

Dixie and I (Gma and Gpa) arrived here Sunday afternoon eventually finding Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Parking Area “A” after exploring some rather depressed parts of greater Cincinnati.  After checking in with hospital security and passing as legitimate relatives of Katie’s we proceeded up to her room on the 5^th floor.

After a few hours of chit chat with the whole Voytek family Katie asked me if I wanted to write an entry to her web page. I agreed. What follows is uncensored:

If you want a very different perspective on life and your place in it spend some time in the halls of a children’s cancer hospital. It will be one of the most humbling experiences of your life.

Cancer is the most democratic of diseases. It makes no distinction between gender, age, skin color, economic status, religious beliefs, sexual orientation, ethnicity, or anything else that our human species typically uses to discriminate with – and cause varying degrees of unhappiness on this earth. Cancer just doesn’t care about any of these distinctions. It is a “fairly dispensed unhappiness” disease.

In the few days that I have been here I have already seen people from all over the planet. This was confirmed by a doctor we met who proudly proclaimed that Cincinnati Children’s Hospital has such a reputation that it draws patients worldwide. Cancer has no concern about ethnicity or skin color. Cancer cares little about where you’re from or how much money you have. It’s indiscriminate as the lottery, only with better odds (if you’re cancer).

It would great if only after you reached a certain age would you be a candidate for cancer. Maybe at 60 you have a 1 in 50 chance to get cancer, at 70 it goes up to 1 in 25, at 80 it’s 1 in 10, and at 90 or more it’s 1 in 5. That seems fair and reasonable and even gives a 90 year old a decent chance of not getting cancer.

But the reality I see as I walk the public areas of this great hospital is that cancer could care less about your age. Little kids who couldn’t be over 6 to 8 years old aren’t supposed to be bald, but here they are. And it breaks my heart every time I see one. I try to remember their faces so I can include them in my prayers. I really don’t want to know their names. That would just be too hard to handle.

Sitting back and watching, observing, listening, two things dominate here. They stand out above everything else. They are something shared by patients, parents, loved ones, and most of the staff. One is an overwhelming feeling of hope. Everyone is marinated in hope. Seldom have I seen a frown here. Unfortunately some will be disappointed. For some hope will become a past memory.

The other dominate emotion I see and feel here is optimism. Optimism is the precursor to hope. In the same family, but less desperate. There’s a lot of optimism here. It is alive here and unavoidable wherever you go. It’s on display by patients, parents, loved ones, and especially the staff who are unbelievably kind and considerate.

Is Katie in good hands given the democratic “luck of the draw” she was dealt by this disease? Yes, very much so. I have never, ever seen an organization this size be so well run. So friendly. So professional. So intellectually superior. So externally driven by those they serve. To the person Cincinnati Children’s Hospital is all about the patient. Although I don’t usually hang out at hospitals gauging how well they do or don’t do in addressing patient’s needs and making sure they are informed and reassured, this hospital would surely be the poster boy for all others.

Will Katie beat this cancer? Absolutely. No question. Reports are good, the staff awesome, and Katie’s attitude unfaltering. It will be a struggle, but Katie will prevail. Of that I am certain.

Well, I see the big hand is on 12 and the little hand on 5. Time for me to sign off for now. Thanks Katie for allowing me this digital soap box to stand on and orate. Thanks for your love. Thanks for the experience of Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. And most of all thanks for being you.

Peace and Love and Fuck Cancer.

Yesterday I cut my hair and realized that this is real. At first I felt as if I was giving into the cancer, letting it overcome me, and take over who I am as a person. For some, losing your hair wouldn’t be a big deal. I mean there are people who grow their hair out just to cut it every couple of years and donate it to a better cause…I have never been that person. I am the conceited asshole who refused to let go of the one part of myself that I liked. My hair has been my source of confidence and security for my entire life. It’s my main physical attribute that never fails to get compliments, gives me split ends to play with and twirl when I am bored, and lets me hide my face when I am trying to sleep in public. I know these are stupid and annoyingly girlie reasons for liking my hair but I can’t control how this makes me feel and if I want to be upset about my hair then damnit I’m going to bitch about my hair (and when you have cancer you get free passes on things like this).

