Like many of my fellow post-grad twenty-somethings, I often reminisce about my college days as if they were a distant utopian dream that I’m not 100% sure was actually real.
Jim and Pam taught me that when you really love someone, you dig this person even on a Tuesday morning after they just rolled out of bed, threw on some work clothes, and forgot their morning coffee.
The walls of my bed chamber seemed to be closing in on me the more I scrolled and read, but I still couldn’t stop. There were so many questions, and my questions led to more questions.
As if women don’t have enough self- induced panic attacks in their 20s, try getting diagnosed with lymphoma and told you might not be able to have kids in the same day. Then try emerging from your blackout only to remember you are still single. Almost too single. Allow yourself to black out for a second time.
Yes, let it be known that modern day chemotherapy often causes patients to gain weight, not lose weight—especially if you’re on the younger side of the life spectrum, like myself. Turns out that the steroids/various meds that help prevent violent projectile vomiting also cause fatty tissues to duplicate like double stuffed Oreos, while simultaneously increasing your appetite when you feel good.