Before I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, I was a running, non-smoking, rarely drinking, meditating, vegetarian. How and why the hell did I get blood cancer?

The following is a list of reasons told, or sent, to me by a wide range of people (none of them doctors) during my illness: ​

I got cancer because of: ​

• Genetics
• My DNA
• The need to heal the pain of my ancestors
• The need to release old energy
• The need to shift my energy in moving to the United States
• Karma
• ​God's plan
  
• The fact that I “deserved it”
• Holding a deep hurt
• Holding deep-seated resentment
• Carrying hatred
• Being born premature
• Suppressed issues from my childhood
• Dealing with issues from my childhood
• There being too much yeast in my system
• Being a vegetarian
• Being too skinny
• Drinking milk/eating cheese/eating food
• Not drinking milk/eating cheese/eating food
• Eating food from the place that had the sign about carcinogens six years before
• Too much exercise
• Not enough exercise
• Chemtrails
• City air
• My school being under a power line
• Living next to a highway
• Running along a highway as a teenager
• Potential cancer clusters in my high school
• Potential cancer clusters at my university
• ​Too much plane travel
• Too much stress
• Bad luck ​

According to Sloan Kettering, 

"Risk factors" for AML include exposure to high doses of radiation or benzene, smoking, previous radiation or chemotherapy (yup, the cure that saved my life could also one day kill me. Fun!), and a family history (parent, child, or sibling. Most people who are diagnosed with AML do not have a direct relative with the disease). 

I haven't been exposed to high doses of radiation or benzene, I was never a smoker, and I don't have a direct family member who has had AML. 

Here’s the real reason I got cancer:
​

​This is why we need to fund further research into understanding, and treating, leukemia. 

I’m not magical or special. I was really lucky. I was in the right place at the right time for a shitty thing to happen to my body. I had access to one of the best cancer hospitals on the planet.

I'm incredibly fortunate to be in remission, and strong enough to be able to run a marathon. But fear of relapse is very real. According to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, only 26.8% of AML patients survive five years beyond diagnosis. 

Medicine, science, and the hard work of many dedicated doctors saved my life when I got cancer. We still don’t know why I got it in the first place. Or if I will be one of the people who survives beyond five years. 

​There’s still time to donate to Fred’s Team before I run the NYC Marathon on November 5. The funds we raise will go towards furthering leukemia research at Sloan Kettering. 

If you’ve been inspired by my runs, if you want to help kick stupid​ cancer’s butt, if you want to know why a healthy 29-year-old woman was diagnosed with a disease that usually affects men in their sixties, please make a donation today. Even small contributions can make a big difference! 

Will you help me make cancer history?

This post was supposed to go live on Friday, but a glitch meant it didn't publish. And then I got a message from my BMT doctor that my white blood cell count was a little high and I needed to have my blood work done again.

Cue epic relapse anxiety, imagining my imminent demise and wondering how long it would take to sort through all my (now) redundant stuff.

I did a bunch of cooking. I cleaned. I taught a lesson. I had the blood test. I went to work.

I was able to check the lab results online tonight, and the white blood cells are back in normal range. Phew! Imminent demise by stupid cancer is held off for another day.

Here's the original post from Friday. Thanks for the reminder, body...

I have a confession to make. For all the posts I make about being a cancer survivor, in the past few months it has been easy to “forget” that I was ever very close to death thanks to blood cancer. Almost three years post-transplant, after a long and difficult slog, I finally feel like my old healthy self.

Today I had a check-up appointment with the Sloan Kettering Survivorship Team. Chemo and radiation, along with early menopause, have put me at risk of osteoporosis so bone health will continue to be a part of my annual physical. I had blood tests and vitals checked (everything is looking good), and a bone density scan.

Unlike bone marrow biopsies, bone density scans are painless, quick and easy procedures. Despite being physically pain free, the testing brings up a lot of feelings. Oh, right. I was really sick and now it will affect me for the rest of my life.

Even “quick and easy” hospital visits take several hours. They’re draining, and bring up a lot of uncomfortable and downright distressing memories.

Unlike three years ago, Aaron doesn’t need to practically carry me home afterwards. This morning I ran a half marathon! And tonight I’m going to work! I’m doing SO. MUCH. BETTER.

I continue to be incredibly grateful to my team at Sloan Kettering. They saved my life, and continue to ensure I stay healthy. It feels so good to be giving back by running the NYC Marathon with Fred’s Team and raising money for leukemia research at Sloan Kettering.

Maybe one day the treatments for leukemia will not be so invasive and debilitating. Maybe one day the treatment will not put women into early menopause. Or put people at risk of secondary cancer. Perhaps we’ll be able to figure out what causes AML and prevent it all together.

