Day 2,074 - Learning to (Not) Be Silent

 When I was in my sophomore year in high school, I decided to take a leap of faith and pursue a passion of mine by trying out for the drama club for the first time. I auditioned for the spring musical Footloose, and although I gave it my all, I didn't quite have high expectations. Sophomores typically don't get major roles as those are typically reserved for the seniors in the drama club. However, to everyone's surprise, I landed the role of Vi Moore (the preacher's wife) with lines and musical numbers, including my own solo. I was welcomed into the drama club with open arms, and my time with the Midnight Players marks one of the best moments of my life. I made so many friends and felt so much love and energy that I would stay in the auditorium practicing dance moves until it got dark outside. 

Yes that is me on the right...don't I look thrilled? lol! Seriously, this musical was so much fun though!

I know what you must be thinking...why am I reminiscing about the "good ol' days" of high school? Well, when I played this particular character in this musical, I had a trio number called "Learning to be Silent." In the song, I talk about how I want to hold my tongue and avoid conflict by staying out of arguments and keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself so as not to upset anyone. Now, "high-school-me" couldn't understand for the life of her what that really meant. I was that obnoxious loudmouth who always had something to say and loved chiming into arguments that were about subjects I was passionate about. Even in the classroom growing up, I was called the "Hermione Granger" of my history class because I insisted on correcting my teachers when they mispronounced European names like Lafayette or Alexei. I was chatting and giggling up a storm if I wasn't singing backstage. This teenage version of me felt too comfortable to hold anything back. Learning to be silent felt like a skill I would never achieve...until the reaper started knocking on my door. 

From the moment I graduated high school until recently, I slowly began hiding more and more of my true self. Especially after receiving a death sentence, not once but twice from medical professionals, I saw life slipping away. I felt like cancer, in particular, snatched too much from me that I had very little to hold onto anymore. I lost my hair, my fertility, my confidence, my identity, and almost my future. Despite that, I felt like I needed to internalize a lot of this struggle because I saw the impact it had on the people I love. I lost people who used to be so close to me for years simply because they couldn't handle the problem I had no control over. I also felt like I was a constant burden whenever I spoke up and expressed what was on my mind; I still feel that way sometimes. 

However, in the last couple of years, I've really been working towards tearing down the mental walls I've built over a decade. It's been a work in progress to open up again and develop that trust with others, and it's part of the reason I decided to hop back on to my blog. It's not only a great outlet, but it helps put out a message for anyone else who might be going through something similar. Whether they were just diagnosed, in treatment, or post-treatment...this blog is here to say, "I see you, and you're not alone in this fight."

When I looked back on old posts in my blog, I realized that for almost the entire first year of my cancer ordeal, I didn't post anything. This was because I was confident that it would just be a blip in my timeline and that life would just go back to normal...even though "normal" is not really a thing one can ever really achieve after a diagnosis, unfortunately. I'm a bit bummed that I left out so much valuable information regarding those early days. So, I will make it a mission for the upcoming blog posts to reflect and give insight into those early days. I'll keep it light, bubbly, and fun while being authentic and informative regarding my experiences. And to welcome this new era of my blog, I decided to do something incredibly daring. I can't talk about it yet, but once all the beans have spilled, I'll share the news with you all in a new post!! So until then...I hope you all are having a lovely turkey holiday if you celebrate it!

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

Day 106 - Post Treatment, Still Fighting

It wasn't until I started writing this post that I realized I'm post 100 days after transplant. Wow. Already I feel like I've come so far, and yet I have so much more ahead of me; just thinking about it makes me queasy.

At the start of last month, I took on a major stepping stone; I went back to school for an online summer course. These last few weeks have been very difficult as I have no energy to do much, and I'm still dealing with some lingering side effects from transplant. However, the great thing about this online class is that I can do it at my own pace (for the most part) and it gives me something to do. If I didn't have that, I'd be extremely bored and most likely severely depressed. I'm not even allowed to go back to work until next year when my blood counts are back and I've gotten all my childhood vaccines again. At the moment, I essentially have the immune system of a newborn baby.

