The Match

You'd think after three months, I'd be used to this cancer BS by now. It's still a difficult thing to accept.

This is my life.

I know I've said this time and time again, but I never thought "cancer" would ever be a word used to describe some portion of my life.

I never dreamed I'd be bald and hooked up to a machine 24/7 that I have tote everywhere like an unwanted ball and chain--though I suppose no one wants a ball and chain.

I just don't get how I can be so unlucky. It's like I won the unhealthy lottery. To have been 29 weeks pregnant and find out I have acute myeloid leukemia and I have to have my baby 10 weeks early was a lot to take on. I just couldn't understand why I had to go through so much at once.

I mean it's one thing to have a premature baby in the NICU.

Then to add having cancer on top of that.

And, having a three year old at home who is going to be tossed around from house to house til we get home to some normalcy again, just seems so unfair.

All of it is unfair.

I know, I know "life is unfair."

But it's not fair that it's unfair. I say that like a little six-year-old girl throwing her fists toward the ground and stomping her foot.

It's not, it's not, it's not!

There are days through this that I feel strong, and I don't care about my bald head. Then, I look a photos of me, pre-cancer and with hair, and I wish I could feel like that girl again.

I know I'll never feel the same.

Cancer has changed me.

Everything that goes on in my life revolves around this and that in itself is exhausting.

No one wants to talk "cancer talk" all the time; it's incredibly depressing.

But I suppose what I'm about to tell you, people would want to know...

Shit's about to get real.

They

found

a

match.

Wow--those words just came out of my mouth--or more liked typed on my computer.

I'm honestly not sure if I'm even supposed to know that yet, but they narrowed it down to a donor.

The donor is on hold waiting for us to schedule a transplant date.

Of course, it's always a possibility for the donor to back out or change their mind.
Let's pray they don't.

But if this person does, they had two more people they were interested in.

This person is a 100% full match, apparently if I'm using an unrelated donor I have to have a full match, which I didn't know.

It's kind of crazy knowing there is someone out there that somehow genetically matches me and I don't even know this person.

That's insane.

It's definitely exciting though. I wonder who this person is? Where do they live? What do they do for fun? Wonder what they look like? I just want to know all I can about them.

I'm not real surprised they found a match, because they told me I would most definitely find one.

Since announcing I will have a stem cell transplant, I've received a lot of messages and comments asking how people can get tested or how they can help.

Now I may have found my match, so you may not be able to help me, but I encourage everyone to visit bethematch.org to learn more about how you can join the international registry.

From what I understand, you sign up and they send you a kit to do a quick, painless mouth swab. You mail it back to the organization and you're in the system. It's as easy as that.

And why not join the registry? You could have the chance to save someone's life.

From children to adults in their fifties and more, you might have the goods to help someone live longer. That's the most amazing thing in the world--trying to save someone's life.

I guess if I ever got a phone call saying I could save someone's life and donate my stem cells, I'd have to do it. There is a complete stranger out there and they need my help. I'm the person who can help them the way no way anyone else can. And I'd hope if one of my family members were going through this, that a donor would want to step up and do the same for me and mine.

This is pretty epic news because the odds were against me staying in remission without a transplant. Yes, I said remission; I'm considered in remission currently.

That doesn't mean I'm cured, so don't get too excited just yet.

The chances of me going into long-term remission post-transplant are 7 out of 10 and even in more recent studies show 9 out of 10, which is great, but a long road still lies ahead.

If I was unable to have a transplant, especially with my pesky FLT3 mutation, the odds of me being in long-term remission with chemo only would be 2 out of 10.

So, it's imperative that I have this transplant.

I know this is going to suck.
I know it's not going to be fun, but I'm going to do this and get better.

This isn't going to be IT for me.
It won't.
I refuse.

AML will not tear me away from my family.
So screw you AML, I'm not going anywhere.

Here's The Plan 

I should start the transplant in a month or so (probably late March or early April).

The transplant includes another round of chemo--a longer and more intense chemo--to wipe out my bone marrow and immune system. They will infuse the donor's stem cells into my body and I'll essentially develop their healthy immune system that spits out no leukemia cells.

I'm still learning the details but they did all kinds of tests while I was in the hospital to have me ready for the transplant when it's time.

