Outside

I'm out of the hospital.

Great, right? I only had to stay 24 out of the required 30 days and when I went to my first outpatient blood draw on Monday my counts were continuing to improve. The best thing is I'm finally off steroids. Steroids suck. All I could think about was food. To some degree that's normal but when you're making lists of things you want to eat and before you fall asleep every night you're really excited about breakfast you know there is some kind of problem. For a while all I was eating was chicken nuggets, mash potatoes, and corn, which let me tell you is crazy delicious, but my sister definitely gave me crap for my childlike palate. 

I digress. 

I wish I was more prepared for the days in between when I was released from the hospital until my next treatment. I'm not going to sugarcoat this, these last few days have quite possibly been the most difficult since I've been diagnosed. Being able to be out of the hospital is such a blessing but it comes at a cost. While in the hospital there is constant action. Blood draws multiple times a day, vital check every four hours, nurses and other medical professionals coming in and out of your room and now there's nothing. 

This peace and quiet that is supposed to be relaxing and healing is actually nerve wrecking and has caused so much anxiety. Most of it has to do with the fact that we don't know where we're going from here. Today I have another bone marrow biopsy to help us figure it out. From here we will know which course of treatment will be best and how much of the cancer was initially killed. They want to see at least 90% of it gone to call my first treatment successful. Talk about pressure...

But I have to keep in the front of my mind all the positives and know that this always could be so much worse. 

  

Day 15 - Halfway There

How We Got Here

I've been meaning to write this down for the last couple of weeks, mainly so that when this is all behind me I can read this and see how ridiculous the whole situation was. A month ago I was fine. One month, 30 fucking days ago, I was a normal, happy, healthy 25-year-old. I was working, traveling between two cities I love, and spending time with some of the best people in the world. Perfectly happy, blissfully unaware of what was going on inside of me.

Around the second week of November I come down with what I think is a cold. Working as much as I do and traveling in between Cincinnati and Washington, DC for the last couple of months, getting sick wasn't unexpected. So, I do what any normal twenty-something does and medicate with heavy doses of over-the-counter medication. I knew I needed to get better fast as work was about to ramp up to a whole different level of busy, but something wasn't right. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but eating, drinking, breathing, and even just laying in certain positions hurt. I finally made an appointment with a doctor but they couldn't get me in until Thursday. Ok, I thought; I can make it until then.

Just kidding. 

I barely slept that night. I would wake up, try to find a comfortable position and try to fall back asleep. Finally after struggling all night I gave in, took a shower, and got my ass to the ER. Luckily it was early enough in the morning that they rushed me right in. I was taken back into the ER and went over all my symptoms with a nurse and hordes of other medical professionals. Blood was taken, morphine was given, and I was sent to get an ultrasound of my abdomen.

First thing they notice is that my liver enzymes are abnormal. Well, if any of you know me, you should know that that's probably no surprise. Not to say I'm a lush or anything, but I do like to partake in a bottomless brunch from time to time. Whatever, no big deal. Next thing is my spleen is enlarged. I had had a feeling that was the majority of the problem thanks to Web MD. 

So now what? Well, the trauma surgeon and his team come in to talk with me. They reassure me that as of this moment I am nonsurgical and that my labs are still getting looked at. At this point he says this looks like mono, but the results came back inconsistent and they are retesting. “Mono,” I think, “that sucks, but I can deal with mono.” Work won't be happy and I'll probably be a zombie, but I can do it.

About 40 minutes later another doctor who I hadn’t seen before steps in and that's when everything changes. He speaks to me softly and tries his best to explain what is happening to me. I miss about 90% of what he says because the word LEUKEMIA is just bouncing around in my head. I make him tell me over and over again what the chances are that I have it, and all he will say is that the chances are high but that we won't know for sure until we do a bone marrow biopsy. This is when I start bargaining with a power bigger than myself, begging for the labs to bewrong, hoping that they accidentally switched my blood with some random patient like in an episode of Grey's Anatomy. 

But that isn’t the case. They bring me up to what is now my temporary home, the oncology floor. My nurse, Stephanie, is helping me every step of the way. She brings me whatever I need, holds my hand, and when I lay on my side for the biopsy she never leaves. They have to not only get marrow from me but also chip off a piece of bone. Even after a few tries, their efforts to get a sample of marrow are unsuccessful. Later I find out it's because my marrow was too compacted with cancer cells. 

Now is the waiting game. It's Tuesday, November 18th and there is a high chance I have leukemia. I don't get confirmation until the next morning. It's a surreal thing when a team of doctors, pharmacists, nurses, a social worker, a nutritionist, and medical students walk in to your room for the first time. They explain to me that I have acute lymphoblastic leukemia and that they will begin treating me right away. This type of leukemia is aggressive and mostly found in children. They explain that because I'm young and in good health, they will treat this leukemia as aggressively as my body will tolerate. 

Since being diagnosed I've had 8 chemo treatments and today I will have my 9th. Luckily, I have only a couple side effects from the chemo at this time. I still have the energy to walk around the oncology floor many times a day and have a strong appetite. I know both will go at some point, so I take advantage of every spurt of energy, every weird food craving, and so on.

I can't begin to say how thankful I am for each one of you. Every donation, text, Facebook message, email, hospital visit...it's just overwhelming. I hope in time I can reach out to everyone personally but at this moment I have no words to say other than than thank you. I know it's not enough but like I said, one day I'll be able to better express how grateful I am.