Anyway, I began my morning by mourning in the shower for a good forty-five minutes as I washed my long locks for the last time in a long time. I was emotional and it was weird. You see, I haven’t let this cancer make me upset because I figured it’s only going to go downhill from here so I need to treat the beginning with a more optimistic outlook or the rest of this whole treatment time is really going to suck. So basically I knew it was going to be a bad day since I was actually crying for once.

Moving on, seeing my stylist that’s been cutting my hair since I was five, having to put my hair in the ponytail, and then listening to the five minutes of snips and chops was the worst. It felt like the beginning of the end. I was making my first of the many sacrifices that cancer is going to force me into. On top of all this, you would think getting the whole ordeal over with would be a relief and I should have looked in the mirror with amazement about how I am a changed person and finally able to accept that I am willing to begin this “journey to recovery”. Well, if you can imagine, that is not what happened. I looked int he mirror and cried some more. I hated it. In fact, I still hate this short hair. I am angry and I hate that cancer is only going to keep taking things away from me. This is real and it’s miserable.

I know I have tried to stay positive through these posts since “attitude is everything” and I’m sure I will get there but today is not that day. Sorry for the upbeat and inspirational post!!!!

Two of my biggest supporters, college floormates, and basically brothers that I love with all of my heart.

This is a post written by my friend, Juliana Dolcimascolo, who’s spending the weekend with me here.

After 3 hours at the airport, 2 hours in the car, and however many hours at the hospital, Katie relieved me of my “support person” duties so I could go home to see my family and take a shower. I wasn’t very talkative; most of my thoughts focused on when and how Katie would might need me next.

Mom’s don’t care if you feel like being talkative or not. They’re happy that their baby is home. They give you their opinion on the news, tell you your haircut is cute, they ask you if you’re okay, and they don’t believe you when you say everything is fine. Eventually, my mom started laughing out of the blue.

“Have you ever read about the ‘Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck?’”

“What?”

“Essentially, we become more selective about the fucks we’re willing to give,” she read to me off an article on her phone. “This is something called ‘maturity.’ It’s nice, you should try it sometime. Maturity is what happens when one learns to only give a fuck about what’s truly fuckworthy.”

In January 2015, Mark Manson posted a blog on his website about how he learned to not give a fuck. Bear with me here for a second. He doesn’t really mean not giving a fuck, not in the way that you think. He means that life is a process of going from giving way too many fucks about stupid shit to learning what in life is really fuckworthy. Is going to this really fucking cool party important? How important is that pair of really fucking trendy shoes? In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter how many fucking likes you get on that Instagram? I’ll give you the answer, event though you probably already know- none of those things are important. Growing up is a process of learning to only give a fuck about things that matter.

Since right after Katie told me about her diagnosis, I have found myself truly understanding what it means to give a fuck. I don’t sweat the small stuff. I refuse to spend time worrying about things I can’t control. My grades are not a reflection of my worth. Calories? Who really cares. Traffic? Not important, I’m lucky that my little sister loves me enough to donate her car to me for the weekend. None of those things are really, truly fuckworthy.

I cherish my life and its blessings more than ever before. I give a fuck about my best friend. I will spend two sleepless nights in a plastic chair just because it makes her smile to have me around. I give a fuck about my family. I will hug them close this weekend and tell them every day how much I love them. I give a fuck about my friends and living every day to the fullest. I find myself saying yes to going out even when I’m not feeling like it and looking for every opportunity to spend a few hours with people I care about. I have a new understanding of how precious my friendships are and what an incredibly opportunity it is just to wake up every morning. It’s only been a week, and I already feel myself starting to understand what it really means to fucking give a fuck.

I’ve spend the past day smelling like a mix of airport, hospital, sweat, and three entrees of Indian food (because Katie started craving it and what princess wants, princess gets, even it it makes your car smell like curry). And guess what? It really doesn’t fucking matter what I smell like. I don’t give a fuck if the entire elevator is glaring at me because I’m a living, breathing chicken tikka masala. Because of Katie, I know what in my life is really worth caring about… and it’s liberating. And I’m grateful. I hope everyone reading her blog can start to learn some of the same things from her, too.

So peace, love, and fuck things that aren’t worth giving a fuck about,

Juliana