What is the one thing that’s going to get me across the finish line of the NYC Marathon on November 5th? Well, two things. My legs. ​

I have never been one to celebrate my legs. I wasn't blessed with "legs for days." It’s not that I don’t like them. But I never really loved them. Until I got sick.

In the summer of 2014, Aaron and I were working at our usual camp gig. Three weeks into the summer, I noticed a raised bump on each shin. They were painful to the touch, but not really more bothersome than that. I was working 14 hour days and at the culmination of staging a full-scale production of Avenue Q in less than three weeks. I figured I wasn’t dead, the bites would eventually calm down, and I’d go on my merry way.

A few days later, it was double day off. The bites had become circular discs of raised bumps. My feet and ankles were swollen and I felt like death.

Aaron took me to urgent care. The doctor looked at my legs, claimed she had never seen anything like them, but that she wasn’t worried as lots of counselors had come in over the summer with weird bites. She prescribed an antibiotic and told me to go to emergency if it wasn’t better in a couple of days.

The next morning I felt like I had the worst flu in the history of flus. Quite frankly, I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. That day happened to be RENT auditions, and there was no way I was missing out. I sat propped up on a couch with my team, and tried to look cheerful when the kids came in to sing and dance.

After lunch, I was done. My legs were oozing pus and I was in agony. I went to the infirmary and spent the night throwing up.

In the morning, the doctor took one look at me and sent me to hospital. Within twenty-four hours I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia and taken to Danbury Hospital to start treatment.

Thanks to being dosed up morphine for my legs, I don’t actually remember the next two weeks. I have photographic evidence to prove that once I started chemo, something weird happened to my legs. It was like something out of Alien. The discs went yellow, and were surrounded by large red and purple splotches. If you want to see gross pictures (seriously, they're gross, you have been warned), you may click here. 

I was poked and prodded and goggled at by dermatologists, specialists from infectious diseases, and a whole bunch of curious interns. The wounds were dressed and wrapped on a daily basis, and I still can’t believe I didn’t pass out every time they unwrapped the horror. I actually found it fascinating. Must have been the morphine.

My oncologist at Sloan Kettering later told me he thought I was hitting on him when I asked if he wanted to look at my legs. He had somehow missed it in my chart.

It is unnerving to have specialist after specialist they have never seen anything like your legs before. According to the stem-cell transplant team, I am one of about thirty patients in leukemia literature to present with this infected skin/bug bite thing. At first, my team were not sure if I could safely have a stem-cell transplant. The skin was biopsied and returned no conclusive result.

My legs took several months to heal, and post-transplant, my legs were the least of my worries.

I now have beautiful mandala-shaped scars on each leg. They are unlikely to go away, but I’m proud of them. Whatever caused them literally saved my life. I may never have coveted legs for days, but I have many days more thanks to my legs. 

To celebrate three years post-transplant, my lovely legs and I are going to run the NYC Marathon. ​​Will you help me say thank you to my team by helping me raise $5000 towards leukemia research at Sloan Kettering? We’re so close to my goal! If you can’t make a financial contribution, please consider sharing my story!

We spent the past two months
Making art and teaching and being a part of
A glorious artistic commune in the woods
Our merry old land 
That “miraculously” appears every summer in the Connecticut woods
Where 6 summers ago
I fell in love with my husband
Beneath shooting stars and wrapped in the smell of peppermint.

For the first time in eight summers I dreaded coming back
All my fears were confirmed, and then some
But it was still Buck's Rock.

During team building
We built statues from cardboard and string
A perfect metaphor for the way all the shops come together
To create something
Out of nothing

The temperatures were mercifully milder
It rained on more Saturdays than I can remember
We only had 2 or 3 lunches on the lawn
The gong fell off its hinges
My super power of being immune to mosquitos was temporary
I was eaten alive and covered in large red welts and bites

I still can't quite believe we staged a full-scale production of The Who's Tommy in 19 days from start to finish.
I still hate the musical, but I love our show
Especially our glorious team.
At the end of sitzprobe, a bunch of campers came up to me,
Grinning from ear to ear
Ecstatic at having sung with a rock band
They hugged and thanked me for getting them there,
In all my shows at Buck’s Rock,
That has never happened before.
Our cast were tight-knit and weeks after the show had ended
Could be found singing the songs with ukuleles on the lawn.

I can't believe what an uphill battle it was to put together The Wizard of Oz.
I thought it would be easy.
It’s The Wizard of Oz. Who doesn’t know The Wizard of Oz?!
Turns out, lots of people.
Not having a full cast until the week of the show
Not having a full pit until the day before the show
Having to deal with difficult behavior from grown-ups.
I'm so proud of the kids for whom this was their first time on stage, ever.
The kids who came up to me and told me they were scared to be in the musical but now they can't wait next year because they want to do it again.

Seeing kids learning to express themselves
Helping them find their voices
Teaches me so much about myself
As a person, as a performer.
The cliche is unbelievably true
If you become a teacher,
By your pupils you’ll be taught.

