Day 285 - The Unreachable Star

Hey folks...I’m not dead!

I’m sorry it’s been a while. I had intended to post several times, including when I reached the 6-month post-transplant point, but so much has happened and time has been very scarce. As I mentioned in my last post, I jumped right back into my studies the moment I got discharged from Baltimore, and it has seriously eaten away at the little free time I had to begin with. These past few months have been extremely eventful, to say the least, so bear with me as I try to summarize them and bring you all up to date.

On September 20th, I made it to the 6th-month mark, and my scans showed more unexpected improvement from the last! Although the cancer had been completely eradicated, my new immune system went above and beyond. The scar tissue that lingered inside after all of the many treatments I endured decreased significantly, to which my oncologist said that this is a very good sign. My blood type also switched over from my old type O Positive to what is my sister’s type, B Negative. My energy is slowly, but steadily, coming back to me. By the time I started my full load of courses on campus for the fall semester, the ringing in my ears had subsided, and I was even able to jog my first mile (something I didn’t even think would be possible so soon after a transplant).

At this time, I also started the re-vaccination process...ugh! Since my immune system was essentially the same as a newborn child’s, I had to get the whole nine yards of booster shots. For the first round of shots, I ended up getting a total of 7 shots (including my flu shot) all in one sitting. My takeaway from that experience is I now understand why children don’t like shots. If you ever find yourself getting a Hepatitis B shot, brace yourself...it’s not pleasant. Otherwise, despite the following two days being sore in the arms, I adjusted and distracted myself with my schoolwork.

In October, I decided to take a chance and audition for the theatre department's holiday showcase. I initially went in with absolutely no expectations, especially since it had been over 8 years since I auditioned for a theatrical performance. When I got my first neck biopsy in 2015, my vocal cords didn’t adjust well, and I still have trouble hitting certain notes that would normally sit easily in my range. However, I managed to blow my expectations out of the park when I got the courage to sing “If I Loved You” from the musical Carousel. I didn’t even believe how well I did until I listened to a snapchat recording my friend took of my audition. It felt so unreal...unreal to think how far I had come. It was as if everything suddenly fell into place at that moment...and for the first time in a very long time, I felt like me again. The reality set in especially after I got the email telling me I made it into the show, where I made many new friends. I had a blast singing Christmas songs to veterans and their families at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. It was as if the past three years were simply a nightmare I had woken up from.

Sadly, November proved to be incredibly challenging. In the midst of so much going on at school, rehearsals, and doctors appointments, I ended up having to take a whole week off from class due to a really nasty chest cold. It was a smack in the face because this should have been something I would have recovered from easily had my immune system not been so low. Instead, I lost my voice, was put on a TON of drugs, and could barely manage to leave my bed. At the same time, I was facing many family and home stresses that started to take a toll on my mental health. Survivors guilt also crept in, and I had this overwhelming and reoccurring feeling like I’m not supposed to be here...that I didn’t deserve to be here. I knew that I was not ok, but felt like I needed to put on a happy face and pretend that everything was ok. I funneled my pains and dark thoughts into a box in the back of my mind. It wasn't until December arrived, that the box imploded.

The holidays did not turn out how I had originally anticipated it to be like. Tensions at home were extremely high, and exam week was approaching. I thought that if I put all my focus and hard work into my studies, that all will be well in the end. I lost so many hours of sleep and worked ridiculously hard to make sure that I ended the semester with straight A’s. But as soon as my professors logged in every perfect grade, the world hit me in the face. The box in the back of my mind opened up and hell was unleashed. I felt trapped, afraid, and anxious about the future. Tiny things were triggering major panic attacks that would lead to multiple questions. What do I do with my life? Where do I go? Why am I still here? Will the cancer come back? How much borrowed time did I get from the years of treatment?  Is it even worth it?

Poison was seeping into my head...and it felt like I was very alone. Despite the major accomplishments I made, the satisfaction from them was not enough to overpower these attacks. However,  on December 17th I hit a lot point, and I decided to play some showtunes on a televised music station. The first song that came on was ‘The Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha...and I instantly felt at peace.

I was reminded of my grandmother, who used to repeatedly play that song over and over for me when I was little. It later dawned on me that, 8 years ago on this exact date, she had peacefully passed away. But what also occurred that same day, just last year, was the moment I made the decision to take on my 5th and final chemotherapy. Despite doctors and specialists telling me how risky it was and the likelihood of it not working, I chose to fight and persevere. Earlier this year, a miracle happened, and I was put into remission after only two rounds of this chemo and eventually given the green light for a bone marrow transplant. I knew in that moment that my grandmother was there with me that night. She was one of the reasons I fought so hard to live. She is one of the reasons I’m still here, because I “still strove with [my] last ounce of courage, to reach the unreachable star.”