Physically I'm still very weak, which definitely has an impact on what I can and cannot do. I sleep for a majority of the time and have hardly any appetite. I've also been dealing with this pulsing sensation in my ears that just doesn't seem to go away. After seeing an ENT specialist, I was left with more concerns than I would have liked. He couldn't tell me if this was something neurological, vascular, or nothing at all...but he did have suspicions on whether it was related to the blood clot I had at the end of my transplant ordeal. Next month I get an MRI to check and see if there are any problems...if so, I might need surgery.

Needless to say, this past month has been emotionally difficult considering everything going on. My hair is starting to come back, and I've managed to lose 10 pounds since I was discharged, thanks to my waning appetite. I resumed my perfect attendance at my cancer support group and have even caught up with a few friends of mine. I even managed to go to a Celtic festival with my mom and sister for a few hours (I had been dying to eat some haggis since my trip to Scotland). Despite all these wonderful things happening, I still feel empty and low. I thought things would start looking better once I was out of transplant, but the reality is that the fear of relapse is ever more present.

Everyone keeps telling me to "Stay positive!" or "You're cured!" and "You can finally go back to normal life!"...and I'm really trying...but the PTSD from dealing with this transplant, and everything that has happened in these past 3 insane years, is starting to catch up with me. It's gotten to the point where I had to decide what I want to do with my life based on my health predicament. I've been avoiding the summer sun in fear that just the mildest burn could end my life. Every day I have a moment of panic where I quickly check my neck for fear of finding a lump again. I can't sleep at night, because I keep having nightmares where my transplant doctor tells me my cancer has come back and there's nothing left for me. Everyone has been complimenting me on my hair growth, but I can't even enjoy it since I fear for a future where I'm told that I will have to lose it all over again. I try so hard to repress the fears, but it's just too much. There are very few people who seem to really understand as well. It's frustrating to think that even after all the treatment I've endured, I'm still fighting...only this time for sanity and peace of mind.

Thankfully, I'm planning to take some time for myself and get away from home at the end of the month. I'm hoping to be in a better state of mind when I return so that I'm ready for the fall. In September is when the real showdown happens: two transplant follow-ups, a CT scan, and I begin the childhood vaccines. In the meantime, I'll just keep writing essays for my class and distract myself with the World Cup. I may never "go back to normal life"...I've already accepted that...but I hope that with time I can move forward and away from this nightmare. I just have to remember that there is still so much left for me to do and that even in my darkest moments, there's so much to be grateful for.

Anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful 4th of July, and I'll try to update again on here soon!

PET Prep

I SURVIVED!!!!! 

I've made it over the first hurdle of this ICE chemotherapy. I apologize for not typing as much during that ordeal, but I was not kidding in my last post when I said I was "sleeping the days away". Besides the occasional visits from my friends and family, I was so drugged up on Benadryl and other things that I slept through it entirely. Most of the hospital trip was a blur, and I didn't feel comfortable posting something in that state.

Even the return home was unbearably tiring. The first two days I literally spent in bed. Every part of my body ached, and I had absolutely no energy to do just about anything. Simply going up a flight of stairs was enough to cause my head to spin. The nausea was under control thanks to the two strong anti-nausea meds I was living off of. However, I hear that the next round will be harder, as the chemo naturally builds up over time...and I still have two cycles waiting for me.

Along with the anti-nausea meds, I'm back to giving myself daily injections. Unlike the fertility treatment shots I was on two years ago, these are mainly to keep my white blood cell count up. My immune system is completely shot down with this chemotherapy, and to prevent hospitalization, I need to take a shot every night. Thankfully there isn't any bloating and I haven't experienced any changes in hormones. I also get away with any pain by applying an ice cube to the spot just before the pinch...so I really shouldn't complain...but it's become such a chore.

So here I am recovering from the aches and pains...which is no small feat. To celebrate this moment, my doctor scheduled a PET scan to see how I'm responding to treatment. I am not going to jinx anything on here, but I will say this...I have a very good feeling about the upcoming results. I can feel it...