Apparently I will have some other device embedded into the skin in my chest (kind of like a port but different I guess) to infuse the stem cells through. I thought they'd be doing that in my port, but clearly I'm not educated enough on this transplant stuff just yet.

I'm supposed to take a class to learn more about what will happen when it's time. I need a class. All of this stuff is very confusing.

It's crazy though. I've thought about the transplant, but I didn't want to think too much about it because I'd get so upset thinking about being away from my kids for a long time.

Three weeks is just way too long.
I hate that.

I could barely sleep the first night I was in the hospital because I missed them so bad.

I've heard people say that they will make exceptions for me. I just hope they keep their word.

My boys are growing and changing so fast, and like Steven Tyler, "I don't want to miss a thing." I know what you're thinking... "corny line, Cass." I know I literally just re-read that and cringed.

But "I don't want to miss a thing." Ugh. Stop it, Cass.

I honestly dread how much pressure will be put on my family and friends to help us out while I'm in the hospital.

I'm afraid of how sick I'll get.

I'm afraid of the GVHD crap that could make me really ill.

I'm scared of a lot of things.

But today, I'm going to focus on the positive.

The transplant is in our future.

A donor has been selected.

Things are looking up.

I will get better; I just have to.

In the mean time, I guess we will just wait for a transplant date.

I'll be twiddling my thumbs til then waiting on the stem cells to arrive... HA! Who am I kidding? I got a toddler and a newborn, my hands are full.

Side note: wouldn't it be awesome if I could get infused like Superman's stem cells? Or maybe Buffy's? Hmm... how amazing would it be if this person were a celebrity? That'd be cool. Like if I got Matthew Mcconaughey's, I'd be saying, "Alright, alright, alright. I'm just gonna keep livin' man. JKL."

LOL. I'm such a nerd. I totally said that out loud in my "Mcconaughey voice" as I typed.

Ehh... honestly I'm cool with getting stem cells from anyone who is HEALTHY.

But Matthew, if it's you, "it'd be a lot cooler [it was]."

Dazed and Kinda Confused (by the ending of my post),

No Baby?

And my heart sank...

"Your chemotherapy and your stem cell transplant will most likely only give you less than a 25% chance to have another baby," my oncologist told me.

I'd just had my precious baby Beckham a few weeks prior. He was still in the hospital fighting to be a normal baby and get the heck out of the special care nursery.

But the second my doctor finished that sentence, I immediately wanted another baby.

After the miserable pregnancy I had with Beckham--with severe morning sickness, which was more like all day and night sickness for 23 weeks--I was pretty sure he was going to be my last child. Plus I found out, while 29 weeks pregnant, I have Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

The thought of having another child was so far out of my mind when I heard the words "you have cancer."

There was so much more to focus on. We needed to get Bex out safely and I needed to start chemo asap.

I just kept thinking if I got through all of this cancer stuff, and then tried to have another baby, would it spark it back up? Theoretically, or medically, probably not. But that's what I'd be thinking in my mind if I ever got knocked up post-cancer.

I pretty much wanted to steer clear of having another baby after this pregnancy was a whirlwind.

BUT the second my doctor said I'd most likely be sterile (his words, not mine), I wanted another baby right then and there. I almost threw Klay on the ground and told him we needed to get started STAT.

I guess it's like a childhood-parent relationship, where your parent tells you that you can't have something so you only want it more.

That's where I am.
I want another baby.

It sounds so selfish. I just had a healthy baby boy born 10 weeks early with no serious issues, and I'm so thankful for that. I love that little boy so much. But seeing his sweet face and holding him makes me want to cherish every second, every ounce of this little precious person. I don't want to miss anything. I want to be with him, but it makes me sad he's growing up so fast. I feel like he is anyway.

He was so tiny.
And now I feel like he's huge.

And he's already so smart. I mean look at him!

I mean that's a good thing--a really good thing--he's growing up to be a strong boy. Buuuuutttttt, I literally had to fight back the tears when he went up to size 1 diapers last week. I can't believe he's already in 1's. I just stared at his tiny newborn diapers in sadness. They are so small. I can't believe he's growing so fast.

And on top of all of this crazy baby-wanting hormone crap, Brody is turning 3 this week--3! How did that happen? I can't believe it. Time flies.