The next day, I started to pick myself up again, and I set a plan in motion. I want 2019 to be my redemption year. I want this next year to be the year where I take back what cancer took from me. I’ve already started on this path with my studies, but I don’t want it to stop there. Because of cancer, I had to plant my feet in the ground and stay with my parents while those around me were moving on with their lives. Because of cancer, I was forced to abandon the workday world and limit my activity and interactions with others. Because of cancer, I gained a lot of weight, lost my hair, and inevitably became incredibly self-conscious. Because of cancer, I lost friends either from fear of associating with someone like me or from the disease itself. Well, you know what? I’m done sitting by and letting this cancer claim undeserved victories! 2019 is the year I take it all back! And I plan on using this platform to show just how far I'll fly!

"Here I go, and there's no turning back! My great adventure has begun! I may be small, but I've got giant plans to shine as brightly as the sun!!"

 -Jo March from Little Women the Musical

On The Doorstep Of Transplant

At the start of last year, I honestly never thought I would make it to this point. So many times I was told that the odds were against me, that my cancer was considered incurable, and twice I was given a 5-year life expectancy...it would have been insanely easy to give up. There were moments where I thought I was going to, and that an early death was inevitable. There were even moments where my body was visibly breaking down and I felt like I was already at the end of the road. However, after making a very bold and daring move, I've received a miracle...an unlikely remission and the potential for a cure. After two and a half years of 4 chemotherapies and one immunotherapy, I'm at the doorstep of the final round...bone marrow transplant.

Tomorrow is my last pre-transplant appointment where I will be told one final time what to expect, what to do, and what not to do during the next 3 months. I start the transplant process on the 13th when I get a catheter put into my chest. The following 5 days after that I will be receiving chemotherapy to completely diminish my white blood cell count, followed by one day of total body radiation to deplete my bone marrow and immune system altogether. Then finally, the 20th of March...transplant day. My sister will be coming in to donate her bone marrow and give it to me the same day. The purpose of this transplant is to obtain a new immune system that will recognize my cancer as foreign and destroy it.

Yes I am imagining my sister's immune system as an army of daleks...

Afterwards is the start of a long recovery, hopefully. I will be staying across the street from the hospital and reporting there every day to be monitored for at least 60 days. This is to make sure I don't get sick and to also prevent any side effects from my sister's immune system taking over (there is the possibility of her immune system seeing healthy parts of my body as foreign and can try to destroy it...fun). I will be writing in here about any changes, updates, and experiences I might encounter during my stay in Baltimore.

The end result is the part that is entirely up in the air. I've been told that my odds are anywhere between 30-50% that I will be completely cured...however, my transplant doctor seems very optimistic as I've been shown to defy the odds before. I also have a complete match with my sister so I have a chance of a better outcome. However, I've also been warned that if the transplant doesn't work or the cancer comes back within a year from the 20th, there is really nothing left for me in terms of treatment. I've currently exhausted all possible chemotherapies and immunotherapy treatments. Now, if I relapse within 1-5 years then there is the possibility of other treatments becoming available for me, especially clinical trials. If I make it to the 5-year mark, the odds get better every year that I have been cured.

But no matter what happens, I am determined to fight to live. My wanting to go back to school and work only fuels this. It's going to be a very difficult 60 days, and the treatment I will be enduring leading up to transplant is horrifying to think of. Radiation, for instance, has been a major phobia of mine since I first heard about it when I was a child. I know it's painless and non-invasive, but just the thought of destroying my body with something invisible while being aware of it is extremely unsettling. I also don't look forward to having a catheter sticking out of my chest and maintaining it for the duration of my stay in Baltimore. But if these things are necessary to live...then I have no choice but to put my faith in it and endure.

So I will spend these last couple days mentally preparing myself, listening to my "fight playlist", and spend as much time appreciating the small things. I look forward to bringing you all on my transplant journey as well, so stay tuned for more!! 

I Saw It Coming But It Still Hurt

Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is the update that I could have easily predicted would happen. After waiting a horrific week of mentally preparing myself for either the transplant or the clinical trial, I finally got the call from my oncologist with the results of my latest PET scan. As I had previously suspected, there was a small progression that occurred during the last two months. This means transplant is no longer on the table and once again my only remaining option is a clinical trial at NIH. At first, hearing the news was quite the shock and a complete let down of what I had been hoping for since returning from my trip. The thoughts and fears from the beginning of the year resurfaced and the very real fears of possibly dying from this clinical trial were enough to render me numb to any comfort anyone could give.

