Beg/End

I always wish I wrote more, but the last few days have justifiably been more about trying to live it up as much as possible rather than sitting down and sorting out the commotion in my head. Starting the transplant on the 1st of January, a few people have congratulated me on taking this step with the new year, but I actually feel nothing special about. The main reason why is that I still have no idea how it's all going to turn out in the next few weeks...within this small time frame, I will know whether the process was successful or not. Whether I'll get out of here in one piece or not.

What has the anticipation felt like? Actually there wasn't much time for anticipation...the last two weeks at home were just so hectic, because I made it a point to meet up with everyone and see them before I left. I suppose I was planning on covering all my bases: what if this is the time last time I get to see these people; what if this is the last time I'm in my house with my family, etc. Why did I have these thoughts? The conversations with my oncologist and the radiation oncologist were all about these what if's. The only answer I ever got was, "we can't predict the outcome, it's a risk you have to take, it's your best bet for a cure at this point." Even going back and forth between the radiation doctor and the BMT oncologist, there was disagreement as to whether we should do radiation based transplant or chemo only transplant. During this time, I had to decide whether I want to do total body radiation or not. The dilemma was, yes, radiation guarantees a lower relapse rate after transplant, but it also makes you more sick during the transplant and has worse long term side effects, such as another cancer. Basically, I had to pick my own poison. Either I risk the leukemia coming back and killing me even after the transplant if I don't do radiation or I risk another type of cancer springing up at some random point if I do do it and make it through. I had a month to answer this question and the back and forth between the two options was enough to make me want to quit altogether. It's cruel that I have the power to choose my own poison. I have to be the one to decide whether I want the leukemia to come back and kill me or another tumor later down the line. As a cancer patient, your life starts to deteriorate step by step and start losing options, such as planning out your future, whether you'll have kids, etc. Even though people tell you things (mostly to make themselves feel better) like "you'll get through it and it'll just be a thing of the past soon," you can't imagine being able to live the same way again (pre-diagnosis); there are some lucky cancer patients who don't relapse, but for the majority that do, there is no going back to the same way of life that you once lived. You always carry around this burden on your shoulders - the fear that even though currently I'm cancer-free, I can't plan the rest of my life, because that in itself will be like jinxing myself. I'm at the point where I have to make the best out of whatever I have left my in my body, mind and maybe soul...but every time they perform unbearably painful procedures, a little of that dies also and I shed less tears with repetitions.

I just finished the movie 50/50 (google it) and it wasn't actually as corny as I thought it would be. There were a lot of issues it addressed ranging from how a young adult feels hearing the words "you have cancer" to going in for a highly complicated procedure such as a surgery or transplant. Even little things like how it feels to shave off your head or when you meet someone new were discussed, which I thought was handled pretty well. I'd recommend it.

Day 1: 1/1/12

Started chemo - cytoxan (cyclophosphamide), high dose, along with IV steroids and the basic hydration stuff (saline). They also gave me IV Ativan (anti-anxiety and makes you very sleepy) as well as Fennergen (reduces nausea and makes u pass out) along with the chemo. Both of these made me so groggy that I was knocked out by 10pm, which hasn't happened in months.

Everyone in this unit is doing bone marrow transplants. I was walking around outside in the hallway and went past this lady's room who seemed very, very ill. There was a team of doctors, nurses and other staff just surrounding her. There was also a police officer right outside her room and I couldn't help but wonder that was just in case she doesn't make it. A couple laps later, I couldn't even walk by her room, because so many people had gathered around and I was left to wonder whether the worst had actually happened.

Posted above is the schedule for my stay here. Days 1-5 are negative, because they're before I actually get the transplant and the days after that are positive.CY - stands for Cytoxan (chemo drug) and TBI stands for total body irradiation which starts on day 3. The actual transplant is on the 6th day, when I get the donor cells from my brother. That's also the same day that he gets the surgery done in the morning. Then I have the weekend off and the following week, I get two more doses of chemo and that's it. After that we sit and wait for my blood counts to drop to zero, ideally wiping out every cell I have my bone marrow and come back up, which will mean that the new marrow from my brother is engrafting and producing healthy blood cells. The time period between now and when my blood counts start to increase is basically the danger zone, meaning if I catch anything during that or if something from my own body attacks me, I have little to no chance of withstanding it.


Expect daily posts as now I have no life beyond this room. Also, I'm gonna be totally wiped out when I start radiation, so this will be the best way to keep everyone in the loop so that they don't freak out if I don't answer my phone.