It's the Final Countdown!

I am only hours away now from learning if I am in full molecular remission. I know that I shouldn't put all my eggs in one basket, but I cannot help but do so. This is an exciting day, now that I actually know what the PCR test is (I wasn't really sure as to what it was last time I got it done, as I hadn't done any research).

I'm telecommuting for work today, and am bundled up in my bathrobe and fuzzy Christmas socks while listening to some jazz on the radio. I'm desperately trying to be productive, while I'm getting a lot accomplished for work, I cannot help but keep catching myself getting distracted. I feel like the child on Christmas eve who's been told to go to bed or else Santa Clause won't arrive with presents, and all I want to do is leap out of bed and run to the bedroom window to wait for that little red nose to light up in the sky. The results of being in full molecular remission, for me, is Rudolph's red nose.

I have been saying for weeks now, as family and friends start asking me what I want for Christmas and all I can tell them is I want to be in full molecular remission. I'd give anything to not just celebrate the holidays, but actually celebrate with a purpose! Looking at things now, I suppose I feel that materialistic things like fancy ceramic watches, video game systems, electronics, clothing, shoes, etc. are insignificant in comparison to the one wish I deeply desire. Yes, the monetary satisfaction that comes from those gifts is wonderful, there's no doubt about that in my mind. However, I feel that the 100% remission results would be something that fills that hole in my being, that brings pure joy to my soul which allows that extra hop of confidence in my step.

However, for now... I wait. Just a little over 4 hours to go now before the results are in.

I'm Thankful...

Thanksgiving is just a few weeks away now, and never in my lifetime did I think I would be spending my 1st Thanksgiving with family and friends while battling leukemia. It still shocks me when I think about it, but I'm slowly coming to terms with it. I am thankful for the fact that I have an incredible Oncologist who has been such incredible support to me since April, he's full of wit and charm and each time I pay a visit to his office, I truly feel like he cares about how I'm progressing.

Today I stopped by the hospital and paid a visit to the vampires in the lab, who drew multiple vials of blood for the Polymerase Chain Reaction (also known as the PCR test). This test is a technique used to expand trace amounts of DNA or RNA so that the specific type of the DNA or RNA can be studied or determined. PCR can detect the presence of one blood cancer cell among 500,000 to one million blood cancer cells.Ultimately this test will determine if I am in full molecular remission, which is something I've been praying for on a daily basis since my first PCR test was done back in July and we learned that I was .5% away from full remission.

I get my results on November 16th and I can honestly say I've never been so nervous for a test result in my entire life. I have butterflies in my stomach, just thinking about it!

In other news, on Monday I became rather ill. Turns out I got strep throat, either from someone who works in my building or perhaps from Jason's assistant manager at work. Either way, I'm none too thrilled about it but thankfully my Oncologist put me on a strong dose of antibiotics right away to help fight it off and I'm starting to feel much better. Fever hasn't broken yet, but I at least have some of my voice back and don't sound like a 85 year old woman with emphysema anymore.

That's really all I have to report right now.

Oh, and I learned last night that Washington State voted yesterday to approve that liquor no longer be controlled by the government! So come June of 2012 we'll be able to walk into our local Costco, Safeway, etc. and purchase hard alcohol! This is exciting news for Washingtonians, as it's been controlled by the government (and taxed beyond belief) since 1933.

All is Quiet

There hasn't been a whole lot to really report since the Light the Night walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society last month. I've been diligent in staying on top of going to the lab to get blood work done, and follow-up later on that day with my Oncologist to get my results, everything is looking good and staying within the "norm". However, at my last appointment he said that close to the end of November he's going to to do a polymerase chain reaction (PCR) test.

Translation: To see if I'm in full molecular remission.


Oh how I pray I am! *fingers tightly crossed*

Light the Night

This evening was the South Sound Light the Night walk for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, in Tacoma along the waterfront. Jason and I arrived early to ensure we could get a decent parking spot and opted to walk to Duke's Chowder House for happy hour and to just relax before the events began a few hours later.

As we sat at our booth in the bar, enjoying the food and beverages of choice (cucumber mojito for me and an IPA for Jason) that we ordered. Things slowly began to sink in for me. I was about to do a walk for a cause that I'm actually effected by; a disease that I'm battling. I felt guilty for having my emotional breakdowns and constantly asking, "why me?", simply because there are people battling far more aggressive types of blood cancers or who didn't win the fight. I know it's normal to have these emotions, and I shouldn't feel bad because this type of leukemia is as major to me, as it is to anyone battling a more aggressive type. It's just human nature.

It was a dreary overcast walk from the restaurant to the location of the walk site and I held Jason's hand as we approached. I think a little out of fear, because aside from treatment and just going with the flow of things, this was the first step for me at coming to accept and facing my disease. We walked along one of the dock's that had photos of people that were currently battling or had lost their battle with a type of leukemia or lymphoma. Tears began to run down my cheeks as I gazed at each one. Someone's daughter, son, brother, sister, niece, nephew, husband, wife, best friend, coworker, lover. My heart ached, and I looked from one to the next in silence. The children hit my heart the hardest, they're too young to have to go through this, and may not really comprehend what's happening other than they're very I'll, and Mommy and Daddy are doing everything in their powers to make them all better. Which is where fundraising for this organization is so incredibly important. They help those that are in dire need, that don't have the insurance to allow them the treatment they desperately need (if I didn't have insurance, my monthly treatment would cost approximately $13,000 USD).