My doctor still remains optimistic going forward into a clinical trial. He stressed that there have already been good results coming from the CAR T-cell project in other countries and even in the US they have been successful using this technique with other cancers. However, the risks are still very real including neurological problems, cytokine release syndrome (which results in very high fevers and possible death), and it would mean I'd be monitored like a lab rat for the rest of my life essentially.

I wish having cancer was this cool...lol!

There is also the slight possibility that I may not even be eligible yet for the trial as it was a very small progression, and my estrogen levels may not be where they need to be yet since I only just restarted the hormonal therapy. However, I should be hearing from NIH at some point by Thursday to set up a consultation appointment to discuss what the general timeline looks like. If all goes well, I could be starting the trial by the start of January...which means I'll probably be doing testing (including my third bone marrow biopsy) over the holidays...yay. My doctor has already decided to take me off the current chemotherapy I was on since I need to be off any treatment for about 3 weeks before starting a clinical trial. This could result in a major progression of my cancer...which I'm seriously not thrilled about.

After I called to inform my parents of the news I decided to shut my phone off and go see a movie. I needed to focus on something that was not cancer-related. After that, I found myself just roaming around without a thought going through my mind. I found I just didn't care or have the motivation to do just about anything. I also just needed to be alone...and I was ok with it.

This morning, however, I find myself picking up the pieces slowly and trying to absorb the shock that I already sensed was coming. It's not like going into a transplant would have been preferable either...both options have pros and cons and both are extremely risky. So going into this clinical trial I need to rechannel my brain to focus solely on the pros. The first being, a shorter recovery period. The entire process can be done within a month's time. Since it's through NIH, I'll be monitored by the top specialists in the country. I won't have to lose my hair (at least I don't think I will...I could be wrong). Those are just a few to list.

So yeah....not the best update in the world....but I saw it coming. Some people will be like "I told you so" or "It's your own fault for going travelling"...but you know what...if you really knew me, you would know I was in no state of mind to take on ANY risky procedure before going to France. I wanted to spend time with family (especially family I hadn't seen in over 10 years). I needed to get away. I was getting tired of constantly sitting on the sidelines watching life go by and letting cancer dictate what I was supposed to do. So instead I made 2017 my own. I made new friends. I took part in the historic Women's March. I learned more about history and read more books. I travelled both to Europe and to the Caribbean through the help of AMAZING and LOVING friends. I made dreams come true. I learned more about my family and spent time with them. Despite the end result, I was in a temporary remission for a small period of time...something I never thought would happen this year and maybe wouldn't have happened had I chosen not to do chemo over radiation. So yes...the end of the year gave me a disappointment but I honestly wouldn't change a damn thing about it.

Now that I'm in the process of picking myself up again, I can now focus on what I need to do this next month. I'll be posting more updates as I learn more about what is to come and walk you through every moment! Thank you to all who have been by my side since the beginning and who continue to support me through this very trying time. I love you all.

Acceptance Does Not Mean Defeat

Yesterday I went to what may be my last chemo for a while. About three days ago I was getting ready to go to bed and noticed that my collarbone felt somewhat strained...not hurting but like something was pulling on it. I ran my fingers down my neck to the location only to find fear and disappointment. One collarbone seemed raised like there was a mound sitting atop of it. At first, I thought I must be imagining it as it didn't feel like the usual marble lumps that I've had in the past, but as the fear settled in I could tell something wasn't right.

My first instinct was to try to rationalize it by saying I didn't know if it was something leftover from last month's growth and it's slowly fading away. But wouldn't I have felt it then? I'm not sure. All I know is that anything I feel at this point, with the PET scan just around the corner, is not supposed to be there. At chemo, I had my nurse feel it and she confirmed something was definitely there. We continued chemo as usual but I sense it will be my last. My oncologist was very clear the last time I spoke with him that if I'm not in remission by the time this PET scan is supposed to happen, then transplant is no longer an option. My body is rejecting chemo all together which leaves me no other option but a clinical trial which is still in its early phase with little odds and few statistics. Now I know I'm not supposed to pay attention to statistics, but the last time NIH (the facility doing the trial) gave me an option (immunotherapy) it had absolutely no effect on me. Why should this option be any different? People have actually died from this clinical trial and it's still very risky.