Then this morning while doing the necessary labs for the scan tomorrow, I realized...I never did explain what the PET scan process is to you all who have never had one. Let me enlighten you...it's quite the process. A PET scan is a positron emission tomography which uses nuclear medicine to capture full body images. As I said I went to do "necessary labs" this morning...necessary as in a pregnancy test. You can't undergo something with THAT much radiation if you have any chance of being pregnant. Even though I'm on a shot that makes pregnancy almost impossible, I still have to be tested. Naturally, my social life (or lack of one) has become an ongoing joke between me and the radiologists.

Tomorrow I have to report to the radiology department after fasting all morning and afternoon (my appointment is late in the day...yay...). Once I'm called back and vitals are taken, I'm led to a tiny room with a reclining chair. The technician then proceeds to prick my finger to test my blood sugar. If it's too high then I can't proceed with the scan, but that has never happened (and hopefully never will). Then they set up a temporary IV and leave the room to get the radioactive dye used for the scan. The dye comes in a metal casing...almost like it's top secret or something. I always joke that it's going to give me super powers for the day...because you know they've heard that joke a million times. Haha!

Once it's injected, the technician reclines my chair, turns off the lights, and instructs me to take an hour nap. I'm not allowed to talk, read, listen to music, etc...nothing stimulating so the dye can circulate in my body without any issue. Once the hour is up I'm told to use the restroom and then report to the CT machine. The scan itself takes about 30 minutes to do and they capture images from the head down. The images not only show what your organs look like but how they are functioning, and any cancerous activity is easier to see under this scan. Unfortunately, the scan cannot be repeated too frequently due to the amount of radiation involved...so it may be another month until I can get it again. Hopefully, by that time, I might be looking forward to proceeding with a transplant come March! You never know, right?

So that's the gist of what will happen tomorrow. I have a very good feeling about this scan, and I'm SUPER eager to see what the results are. Despite how toxic and harsh this chemo is, something about it just feels right...like it's meant to be. I just hope I'm right and that I've made the right decision. I'll let you know in the next few days when the results are in.

I Get Another Shot

Wow, what a roller coaster it's been in just a week. It always seems that a trip to NIH indirectly gives me a blessing in the strangest, unexpected way. At the start of last week, I was preparing myself for what seemed like a truly horrible experience and also one with very little odds. I went and had 20 vials of blood drawn, a CT scan, a very uncomfortable MRI, an echocardiogram, a physical, and a giant consultation. I even had a crazy ordeal where I tripped over a traffic cone that I didn't see and someone unnecessarily called an ambulance despite my attempts to say I'm ok....it was so stupid. And yet once again, it seems I may have done it all for nothing...but with good reason. I HAVE ANOTHER OPTION!!!

I was told by NIH that the clinical trial was still in its very early phase with the lowest dose possible. It was already done on two patients, both of which initially responded but relapsed after only 4 months. It's promising but at the moment it doesn't have very good odds to convince me to go through it all. So at the beginning of the week, I sent an urgent email (or two...or three...oops) to my oncologist explaining the situation and begging him for any other possible options.

While I was sending him one of the emails, I recalled what happened when I first relapsed in January of 2016. My oncologist at the time told me she estimated I only had 5 years to live (yeah I didn't stay with her for very long afterwards), briefed me on a transplant and told me that I was to do a very intense chemo treatment known as ICE. Eventually, I got a second opinion and we went with a different kind of treatment...one that wasn't so toxic but ultimately ended up being not very effective. And then it dawned on me...there was a chemo that I hadn't tried!!! ICE chemo was also statistically proven to be successful with primary refractory Hodgkins Lymphoma (the 1% of lymphoma patients...aka me). Immediately I sent my doctor an email with this information and asked for his opinion expressing my strong desire to aim for a transplant (even though there is no guarantee that I will respond to anything).

So as I waited for his response, every trip I took to NIH to proceed with screening I did so with the hope and prayer that I may not need to go back there and resort to a clinical trial that most likely wouldn't work and under the doctors who treat me like a lab-rat and not a human being. God knows I have been a bit weary in my faith these past 2 years with cancer....but I went to the NIH chapel after every appointment and prayed for one more chance at a transplant. Just one more chance.

