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(body art by Jemma Fassett)
Today is my 5th cancerversary.
Five years ago I went to the E.R. with what I thought was the flu, and infected bug bites, one on each leg. My blood work quickly showed that my white cell counts were astronomically high. The doctor told me I would start to hear the word “cancer.” I told him he had the wrong patient. I was an organic eating vegetarian who exercised regularly, never smoked, rarely drank, and meditated. I didn’t have cancer.
I had cancer. Acute myeloid leukemia, a rare blood cancer that more is more likely to affect men in their sixties and has a survival rate beyond 5 years of around 25-30%. I was told that if I didn’t undergo immediate treatment, I’d be dead in a month.
We still don’t know what causes acute myeloid leukemia. Risk factors include: high doses of radiation or benzene. Nope. Smoking. Nope. Previous radiation or chemotherapy. Nope. (Well, now, yup. See below for Fear of Relapse). Family history. Nope.
Over a dozen bone marrow biopsies (how did I manage to forget the actual number?!), 11 doses of full body radiation, 3 rounds of chemo, and 1 stem cell transplant with cells donated by my sister, Anita, later, I was declared in remission.
The recovery was hell. I had nausea. Fatigue. Depression. Anxiety. Mood swings. Weight swings. Chemo brain. My fingernails fell off one by one. I went into early onset menopause. My thyroid stopped working. I had osteopenia. I was immune suppressed and not allowed to eat takeout, ride the subway, or go to the theatre. I lost all my hair, including my eyelashes. Actually, I loved being bald. Cancer perk: I discovered I rock a shaved head.
I got to attend my own funeral. I got to feel the outpouring of love and support when we told everyone I was sick.
I was told it would take 3-5 years to recover. They were not wrong. It was tough and felt like it would last forever. With the support of my amazing husband, Aaron, and our tribe of generous wonderful folk, we got through it. Pro-tip, if you have to go through a terrifying health crisis shortly after getting married, make sure you have married a Zen Boy Scout.
Five years later, I’m healthy and strong. I run marathons dammit!
The mental game is the hardest. I’m terrified of relapse. Every headache, every time I’m over-tired, every bruise, every cut that takes a little longer to heal must be Cancer. Every medical appointment is stressful and anxiety-inducing. Most medical professionals I’ve encountered outside of Memorial Sloan Kettering don’t understand how to treat a Young Adult Survivor of Leukemia. They don’t understand that a 30-something woman can be in menopause. I’m impatient. I want everything done/learnt/achieved yesterday.
I’m rushing to catch up on lost time. To make the most of time in case it’s limited. I’ve seen 141 shows since I was allowed back into a theatre. I’ve run three marathons and three half-marathons. I’ve written and performed a one-woman show about my experience, The Big C Cabaret.
The chances of relapse decrease significantly after 5 years. Have I really reached that magic number? After losing the genetic lottery that gave me blood cancer in the first place, have I won the Cancer Survival lottery? Knock on wood. Turn around three times. Throw salt in the air.
The places on my legs where the infected bug bites were have turned into beautiful mandala shaped scars. When I’m wearing shorts, people see them and ask, “what are those marks on your legs?” They are my story.
In September my legs and I are going to run our 4th marathon.
In November, on the 5th anniversary of my stem cell transplant, I’ll run my 5th marathon. I’m running with Fred’s Team and raising vital funds for leukemia research at Memorial Sloan Kettering. It’s my way of saying thank you to the amazing doctors and researchers that saved my life.
Five years ago, I was dying.
Today, I am here. I am here. I am here!
Five years ago I went to the E.R. with what I thought was the flu, and infected bug bites, one on each leg. My blood work quickly showed that my white cell counts were astronomically high. The doctor told me I would start to hear the word “cancer.” I told him he had the wrong patient. I was an organic eating vegetarian who exercised regularly, never smoked, rarely drank, and meditated. I didn’t have cancer.
I had cancer. Acute myeloid leukemia, a rare blood cancer that more is more likely to affect men in their sixties and has a survival rate beyond 5 years of around 25-30%. I was told that if I didn’t undergo immediate treatment, I’d be dead in a month.
We still don’t know what causes acute myeloid leukemia. Risk factors include: high doses of radiation or benzene. Nope. Smoking. Nope. Previous radiation or chemotherapy. Nope. (Well, now, yup. See below for Fear of Relapse). Family history. Nope.
Over a dozen bone marrow biopsies (how did I manage to forget the actual number?!), 11 doses of full body radiation, 3 rounds of chemo, and 1 stem cell transplant with cells donated by my sister, Anita, later, I was declared in remission.
The recovery was hell. I had nausea. Fatigue. Depression. Anxiety. Mood swings. Weight swings. Chemo brain. My fingernails fell off one by one. I went into early onset menopause. My thyroid stopped working. I had osteopenia. I was immune suppressed and not allowed to eat takeout, ride the subway, or go to the theatre. I lost all my hair, including my eyelashes. Actually, I loved being bald. Cancer perk: I discovered I rock a shaved head.
I got to attend my own funeral. I got to feel the outpouring of love and support when we told everyone I was sick.
I was told it would take 3-5 years to recover. They were not wrong. It was tough and felt like it would last forever. With the support of my amazing husband, Aaron, and our tribe of generous wonderful folk, we got through it. Pro-tip, if you have to go through a terrifying health crisis shortly after getting married, make sure you have married a Zen Boy Scout.
Five years later, I’m healthy and strong. I run marathons dammit!
The mental game is the hardest. I’m terrified of relapse. Every headache, every time I’m over-tired, every bruise, every cut that takes a little longer to heal must be Cancer. Every medical appointment is stressful and anxiety-inducing. Most medical professionals I’ve encountered outside of Memorial Sloan Kettering don’t understand how to treat a Young Adult Survivor of Leukemia. They don’t understand that a 30-something woman can be in menopause. I’m impatient. I want everything done/learnt/achieved yesterday.
I’m rushing to catch up on lost time. To make the most of time in case it’s limited. I’ve seen 141 shows since I was allowed back into a theatre. I’ve run three marathons and three half-marathons. I’ve written and performed a one-woman show about my experience, The Big C Cabaret.
The chances of relapse decrease significantly after 5 years. Have I really reached that magic number? After losing the genetic lottery that gave me blood cancer in the first place, have I won the Cancer Survival lottery? Knock on wood. Turn around three times. Throw salt in the air.
The places on my legs where the infected bug bites were have turned into beautiful mandala shaped scars. When I’m wearing shorts, people see them and ask, “what are those marks on your legs?” They are my story.
In September my legs and I are going to run our 4th marathon.
In November, on the 5th anniversary of my stem cell transplant, I’ll run my 5th marathon. I’m running with Fred’s Team and raising vital funds for leukemia research at Memorial Sloan Kettering. It’s my way of saying thank you to the amazing doctors and researchers that saved my life.
Five years ago, I was dying.
Today, I am here. I am here. I am here!
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