I'm so thankful for my healthy kids. I truly am. It just seems selfish for me to want to have another baby when I already have two healthy, happy children.

I guess it just saddens me that this will--quite possibly--be the end of the "baby stage" once Beckham gets older. I'm sure every mother experiences that sadness of knowing that you won't witness seeing another one of your children take its first breath in the delivery room, or see their first baby grin.

Believe me, I know that I will have lots of new experiences with the boys as they get older. I will cheer for them at their first ball game, kiss them and tell them to have a good day on their first day of school, watch their faces light up when they see the ocean for the first time, and so much more.

I'm excited for those things.

But every time I see a pregnant lady, I just want to be THAT pregnant lady again. Experience the joys of going to the hospital, the joys of seeing your child for the first time, and the joy of breastfeeding--especially because I didn't get to experience that with Bex.

It's really stupid for me to complain about things like this. There are so many people out there who aren't fortunate enough to be able to experience a baby like I have.

That's much harder than any of this that I'm going through, cancer included.
I couldn't imagine.

When I look at Bex, I cherish him and our late night feedings. I just kiss him and love on him so much. I much more calm than I was with Brody, so I kind of feel like Bro got the shitty end of the stick.

Being a first-time mom was scary and intense. I had no idea what I was doing. But with Beckham, I feel like I'm a better mom. That probably sounds terrible. I'm just so much more relaxed. I don't stress over the small stuff. I can handle it. But with Bro I was a wreck. I literally lost my mind. I went crazy. And I feel bad for Brody because of that.

But Brody still gets lots of kisses from mommy, don't worry about that. I love that little funny guy. He makes me laugh daily. He's seriously the most amazing little boy. He lights up my life.

No one ever said this parenting thing was going to be easy. I just don't know if I can let go of the not having another child again. Someone taking that away from you is the cruelest feeling in the world.

I was ready for the baby stage this second time around. I'm happy to get up for the late-night feedings and ready to change diapers. I literally jump for joy when this kid poos. I can't help it. Poo-ing excites me.

So, this can't be it, right? It can't be my last baby.

But then I think, what if this cancer thing takes a turn for the worst. I'll have left Klay with two kids (or more if we managed to have any) and that seems so unfair to him.

Stop rolling your eyes, babe. I know you are while you're reading this hunny buns. I just worry so much. I think too much. I want so badly to live this life with you and our kids. And I want to make babies with you because those kids will have the most amazing father on the planet.

And Klay, I know we are in the hospital, but the fact you went to get me cereal and milk for dinner from CVS (because I'm a crazy person) is making you look even sexier while you're laying on that bed next to me, hot stuff. I adore you.

I might try making a baby tonight. LOL... just kidding.

Seriously though, this baby sitch is weighing on my mind. Every time I see a pregnant woman walking around I just want to be her. Experience all of that again. Plus, chances are she's not finding out she has cancer while she's pregnant. So she's probably having a wonderful pregnancy. The whole leukemia thing sort of ruined the normalcy of Bex's pregnancy, obvi.

I could always adopt. There are plenty of children out there who need good homes. I've thought about that for a long long time. I would love to do that to. But I still won't get to experience being pregnant again.

I know I can't have everything I want.

This cancer has taken a lot away from me. And, I'm mad about that. It took my confidence, my hair, my eyelashes, my baby boy out of utero, time away from my children and it's most likely going to take away my ability to have another child.

On the flip side, I guess to this cancer has given me a lot of things too.

-- A reason to fight.
-- A rash.
-- A more open mind. 
-- A new card to play when I don't feel like doing something... 
            Klay: "Can you make me a sandwich?" 
            Me: "You know I would, but I have cancer so..."
-- Knowledge.
-- More faith in people.
-- Bad diarrhea. 
-- No need to shave the lady parts any more (FIST PUMP!)
-- Strength that I never knew I had.
-- Frustration
-- A drugless and natural vaginal birth (yowza!)
-- Hope
-- New friends.
-- And it has helped restore my relationship with God.

I guess I just have to play the next year or two by ear and see how I feel and look at all the possibilities of either adoption, trying to have another baby or becoming a baby-snatcher at a hospital...

I'm kidding... or am I?

Someone needs to bring me a baby to sniff, STAT!

Baby Fevered & Losing My Mind & Possibly My Uterus,

3rd Round Is Going Down

I cannot believe the overwhelming response I received after posting my last blog--"Taking Off The Hat."