I loved the evening activities
The hilarity of the slip n’ slide
The fierceness of thumb wars and staring contests
Having my tea leaves read by an earnest and beautiful camper
A multitude of plays and concerts and recitals
Inspiring, funny, moving, intense.

The honor of being a CIT-assist
Going to snack on the basketball court
Being able to go to the Falconridge Folk Festival
Watching kids learn to adult, 
They stumble and fall and fly

My secret santa, Nate
Gifted me the most beautiful portrait
I desperately wish it could be my headshot
It is exactly who I want to be.

Days off, a welcome break from the intensity
Picnicking at Lake Warramug
Ice cream in Kent
Camping in Housatonic State Park because Macedonia Brook was closed
When we’re surrounded by pine forest 
I want to abandon everything and
Build a cob cottage and
Become a park ranger and learn about eco systems and soil and
Be the kind of person who can identify all the different kinds of fungi

This summer,
I ran just over 190km through the Connecticut woods.
I taught voice lessons.
I sang with an orchestra.
I played in a flute choir.

At night
Fireflies danced in the dusk
Bioluminescent bums twinkling
I would fall asleep to a
Calamitous frog and cricket choir

If someone had told me, almost ten years ago,
That I would still be coming back 
Year after year 
And be married to a Buck's Rocker 
I wouldn’t have believed them
I am so lucky to have found this place. 

And here we are
And then, it is gone.
​
The end. ​

One of the hardest things about cancer was losing my singing voice. The debilitating effects of radiation and chemo took away the top octave of my range. 

During my recovery, I was introduced to a singing teacher who was also a cancer survivor. She promised me that, in time, my voice would return.

Progress has been slow and frustrating, but the more I have run in training for the NYC Marathon, the stronger my voice has become.

Last week, I was given the awesome opportunity of singing with the Buck's Rock Orchestra for the Tribute Show. The theme this year was "Dance Music," and the orchestra's contribution was "I Could Have Danced All Night" from My Fair Lady.

While I love me some Lerner and Loewe, it's not repertoire that is usually in my book. I'm more of a belter, and there's an E flat at the end of "I Could Have Danced All Night" that even pre-cancer me would not have loved.

Due to musical rehearsals, I did not have a chance to sing with the orchestra until the day before the concert. My phrasing was a mess. The high E flat was not pretty. But, it was exciting to be singing again.

Between rehearsal and the night of the show, I went for a nice long run. I warmed up my voice, put on my pretty new dress, and slipped into a pair of heels.

The gong rang thrice, and it was show time.

Standing on stage in front a Buck's Rock audience is the best. It is always a warm and forgiving crowd. It's so nice to get a cheer just from walking out on stage!

The song went great, and ya'll, I even hit the E flat! IT WAS THRILLING! I felt like I could have sung all night. Big thanks to Bruce and the Orchestra for inviting me to sing. 
​
Definitely more running and singing to come!

We have nearly reached my goal of raising $5000 towards leukemia research at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center!

Can you help me over the finish line and make cancer history? 

I was a non-smoking rarely drinking vegetarian who exercised regularly and meditated. On July 23, 2014, six weeks before my 30th birthday, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. A fast acting blood cancer that more commonly affects men in their sixties.

Although there have been improvements, the treatment for AML has not changed much in the past thirty years. It is painful and debilitating, requiring endless needles, scans, and constant monitoring.

Following a life-saving stem cell transplant at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (MSK) in November 2014, I underwent a long and difficult recovery period. I lost weight, gained it all back and then some. I went into early onset menopause. My fingernails fell off one by one. I developed sores on the soles of my feet. I had depression, anxiety, and fits of rage. I lost my libido. I couldn't work. I couldn't ride the subway. Couldn't eat take out. Couldn't go to the theatre. I lost an octave in my singing voice. A lot of the time I just felt really fucking tired.

For much of the past three years I have felt robbed. I did all the "right things" and I still got blood cancer. It took me out of commission for almost two years. The emotional and mental side effects are an ongoing battle.

While the five-year survival rate for leukemia in general is over 60%, the five-year survival rate for AML patients is currently at about 26%. We still do not know what causes leukemia.

I am alive today thanks to the amazing work of my team at MSK. Their research is ongoing, and expensive. Imagine if we could find a way to test marrow without painful needles? Or provide treatment that isn't so debilitating? What if we knew what causes leukemia in the first place and could prevent it from occurring again? What if we could make leukemia a disease of the past?

This is why, on November 5, 2017, a week after the third anniversary of my transplant, I’m going to be running the NYC Marathon. You can support me by donating to Fred's Team. Your donation will ensure the amazing folk at MSK can continue their research in making leukemia history.