I sent my oncologist a desperate email 2 days ago with my concerns and begged him to see if there were any other viable options that could give me the same reaction as this past chemo and can still make transplant a possibility...but I am worried that this email will just return with a giant no. I'm still waiting to hear back from him. In the meantime, I've already taken the first steps towards this clinical trial and set up another appointment to resume the hormonal therapy that I stopped back in the spring when I saw good results from the chemo. I was really hoping to avoid going back on it since I gained 30 unwanted pounds alone from it.

Yesterday after chemo my strength collapsed and I broke down very hard from it all. I feel like this is all my fault. I know my doctor is going to tell me I should never have gone travelling to see my family because then this may have been avoided. I could be recovering from a transplant right now instead and looking towards at least a temporary remission. But instead, I didn't and these are the consequences I have to face. I still don't regret the decision I made because mentally it put me in a better place and I needed to see my family who have had my back through all this overseas. I needed it...but was it worth the risk? I don't know anymore. I feel like I just threw my life away and I didn't mean to.

That being said, although I accept the consequences of my actions, it doesn't mean I'm defeated. If I must abandon the transplant, then I will use whatever remaining power and strength I have towards this clinical trial. I have no idea if it will work or if I will survive it...but I won't go down without a fight. I want life. I want to move on. I want to finish school. I want to have a family of my own someday (which is something I've already fought against cancer through fertility treatment). I will not throw my hands up. The anticipated news still stings and God knows I've cried buckets since yesterday. I know there are going to be people siding with the doctor saying "this is what you get" and I respect it. But to those who still support me, I embrace and love you all.This fight doesn't end here and whatever happens, I will never stop until all of this is over...whether it's my last breath or a cancer-free life.

When I was in France visiting the Pantheon, I came across a statue with the engraving "Vivre libre ou mourir"...live free or die. I was so empowered by this and it's something I intend to go forward with this in my head.

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

I must apologize for the brief break I needed to take from my blog. After receiving the news last month about my transplant being postponed indefinitely (or until I get back into remission), I had trouble accepting the setback and needed to rekindle my flame of strength going forward. The first round of chemo since I came back from Europe was rough seeing as I wasn't mentally prepared for it. Not only was it mentally draining, but physically it made me very weak and for my first off-chemo week I became very sick with a nasty cold.

By the time I started feeling somewhat better, I went in for my second round of chemo. This round wasn't too bad...mainly because I celebrated my 25th birthday (which I wasn't originally planning on doing at home) and had the perfect distraction of decorating the house for Halloween...even though we hardly got any trick-or-treaters. The much-needed distraction started to pick up my spirits, and so I decided to call my oncologist to set up the "Take Two" PET-scan. However, the response was not what I was anticipating at all.

My oncologist started asking me the usual questions..."How are you feeling?"...."Have you noticed any new lumps?"...etc. I told him that everything was the same as usual and that nothing new had shown up. Besides the little hiccup of a cold and the usual fatigue, I felt ready to take on the PET scan and get the show on the road. Then after a brief pause on the phone, he said, "I think it would be best if we proceed with one more round of chemotherapy."

I wanted to throw the cell phone across the room. He explained that right now he's very optimistic about how I'm responding to the chemotherapy but that Johns Hopkins is very uncertain about moving forward, in fear that I am becoming immune to the treatment. He thinks that if I were to proceed with the PET scan now, it wouldn't be convincing enough to sway them otherwise. So he suggested that I do one more round (another 2 treatments of chemotherapy) and then set the PET scan for the 28th of November. 

Knowing and trusting my oncologist 100%, I agreed to proceed this way even at the risk of weakening my resolve. So instead of preparing for a scan this week, I'm stuck at home once again recovering from the fatigue plus the additional side effects from the flu shot I got at the same time as chemo this past Friday.

I hate feeling bored and useless. I hate this constant lingering around and waiting for a finish line that's only pushed back further and further away. I have no regrets, but the circumstances are not ideal. I'm incredibly grateful for the support system I have between family and friends, but I feel like I'm missing something. Once again I feel like I'm trapped inside a glass box watching my friends move forward to bigger and greater things...jobs, weddings, families, etc...and I'm just stuck. With the lack of energy, I'm not exactly able to go back to work. Going back to school would be very risky...practically impossible if I somehow go into transplant at the end of the year. So all I can do is wait.