With the support of Zoe, Allen, Brenda, her daughter Riley and most importantly my husband Jason; we walked the entire length of Ruston Way. Carrying balloons that lit up the night in support, in memory and in treatment/survival. To have friends, who would take time out of their busy schedules (even if they had better things to do or just didn't want to) and walk along side me in the first downpour of Western Washington's transition from summer to autumn, meant the world to me. To know that $805 were raised by my team of friends and family is something I will always hold very dear to my heart and always remember.

I have an amazing husband, who is doing his part to support me in my battle with leukemia

Take No Prisoners

It was early, the Oncologist’s office wasn’t even technically open yet to see patients. However, due to a injury the Oncologist I was seeing had suffered the day before, they had asked me to come in first thing this morning since he was going to be going in for surgery this afternoon. Jason and I sat in the waiting room; nerves were getting to me just as bad as they were to Jason, at one point he couldn’t take it anymore and excused himself to the restroom (I’m pretty sure vomiting took place).

As timing would have it, as soon as he left the waiting room a nurse came out and spotted me, “Oh! I didn’t know you were already here! Jessica, right?” I looked up from my iPhone, leg bouncing in a nervous manner and nodded my head. “Well, come on back! No need for you to wait out here!”, I followed her back into an exam room and waited. I told her my husband had come with me but was in the restroom at the moment and asked if she would keep an eye out for him. She left and then the Oncologist walked in holding my chart. A solemn look was on his face and in a thick Brazilian accent he said, “Well, my assumptions were right. You have Chronic myelogenous leukemia.” And then in a surprised tone he said, “I can’t believe you came here by yourself for the news!” At that point, I’m pretty sure all color washed away from my face, tears started to well in the corners of my eyes and I pointed at the door and said, “My husband. He’s in the restroom…”

“OH! I’ll… I’ll give you a few minutes. I apologize.” And he slipped out of the room. At that moment I was alone, I felt like my entire world had just crashed into the ground. All I could think was, “Leukemia. Cancer.” Those two words kept repeating in my head, over and over again. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, another nurse came into the room with Jason and she began to monitor my vitals. “CML… I have CML….” Was all I could say. Jason immediately sat down, took my hand in his and said, “It’s OK. You’re going to get through this, you’re a strong woman.. You’re going to kick it’s ass.”

The next several hours were a blur to me. The medication I’m going to start taking was explained to us, along with the risks and side effects. I honestly don’t remember a whole lot, other than crying and feeling so many emotions surge through me, I still cannot make heads or tails of anything. I feel like I’m suffering from the worst case of tunnel vision, ever.

After we were finally done at the hospital, we went to the grocery store to get me a bottle of water. I sat in the car looking over paperwork that explains my current “disease”, Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia. I re-read those words a thousand times probably. At that point, I was getting too angry and I tossed the paperwork on the back seat then opened the vanity mirror to look at my reflection. I took a couple deep breaths, wiped the tears from my face and looked myself square in the eye, “Okay.. You, have leukemia. You are going to beat this, no matter what it takes.”

Jason got back in the car, settled into the drivers seat and handed me the bottle of water. I cracked open the medication packet, retrieved two pills and held them in the palm of my hand. I then looked over at Jason and said, “Well, here’s the start of kicking it’s ass.”

Come What May...

Indulging in a hospital sandwich after my biopsy

Yesterday I started the journey down a different path in life. It was the first step in determining if I have Chronic myelogenous leukemia, otherwise known as CML. This required going to the hospital and having a bone marrow biopsy done from the back of my right hip. I don’t recall a lot from the procedure itself as I was consciously sedated, but what I do recall was the pain when the Pathologist actually “sucked” the marrow out of my hip and then took a small sample of my hip bone for testing. I would attempt to describe the pain, but I honestly have nothing that I can even closely compare it to. Now it’s a waiting game, truth be told, Thursday afternoon when I meet with my Hematologist/Oncologist cannot come soon enough.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I will be strong and conquere whatever it is I may have. I’m a strong woman, with the attitude of 30 angry Irishmen who wont let anything get in my way. There’s a small voice in the back of my head that whispers it’s fear, worry and concern but the rest of me is standing strong on 4” black stiletto high heels with my fiery red hair ready to kick some ass and take down names while some obscenely loud heavy metal is blasting in the background as my theme music.

At this moment in time, there are three things this blood condition I’m dealing with could ultimately end up being.

1. Chronic myelogenous leukemia, which within the last 10 years the survival rate of this has gone from a 1-5% change of survival after 5 years, to a 90-95% survival rate after 5 years. There’s so many different medications out there now to treat it that weren’t available 10 years ago so I’m honestly not scared and more importantly, it’s treated with a pill a day. Most especially with an incredible Hematologist/Oncologist on my side who is well respected within the “industry” he works in.
2. Essential thrombocytosis, which also is treated with a pill a day. Typically this doesn’t present in adults until later on in their life (roughly late 50’s to 60’s, 70’s and even 80’s). So if I do have it, I will be the 2nd individual younger than 50 that the Hematologist/Oncologist has had a case with in the last 22 years of his field of experience. It’s not cancer, it’s no leukemia. It’s like a pre-cancer from what he was explaining in the office when we met with him this past Wednesday.
3. The bone marrow biopsy comes back and doesn’t show that I have either of the above two things and it’s just a reaction to an infection of some sort in my body or even medications I’m taking. Regular monitoring occurs with blood work taken on a fairly regular basis, but I go on about life as normal.