I have blown my previous blog stat-record out of the water. With more than 4,200 views in 24 hours, which was incredible, it was honestly the comments, the shares, and your thoughts, encouragement and prayers that truly made that day (and post)  remarkable.

I started this blog because I love to write and make people laugh and smile. I wanted something to share with everyone.

I've always believed that everyone has a story to tell.

Then, I got leukemia, and my "story" took an unexpected plot twist I wasn't ready to handle. I honestly wasn't sure how I would continue this blog or how much I wanted to share about this experience. But for those who know me personally know that I am an open book. I speak my mind. I'm an over-sharer. It's who I am.

I figured I would share some of my story eventually, but finally posting a photo of me with no hair was truly difficult.

I was afraid of a lot of things--how people would react, letting people see me at my most vulnerable state of my life, sharing a photo of the worst I've ever looked (though I look worse now that I've lost most of eyelashes on one eye). And there is no Instagram filter for baldness.

It was truly terrifying letting people see that side of me. I was opening myself up to friends and to complete strangers. I don't know how I got the balls to do it. Maybe I took Klay's... who knows?

But after posting the photo, I've finally reached the "I don't give a shit" attitude I've been waiting for for months.

I honestly don't know if I was going to ever be ready to post something like that--I don't know if I was even ready to that day--but finally sharing it with all of you took a lot of pressure off of my shoulders.

I could breathe.

I have no hair. It's part of who I am at this part of my life. I needed to try to embrace it.

So what if I look like shit without hair? Who cares if I don't have make up on? I'm just over it. Yes, make up helps me look better (and hair too), but this probably isn't the worst I'm ever going to look. I'm anticipating looking worse after my stem cell transplant. And I figure having cancer is a pretty good reason to look bad.

I'll start to look better... eventually.

It doesn't mean I won't ever struggle again with being bald. I just have to face facts.

There will be days I'm going to look and feel terrible and days that will be a piece of cake. I just have to take it one day at a time and accept that bald woman with no lashes in the mirror and remember she is a fighter and someone who is going to stumble and fall, but ultimately she will get back up again.

So, here I am, today on February 17--three months after my diagnosis--in the waiting area of the hospital doing what people do in the waiting area... waiting.

I'm being admitted for my third round of chemo today.

The worst part about this all is leaving my boys. I know that it's not going to be as difficult as it will be when I have the stem cell transplant in a month or two. I'll be in the hospital for three weeks then--three weeks I'll never get back with my kids.

The thought of that makes me want to puke.

They did say they were going to try to make an exception for me and my situation, so the boys could come visit a few times a week, but that's not enough. Poor Brody didn't want mommy to go today. He told me to stay home with him. And all I want to do is sniff my sweet Bex. Oh, you think that's weird? Who doesn't love baby smell?

That's the part of this that is extremely tough; I hate how this effects my boys.

It sucks.

OFF TOPIC CAUSE I'M ABOUT TO GO ALL BALLS TO THE WALL CRAY CRAY... I absolutely hate how long it takes hospitals to get something going. My room was supposed to be cleaned over two hours ago (and it's now 3:30).

I thought if they aren't ready for me, maybe they will let me go to the infusion room and the chemo started. Well, apparently, the infusion room is full today. Seriously?I've been into the infusion room like 5 or 6 times and it's never even been close to being full. I don't get it. Why isn't there an express line for chemo patients? Or a season pass to the hospital so I don't have to sit and wait and I can skip to the front of the line like you can with a Six Flags Fast Pass? I mean that would be genius. I'd pay for that.

The sooner I start, the sooner I leave this joint.

Hospitals infuriate me.

I want to scream.

I can't believe how long this takes.

I'm now in my room (which I didn't get to til 5:20 and I won't start chemo until about 10 o'clock tonight; I've been here since 1 pm. Good thing is my favorite nurse is here tonight with me and she makes things better. But in the mean time...

I guess I just need to remember if Britney Spears can make it through 2007, I can make it through this week.

And if I go crazy, I'll have to do something more drastic than shaving my head since I've already got that part covered (but not literally). Ya get it? My head isn't covered... nevermind... the crazy-chemo-patient-train has already left the building...

Bald & Bitchy,



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