Will you join me? ​

My Grandpa passed away this week
It makes the land of my childhood 
Feel even more far away 

We weren’t close 
Grandpa and I 
He believed in a particular life path
University. Marriage. House. Job. (Babies?).
I think my decision to be an actor 
Puzzled and perplexed him.

We didn’t agree on politics. 
We didn’t discuss our feelings. 
Beyond family lunches and events
We didn’t really do things together. 
I wonder if our relationship would have been different if Grandma hadn’t died when she did. 

He was the first person I knew with personalised number plates 
“RLL”
I remember his car being very tidy
Always with that new car smell 
Always with jazz music playing. 

When we were little 
I remember that, because he had worked for Streets ice cream,
Peters Blue Ribbon ice cream was verboten in the house

I remember he often photographed or filmed family events
​Less so in the later years.  

When I was twelve 
He came to a cross-country meet
He filmed the finish line and said
“Well done.” 

He was the one that told me I’d been accepted to uni
He had checked the morning paper
Found my name, and called to congratulate me.

I found his older brother’s service records 
On the Australian War Memorial website
We printed them out together. 
He went quiet, and got a little teary
We never spoke about it again. 

He came to one of my shows
Found there was no parking, and anxious about being in wilds of Strathfield,
Turned around, and drove all the way back to Wahroonga
Without having seen the show.

His emails were short and sweet,
Sometimes cheeky,
After I congratulated him on becoming a great-grandfather, he said
“Shucks! It was nuthin’”
He always ended his emails with
“Love, GPa”

I last saw him at Abuela’s funeral
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to see him again, so
I hugged him extra tight and 
Told him I loved him.

It was hard to see him become frail
Struggle to zip up his jacket or hold a cup because of the 
Tremble in his hand

I think of him
Wearing his akubra 
Legs stretched out in front of him
Arms crossed 
Watching the cricket 

He had lovely blue eyes
And a crinkly mischievous smile 
We may not have been close
Or seen eye to eye 
But he was my grandpa. 

You had a good innings G’Pa,
Sleep well, and goodnight.  ​

Today is the sixth anniversary of my leaving Australia
The plan was to go to drama school in London
Live there for a few years and then
“See what happens.”

What happened was that
On the way to drama school
I fell in love
With an American
Six years later we’re married and
Living in New York

The choice to live in the United States
Has always been met by my fellow Australians with a kind of
Bemused wonderment.
“Why do you want to live in America?
[Insert concern about healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee]
It’s so… American.”

In the wake of the election and inauguration,
Friends and family have asked
“When are you coming home?”
My response is
I am home.
The land of the free, the home of the downright crazy.
I know the insane the state of
Healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee
And when I talk about it with Americans, I say
“Who’s the crazy one? I chose to live here.”

We are/were lucky enough to be able to choose
Where we wanted to live
We toyed with the idea of Fort Collins
We considered Richmond
We looked into living in Amsterdam or London
But in the end, it was the Big Apple the beckoned
Broadway for me, philosophy and tai chi for Aaron
Brooklyn Chinatown for the both of us

Inside the Statue of Liberty
It is written
Everything is bigger in America
Even the peas

And it’s true
Everything is bigger
The food portions
The cars
The houses
(unless of course, you live in New York…
“itty bitty living space!”)
The inequality
Show business

In Australia, as of today, there are 6 commercial musicals currently playing
In the whole country
Six. In. The. Whole. Country.
In New York, as of today, there are 30 commercial musicals currently playing
And that’s just a on a fifteen block radius in Manhattan,
Forget about counting the tours, the regional productions, the non-union gigs...
It just doesn’t compare
It’s got nothing to do with quality
It’s just a numbers game
I’ve earned more money as an actor in six months in New York than I did in my entire life in Australia.

It’s not easy.
Finding a day job that pays a living wage and doesn't suck the life force out of you via your nostrils is nigh impossible
There are more auditions
But there’s also more competition
Health insurance is a terrifying bureaucratic nightmare
Yet some of the best doctors in the world
Work right here in New York
I am incredibly grateful I had access to Sloan Kettering when I did

From the moment I first landed in New York
I knew I was home
The frenetic creative energy
Everyone is a writer, an actor, a musician, a dancer
An artist
Art is celebrated here
It’s on every corner, in every subway car,
When I get to perform in Carnegie Hall or work on the sets of world-famous television shows
It feels worth it

If Broadway went away
If I were no longer a performer
Would I still choose to be here?
I fell in love with a person who, by chance and luck,
Was born an American citizen.
If he were someone else
From some other place
Perhaps I wouldn't be here at all.

So, why do I choose to live in a land of
Shitty health insurance/politics/guns/beaches/coffee?
Because I live in a place that sleeps, eats, and breathes theatre.
But most of all,
I get to spend my life with a
Patient, kind, and wonderful human being
Whose goal is human flourishing

Why do I choose to live here?
Because
​Love. ​