Milestones.

If I could change the world, and pieces of our society... it would be our praise towards one another.  So often in our world we are critiqued, criticized, or told what is incorrect, hurtful, or wrong to one another and especially ourselves.  We are hard on ourselves as individuals, we over analyze our actions, sometimes even belittle ourselves.  Yet, this is recognized as normal in our society.  "I didn't do a good enough job," "I could do better," "I failed... I failed... I failed." It is natural for most people in our society to focus on the negative, or what we are/were unable to achieve instead what we DID achieve; however, when we praise each other for the good, sweet, beautiful things in each others lives, or even recognize it in ourselves... if we congratulate each other on small moments, or say "I love you," for no reason at all.  We are held in question.

This is the part of the world I wish I could change. If we say something along the lines of "I know I'm amazing!" "I know I'm strong," we are seen as cocky or full of ourselves, when in reality? It is just an acknowledgment that we are pretty wonderful -- because we are. Believe it or not. We totally are.  You included.

So one of the few things that I love, and hope to continue to do however fast, sick, or insane my life maybe is to recognize not only myself but those around me.  The people I surround myself with, truly lift me higher.  And with this being one of the most devastating years I have lived, it has also been my most resilient -- in the light of adversity, my family (which includes my close friends) rallied. They rallied so hard that instead of discussing funeral arrangements during the holidays this year, I am reminiscing about my moments hiking through the mountains of Athens, in Greece.

They rallied. for me. They rallied when I pushed them away, when I was impossible... when in my darkest moments there was no light to be seen. They rallied when treatment after treatment this year, I lost pound after pound, plummeting down to a bit under ninety pounds. They rallied when I lost people I loved, and I expressed that I thought I was next. They rallied when I told some, explicitly, that I no longer wanted them in my life (yet, they stood stoic, over and over again, until my light returned, and I returned to them). They rallied, and stood tall through my tears, my defeats, the loss of Boston, the loss of school, the loss of another past life. They rallied. And if you are reading this -- you did as well, because the support I gain from all of you, each one of you, is another reason why I am here.

I am here, because the people in my life are amazing. I am here because I gain strength from all of their lights.  In turn, one of the most beautiful things that occur in my life as well... is that I get to pay this forward. I receive e-mail after e-mail from others in the cancer community, or individuals facing illness who read this blog and in turn know that if I went through hell -- they can too.

It's important for us to recognize the good, the beautiful, when we triumph, the positives no matter how small or insignificant they may be. So, now as most of us reflect on 2010.  Here are my milestones that I wish to share with you.

Milestones

• Transferred/Accepted into another grad program in Philly. Not only completed classes, but received a 4.0, and a great love for individuals in my group therapy class. 

• First remission in three years. 

• Holy weight gain. 90lbs to 120lbs today :) The comparison is frightening.  And honestly, these pictures are a little hard to look at -- but, they make the point to other people who are facing illness, that you CAN come back. I promise you, if I looked like this only a few months ago...

Six months ago: 

 

opposed to, today:

 

 

• If you know me well enough, I have been talking about traveling to Greece since my sophomore year of college after taking an Art History class and learning about greek culture/history -- I can finally cross that off my bucket list, and now am even more in love with traveling then I was before. The travel bug has bit me, and I have no intention of holding back with Ireland, Scotland, Australia on the list -- and a revisit to Greece, with additional trips to Israel and Turkey. Don't ask me how financially I will do this -- but it will be done.   

•  Last year, I could hardly walk to the bathroom, let alone even think of hiking a mountain. Last week, traveling through Greece my friends and I had the incredible opportunity to sight-see, visit the islands, but also walk (a ton since the entire metro system in Greece was on strike). The trip kicked my butt, but in an amazing, amazing way.  From Mt. Yeserdes, to Delphi to the Acropolis, to Falapalos Hill -- these are the moments I hold close to my heart knowing, that my body is not only back, but able to walk 10+ miles a day, and LOVE it.

• Although this is pretty personal, I feel the need to share this with other young women facing cancer treatment -- Aunt Flow, after three years, decided to make a come back as well. Who knows what this will entail for future fertility or hormones, but god damn, it is good to feel like a woman again.  

• Zero, I repeat. I am on zero medications. From being on fluids last year for months at a time, hospitalization after hospitalization, discussion of what I would like at my funeral, taking twenty plus pills a day. Tubes coming out of my chest at all hours of the day. To now look back, and enjoy my morning cup of coffee and a vitamin a day instead of the trials of several medications from cancer treatments, side effects, insomnia, depression, neuropathy and the list goes on... I am grateful, and thankful to have a point of detox and not be on any medication at all.

• Nearing the end of course work. Between many treatments, two different grad programs, lots of classes/internships. Next semester I am putting away my final load of courses, then starting in May (2011) I will begin my LAST full time internship (that will extend to the following May 2012). Soon, this 60 credit degree with licensure will actually be a reality, after chipping away at it for three years. 

