Lymphoma-sodes: "Are you there God? It's me, Kristin."

09/21/2009

It is exactly 11:59pm. it is the first night in six that I am not connected to a bag of fluid for flushing or desecration of said tumor, Saddam. I understand this journey we take called life is not one that is easy. I was reminded this week just how hard that journey can be but then as I hit that wall, the one where you feel like you just can't look around to see what is on the other side because the thought of anything more is just beyond unbearable, I was also reminded about the lessons we learn from it and reiterated that I'm not in control; someone else is taking care of me.

Now before you roll your eyes at me and think, "Oh boy here she goes on a bible-banging, Mother Mary, Praise Jesus, why haven't you gone to church rant" hold your thought. Lets start where we always do, the beginning...

I was admitted this last Wednesday to begin stem cell transplant. Six days of chemo, with the middle four requiring two daily doses twelve hours a part in three hour increments at a time. Day one and two went well; not my favorite past time but still was in good spirits. Day three was a different story. Day three was the beginning of my adventure into what I envision a lot of what Hell might be like; nausea, loss of appetite, loss of sleep, constantly having to pee. Did I mention stem cell is such a serious transplant process you can't use simple things like your toothbrush and toothpaste because it could cause micro abrasions which are an open source of infection? My whole life was turned upside down by day three. Although I was remaining in good spirits I was fast approaching hitting my wall.

I was blessed enough though to have some visitors. St. John's, the church I belong to has volunteers come up to visit those parishioners in hospital. I've had wonderful visits with Father John, Lorraine, and a few others. I'm not sure which day this was but I was sitting in my bed wondering how I was going to eat the limp toast room service was kind enough to deliver to me nearly an hour after I ordered it and keep it down when I looked up to see not just any volunteer from church this day, but here was Mr. Grosso, my high school Latin teacher eager to visit. I can't tell you how nice it is to have visitors when you're going through this whether they be strangers, current friends, family, or folks from your past but to have someone who knew you as a kid and has kept tabs on you intermittently over the years come to visit; it was the best visit this round of the Big C.

We had a wonderful visit in which I relayed to him my positive outlook on this disease. Anyone who knows me knows this is a just a part of my journey here for whatever reason (we don't always need to know) and I'm going to beat it and I'll do it telling as many jokes as I can along the way (sometimes appropriate, sometimes not so much). The Big C doesn't define me and is most certainly not my legacy. We also talked about God, the Church, what I wanted to be when I grew up and how what role I felt God had in it. My visit with Mr. Grosso taught me to take a different perspective from my experience and see that light (no not the bright light) but rather the enlightenment of God and the lessons He is trying to bestow on us. Sometimes it can take years to find that enlightenment and that's ok. I've learned that as I'm hitting that wall physically or mentally I am blessed enough to have a foundation to know that I'm being taken care of even if I can't see it. And the Lord will always get you back on the path you belong if you let him.

So with that said as you can tell this wasn't a rant; rather it was one person relaying how they feel can see the presence of God in their life. Please pray the transplant process goes smoothly and cures my disease because as hard as it is I'm asking for help on this one because I'm ready to be BIG C FREE!

Lymphoma-sodes: Let the harvesting commence!

09/09/09

Here I am, once again at the Gonda 10 (for those not familiar with the Mayo Clinic that's the Gonda building, tenth floor). This time I'm on the apheresis unit getting my stem cells harvested. I get first class treatment with my hospital bed and warm blankets, however I'm sharing this station with three other patients (envision a room of four folks, each in their own bed with a person in dressed in normal clothes in a chair one side of them, then all kinds of hosptial-y machines: tubes, ivs, blood pressure cuffs, and the rest of the standard medical miracle machines used to save lives).

I'm sitting up in my bed with my laptop trying not to itch the hell out of my chest. Apparently I'm allergic to the adhesive on the bandages used to cover the closure of my old & new ports (removed and installed yesterday). In the last 24 hours I've actually developed blisters where the adhesive was and man oh man do they itch like the pox (as in chicken). On a lighter note, I'm refusing to eat or drink anything before or during my harveting session for two simple words: bed pan (or in this case bucket with a handle). Yep that's right this girl doesn't do the bedside elimination. Did I mention the only thing separating me and the guy next to me is a curtain? You can bet the farm it isn't going to happen. I will let it come out my ears before I go in one of those things. *Insert shuddering and dry heaving here*

On a yet another different note, the surrealism I'm experiencing watching my blood being taken out of my body through tubes and put back in is indescribable. In fact, I've never been one to be squeamish about blood but looking at my own has changed this fact about me. I'm avoiding looking to my left where the machine and all my blood is because quite frankly it grosses me out.

This last week life has been similar to that of the movie the Wizard of Oz; only I've been caught at the part where the tornado hits and Dorothy and the house are in the air spinning in circles. To say last week was exhausting is to say that the collapse of the I-35 bridge in Minneapolis was a minor traffic accident. You're probably confused so I will rewind...

The final week of August I underwent every kind of test imaginable to ensure my body was equipped to handle the stem cell transplant. Heart, kidneys, lungs, blood- you name it and it was tested. I also underwent another PET Scan to see where the tumor was at. Can I just say how much getting poked, prodded, and smushed by strangers among other things sucks? I swore if I was going to have to pee into another cup or have one more person joke about what a hard stick I was, somebody was going to get it. It was a week of being at the Clinic by 7am and not home before 4 and 5pm; it was my full time job and beyond exhausting.

The good news is all came back good- the tumor has shrunk (again) WOOT WOOT! It's about half the size it was going into round two. The even better news though is (drum roll please) the doctors confirmed that it is still the original tumor, meaning my body isn't regrowing them like an overly moist lawn sprouts little crops of mushrooms. I can't begin to tell you what a relief this was for me. Having absolutely no control over what your own body does and then not being able to stop it is a whole new definition of helplessness I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.

So here we are back at Gonda 10. I'm hooked up to the machine that harvests my stem cells; something that might look like what I'd imagine a time machine might look like with all of its dials and monitors. My stem cell goal is to collect 5,000,000- yep that's right- five million. My caregivers are confident with where we are at going into transplant which has renewed my hope. And as we all know, hope is a good thing as Martha would say.