If there's one thing I've definitely learned these last few days...it's that I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. So I've decided to focus on the little victories of every day. I've been studying and perfecting my French. I've even resorted to taking free (non-credit) online courses provided by Yale to prepare for the day I (hopefully) do go back to finish school. I try to maintain my strength by doing small exercise routines every day. I'm trying to read more, and I'm catching up on missed movies and shows. Whenever I have the strength, I try to go out and do something productive...whether it's going grocery shopping or hanging out with a friend. They are small goals but I'll do whatever I can to pass the time. It's the only way to feel close to normal.

"Life doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes. And we keep living anyway; we rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes. And if there's a reason I'm still alive when so many have died then I'm willing to wait for it." 

                                                ---"Wait For It" by Lin-Manuel Miranda

Just Around The Corner

Hey everyone!! I'm back from my travels. Needless to say, it was much needed!! Not only did I get to see my family in France, but I also got to see the sites in Scotland that I had been dying to see for years now. I came back October 1st and although I was sad to return home, I landed at the airport with a confident and ready mind.

The first 24 hours were a bit shaky, I'll admit. I didn't adjust well to jetlag, and I had to postpone my chemo treatment a few days allowing me to recuperate. I also woke up the first morning to another US tragedy, the Las Vegas shooting...which didn't help my emotional composure. It was a rather horrible "welcome home". However, by the time Thursday came around, I was feeling better and took my first pre-transplant steps. I completed (hopefully) my last chemo treatment, and immediately following that, I buzzed off what little hair growth I had accumulated over the last few months. Surprisingly, I actually liked seeing my hair short again. I think it's simply a relief that there's one less thing for me to worry about.

Then later that night, I got a call from my oncologist. He told me that he had managed to schedule me in for a last minute PET scan for the following evening to check and make sure there had been no growth during my travels...though he seems pretty confident that all will be well. I was actually excited and couldn't wait to start!

The next morning, just before my scheduled scan, I received another call. This time from the transplant coordinator at Johns Hopkins. I told her that if all goes well with the PET scan that I would be ready to proceed with the transplant. I may still be very worried about what lies ahead, which is normal when facing the unknown, but I'm in a positive state of mind and just want it to be over with. "The sooner the better!" I thought....until the coordinator told me how soon and the slight change of plans.

She told me that she already has a transplant date set if everything goes according to plan. October 17th is when I go in to get a catheter put into my chest. This will be the first big challenge for me as the days leading up will be merely preparatory scans, tests, and consultations. The following 5 days after the catheter surgery will be very heavy doses of chemotherapy. I will be losing all of my hair during this time and will be very sick and weak. This doesn't trouble me too much as I'm already used to chemo sickness and hardly have any hair to worry about now. After the 5 days of chemo is the 20-minute full body radiation. This is the scariest part out of the whole ordeal as it is a major phobia of mine and I worry about the long-term effects. However, I have been told it is a very low dose and I will experience hardly any reactions besides fatigue. I will also be pre-medicated with anti-anxiety meds which should help me endure it. So...yay?

The day after radiation is my so-called new "birthday"...transplant day.

My sister, who will be my donor, will be giving some of her bone marrow cells to me that day. I don't really know what to expect, but it's probably not going to be as big of a deal as people make it out to be. After that is the long recovery and wait period to see if the transplant works.

Initially, I was told that the first month I would be inpatient within the hospital. However, less than two weeks before this scheduled transplant, the coordinator tells me that I will now be outpatient for the entire process. This means that I will be in a separate housing unit across the street from the hospital from the 17th of October until the end of the year. This also means I have to scramble to find last-minute caregivers. Thankfully two angels have stepped up to help me during the month of October. Now I just need to figure out what to do with months November and December. My mother has already offered to cover as much time as she can (especially during the holidays since I don't expect anyone to be free during that time). I have also created a calendar for anyone of my friends/family to volunteer their time to be a caregiver (let me know if you are interested).

With all that being said, I would like to take this moment to thank everyone who donated to my fundraiser; granting me the wish to see my family in France and to see where my family comes from in Scotland. It was an experience I will never forget, and I'm incredibly grateful for it. This trip was a much-needed escape from everything that has happened and the best way for me to approach what will most likely be the riskiest moment of my life. I thank all of you who contributed, from the bottom of my heart! You made me the happiest I have been in a long while.

I would also like to take this time to show my appreciation to you all. I'd like to thank everyone who has supported me these last two years, who have stayed in touch with me or have been reading this little blog of mine to keep up to date. I like to think of this blog as not only an outlet for what I'm experiencing but also as a way to either relate or understand what people dealing with cancer might have to go through. It hasn't been easy...and the hardest part is just around the corner. I promise I will continue to write my experiences while I'm in Baltimore these next few months.