These are the pieces of me that are intact, and I am so grateful for all of them, however short or long-lived they may be. And as we venture into 2011, I invite you to be proud of your own accomplishments and milestones from this year. Attempt to look at yourself with a positive lens, and instead of focusing on the goals or relationships you were unable to fulfill -- focus on the ones that you've accomplished.


In addition, this will be one of the last public posts of this blog. If you wish to continue reading my progress, or researching different treatments on here, or just wish to follow for no reason at all (because that is okay too!), Please click here, and follow the directions. After February you will be unable to publicly view this blog, as it will be set to private. 

Wishing all of you a wonderful, reflective, new year.
Sending Love,
B

Stars

All of us are in the gutter, some are just looking up at the stars. -
O. Wilde



Yes. I am here.
Looking up. promise.

Round Two has been better than Round One.
This is all we care about and are now focusing on at the moment.

IV fluids and zofran have been infused from Sunday and will be received through Sunday for two hours every morning. This is through a port access (at home) to maintain good hydration, blood flow, and avoid re-admittance back into the hospital. I am now found around day nine from chemo -- counts will begin to drop this week. As we head back into Upenn tomorrow morning for fluids, blood work, and a Lupron shot. To surpress menstrual cycles during treatment.

The Lupron shot is done during this process to avoid blood release during treatment which, in females could technically be a cause for concern since blood levels are liable to be low tomorrow. Women have this choice during ICE and transplant to avoid break-through bleeding and complications. Lupron has also been put through trials to determine if this shot can continue on a women's fertility during this cancer treatment. However, it is still in the early process of research.

The last few days I have been lost between different pain medications, IV poles, eating healthy, and, to put it bluntly cancer. Coincidentally, I had three different at home Nurses drop over materials, to hook up the IV's for morning infusions. I feel like sometimes, when I end up talking to these women... I see heroes.

Women who have worked in oncology and other medical areas, to fulfill such a a small but wonderful gesture. Giving ME fluids. To keep my body moving. I always listen to where they studied or, where their families were from, I want to know them. I want to know they know a part of me.

As you begin to battle through the trenches of your own cancer treatment. You slowly realize the difficult truth in connections you lose over time. But, in turn, those you gain from your journey and experience as well. As treatment becomes more isolated you appreciate these small interactions. It is no longer a nurse, who came to your house today for fluid. It is Galina, daughter of ten who supports four daughters and wants to make a difference in the world... Or Anna who just had to say goodbye to her sister who suffered from MS for years. And is now finally back to work.

Or is is them knowing me. A once was- third grade teacher...

Without them, I wouldn't be here,
looking up at the stars.

Without them. I wouldn't be here,
beating this cancer.

- B

The ice holds hard, but for the promise..

My fellow friend, and beautiful Israeli mom of two, Sivan , is an incredibly talented photographer. Recently, she shot these flowers, letting me know she felt they represented thoughts of me. These kind of smiles don't happen too often - thank you Sivan (and dear Bri).

• Dear Gertrude, Now I know what you mean...

Now that I am somewhat settled, in my own bed. And we are pretty much certain that I will not be readmitted (again) back to the hospital.  I wanted to share with you the experience of ICE.  Since I've been on this cancer journey there have been numerous amounts of Hodgkins survivors, I've met various ones my age, but there have been little to none of Hodgkins, recurrent, early 20's,female survivors.  Therefore, a part of me feels that it is vital to keep a record of my treatment path in hopes it will help someone else in the near future if they must endure the transplant as a female patient. 

• The ice holds hard, but for the promise...

ICE represents three different drugs: Ifosfamide, Carboplatin, Etoposide. The game plan is to receive these drugs over a 36-48 hour period. 

Day one of salvage chemotherapy, nurses pumped me with fluids and several anti-nausea medications.  Lots of individuals ask which ones to take when going into treatment. Unfortunately, lots of doctors say the same thing 'it all depends on the individual.' My favorite cocktail through the entire process was, an hour before chemo intake zofran and benadryl, then a half hour before chemo receive .5 mgs of ativan.  It prepared me to be nice and sleepy for the treatment, and prevented that wonderful vomitting that my body just loves so much. Wednesday night after fluids and drugs were taken care of, the Etoposide was infused. 

Thursday morning, Day two of chemotherapy, I was prepared the same way for my next infusion.  Day two I was 'suppose' to be infused for a straight 24 hours. From 9 am on Thursday to 9 am on Friday.  The drugs of choice were Ifosfamaide and Carboplatin, both drugs cause infertility and damage to bladder, and other various not-so-fun side effects that I will spare you the details of.  A very rare occurence is toxicity (too much drug infusion within the body) which causes confusion or hallucination.  