About an hour ago, I received the call from my oncologist. He is definitely willing to give the ICE chemotherapy a try!! It will be tough, I'll be sick, I'll lose my hair...but he and I definitely think it's a shot...my only shot...at a transplant. He warned me if/when the time comes for transplant, I cannot hesitate or delay. And I told my doctor that if he told me I needed to get a transplant tomorrow, I'd be packing my things up right now and going first thing in the morning to Baltimore. I know what the stakes are now and I'm ready to get to work. BRING. IT. ON.

(If chemotherapy was a college course...)

So I'm supposed to get a biopsy done this week to double check and make sure I'm not dealing with a hybrid cancer (that would change the whole outlook entirely if it is...hopefully, that's not the case). During the rest of the week, my oncologist is going to get in touch with my transplant doctor again to get their opinion. If they aren't on board anymore, he's going to speak with other transplant specialists at Johns Hopkins and even the transplant coordinators at NIH if necessary. But it looks like my prayers have been answered and there's a chance transplant may actually be in my future. The fight isn't over yet and the battle to stay alive has begun. This has already been the best Christmas present I could ask for, to be honest. I'll update again as soon as I start the treatment which will be in the next week or two. I'm going to pray that I don't experience any adverse reactions and I tolerate it well. More to come but tonight is a victory!!

The following video was essentially what was going through my head this week...(the king and sheriff are the two NIH doctors I've been seeing) 

So Much Uncertainty

Yesterday I received the dreaded call from NIH. After spending a good 15 minutes going over health questions and reviewing the risks involved with the clinical trial, I got some of my own questions cleared up along with a general schedule of events which I'm not crazy about.

They told me that if all goes well with the blood tests, scans, and biopsies, then I can start on the clinical trial as soon as the 18th. If that's the case, I go in on that Monday to get the T-cells taken out of my blood through a catheter. Then I have no plans until that Friday or Saturday when they will want me to come in and do 3 days of chemo (this means I could very well be doing chemo on Christmas morning...lovely). During this time they are genetically modifying my cells so that by the 27th, I'll go into NIH as an inpatient, receive my cells and then be monitored until January 6th...guess I'm not celebrating New Years either...yay...so much for celebrating the holidays.

While I'm inpatient, there is a very good possibility that I will have to deal with CRS (cytokine release syndrome). This is like when your body responds to the flu or a virus...except ten times worse. I can experience fevers up to 106, high blood pressure, quick heart rate, and even neurological side effects like problems with speech. They told me this is common and even deadly, but also reversible if caught in time.

As if that wasn't enough to scare the living daylights out of me, I also found out that only 2 other Hodgkin's Lymphoma patients have done this clinical trial...both of which initially responded, but in a matter of a couple months relapsed. Currently, they are still in the first stage of the trial and that means they are only administering the smallest dose. Meaning...if this doesn't work or I relapse, I can't go in and get a higher dose...it could be years before they go to the next phase. I would have to resort to "some other therapy" and I'm already low on options.

So although I'm prepping going through hell and back again for this clinical trial, I've already sent my oncologist an email with this information and have told him that if there is any other trial with better odds (even out of state or country) I would rather shoot for that. I'm that desperate. I will not go down without a fight but at the same time, I must admit, I'm starting to wonder if there will ever be a cure for me. As much as I want to keep pushing for answers and options, I can sense I'm already starting to lose hope. After everyone told me how "promising" this clinical trial is, it doesn't seem to be for my particular cancer. I don't want to surrender but I also don't want to fool myself into doing something mentally traumatizing if it will have hardly any effect on me.

In the end, I'm just going to have to wait to hear back from my oncologist. I have an appointment to get A TON of bloodwork done and an EKG tomorrow. I told the doctors at NIH that I refuse to go forward with any other scans or biopsies until I receive the blood test results. I'm not doing a repeat of this past February. And why bother testing anything else if I may not even be doing this trial at all (either because the blood tests come back and I'm not ready, or I find a better option)? Nothing to do but wait and see, I guess.

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!!!