I will most likely be getting my PET scan results in the next few days and will write more as the time to transplant approaches!

The Calm Before The Storm

Hey, everyone!! So much has been going on since my last post, and I apologize for not really documenting it this past month. However, I will try to sum up everything as best I can now. I last wrote about the fantastic news that I'm currently in a temporary remission...it still blows my mind that I can even say that. About a week or so after I got my results I received a phone call from Johns Hopkins; they have given the ok to proceed with a donor bone marrow transplant.

I was completely thrilled until the transplant coordinator told me they wanted to get me started on the process ASAP. She scheduled about 8 different tests and scans to do in a matter of two days and to start the bone marrow transplant the following week. I was like WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT!!!!!!

It was at that moment that I realized I was not mentally prepared for this. I was still getting over the fact that I wouldn't need to proceed with a clinical trial; that I had to wrap my head around the idea of being in a hospital on the brink of death for at least 4 months.

I asked the coordinator what the rush was, considering I hadn't anticipated starting transplant until October. She went on to say that my oncologist and transplant doctor were insistent that it was urgent. When I asked why I hadn't heard from either of them directly, she said my transplant doctor was on vacation and I would be hearing from my oncologist about further instructions. I then ended the call and told myself I wouldn't worry about it until I heard from one of my doctors directly.

Needless to say in 24 hours, I heard from my doctor but there was no sense of urgency in what he was telling me. In fact, all he said was "Johns Hopkins wants you to start soon...but it's not a life or death situation if you wanted to wait. You can continue the current chemo treatment until you are ready." I took a sigh of relief. A few days later I received an email from the transplant doctor at Johns Hopkins giving me the ok for October. I was relieved to hear this, but boy was I still upset at the transplant coordinator for causing unnecessary panic.

However as each day pass, the more I became anxious about the upcoming ordeal. I started to look into the details...and they aren't pretty. The transplant coordinator told me that at the start of the transplant process will be scans and tests to make sure I'm healthy enough to go into it. My sister, who is my donor, will also be going through these tests. When these are finished, I go inpatient and get a catheter put into my chest (definitely not looking forward to this after the experience I had with my chemo port). Then I begin 5 days of extreme chemotherapy (10x harder than what I've been on) followed by a day of full body radiation therapy. Out of everything that I will be going through, this will be the most challenging for me. Everyone always tells me "oh radiation doesn't feel like anything...it's not a big deal" but for me...it's a phobia. I've been scared of any amount of radiation ever since I learned about the after-effects of WWII's Hiroshima. Now I know what you're thinking..."Maddie, please, you aren't going to be exposed to THAT much radiation and treatment lasts about 15 minutes."....that's not it....it's the fact that other cancers (breast cancer especially) run in my family and this will put me at an even higher risk to develop that later on. The last thing I want is to expose my body to potentially enduring this nightmare all over again. But I guess, that's the payment we have to make in order to gain a few more years of life, right? It's definitely a mental dilemma for me.

Anyway, the day after radiation is when my sister comes in to donate her bone marrow cells and I receive them. Then the torturous wait begins. For about 2 weeks I will be monitored to make sure I don't have any serious adverse reactions, which is always a major risk with donor cell transplants. If all goes well, I will go into the outpatient housing across the street from the hospital for the remainder of my recovery period which can range anywhere from 3 to 6 months. I will be fighting on all fronts...physically, mentally, and emotionally I will be drained. I will also be restricted to how many visitors I can get. It's going to be tough...and with all these factors flooding my thoughts lately, I need to learn to accept it and prepare with the time I've been given between now and October.

Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I had been saving up to take a trip to see London and around Scotland (where some of my ancestors are from). I've also been dying to see my family again in France. Of course, everything was put on the back burner when I couldn't afford that and dealing with cancer. With the many challenges I've endured (barely making it out with my life at some points), and the risky path that lies ahead, my friend Katie decided to make a GoFundMe to grant me this wish. So with the remainder of the time I have left, I will be traveling to the UK and France for the month of September. I am so incredibly grateful to all who donated and cannot express how much I need this going forward. When I am in the hospital, I will have something to look back on....the medical miracles that have happened this year and the wishes granted to travel and see my family.

I will not be able to write while I'm away, but I will write all about it when I return (I'll take lots of pictures I promise). I will also have access to my blog while I'm in the hospital and I can guarantee that I will be writing A LOT then. For now, I'll leave you with this and see you in October!!!