Twelve hours into my 24 hour infusion, I was told later, I was unaware exactly where I was, and was not acting like 'Bekah..' I'd like a definition of that please? What is it, to act like Bekah ;) Anyway. For fear of toxicity, we stopped the drugs, mid-infusion, until Dr. Nasta reported to us, Friday morning.  With her authority it was decided that my 'where-abouts' were not 100% because of the chemo drug, but infact the pain medication I had been on from my port surgery (which happened Wed morning), and the combination of drugs and chemo. She assured us, it was not toxicity. And we proceeded on with the 12 hour infusion into Friday...

Therefore, Friday, Day Three of Chemo was a combination of left-over chemo that was suppose to be complete throughout Thursday morning, and more Etoposide. Which finished up the first round of ICE.  To most outsiders, I get the sense you think - chemotherapy itself is painful, but it is usually the opposite. 

During these infusions, I am somewhat peaceful, reading, listening to music, watching DVD's.  The drugs do not automatically attack your body, Therefore, it is usually two or three days after the entire set of ICE sets in that the pain begins. In addition, Twenty four hours after my last dose of chemo, I need to give myself a small nuluesta shot. This shot produces white blood cells in the bone marrow. Bone marrow growth, in MY body, causes massive pain.  

• Hope is a thing, with feathers that perches in the soul..

The pain, nausea, dehydration, combined basically sent me back into the hospital on Sunday. Luckily, my doctors have a new plan of attack for my second round starting on the 20th. Which I will explain.. at a later time.  For now, It is one solid week after chemotherapy.  With Day one being - the first day of chemo (January 30th), today (February 8th)is considered Day 10.  My counts, have most likely hit an ultimate low, since my blood levels were around 2.9 during discharge. This equates to fatigue and a little to-no immune system to fight back infection. These next days I will be most vulnerable; therefore, will not expose myself to a lot of people. Days 17-21 (Feb 14th - 20th) are the days I will hopefully have enough good counts to see some of my favorite people.  

Things I love about completing round one of ICE:

• sleeping in my own bed
• not vomitting 
• being hydrated
• sleeping through a whole night without a nurse checking vitals
• chocolate milkshakes
• knowing, I can do this. 

all my love...to all of you.

- B

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Today I miss: being able to eat apples

Today I am grateful for: winter hats, keepin' my baldness, oh so warm.

Today I smile for: seeing good friends on the 15th

You must be able to see the beauty in pain...

Darrel Hale , is one of the most stoic, sensitive, and profound survivors I have met along this cancer battle. If anything, I attribute my ability to form these thoughts from our long, lovely, conversations.

I feel, in life, we are able to see the pureness and beauty in the most painful and heartbreaking, situations. This beauty can consist of, your inner strength, the light inside you, the relationships around you, or something as simple as pausing and realizing for the very first time, how the sound of your feet crunch lightly in soft snow. The perfection of that action, the beauty, that you see -- that maybe not everyone else takes the time to cherish, and place delicately into their heart. But you are, you can see it. I can see it. I am determined to find the beauty, in this.

• Stage III Disease
  

Yesterday, I would consider was one of the most emotional days for me and my family. We had appointments with my original oncologist team who treated me through my first chemotherapy, my new transplant doctor, and a fertility consult. The news that probably hit us the hardest was that I am at a progressive stage three disease. We were surprised with this result, because of a recent, clear x-ray done in mid-November. We walked into the doctors office thinking I would be in the early stages of this disease since it has only had a month to grow. Apparently, not. So, we took a breath, a deep one.

Luckily, the transplant doctor, Dr. Sunita Nasta - one of the top transplant doctors at Upenn Hospital, does not seem phased by the status of my disease. She is a calm, confident, women who has had very successful transplant treatments, under her care.

• Infertility

Lastly, and certainly the furthest thing from my mind, but the hardest to accept will be my infertility as a result of ICE and BEAM chemotherapy. I still have yet to digest that one, and will probably do so after transplant. I do not believe there are reasons for this, but once again know that there are other ways to be a mother, that I will turn this negative into a positive when the time comes.

I believe, honestly and truly in this concept. That I, as an individual have the capability to find true beauty in what I am about to endure. I once again have the choice, when I look at these appointments I have the choice to curse up at the heavens, to wallow, to cry with heartache. Or I can see through the pain, I can see push myself to see the good. To recognize that I have doctors, I have the possibility of a cure, I have people who love me, deeply. I have a fierce, fierce spirit that has beaten the odds before. I have beauty in myself, and in all of you. And through all of this, I hope you allow yourselves as well to see the beauty in life, even in our time of pain.

Chemo begins: Wednesday January 30th.

-B

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Today I miss: being a teacher
Today I smile for: breakfast conversations
(airdales in red snow boots)
Today I am grateful for: my brother and sister.