07 August 2015

Setback? I don't need no stinkin setback

Day 3 waking up in the hospital.
It was a rough night. 
For some reason I developed a fever (102). I then ate a cup of ice and promptly fell asleep.
I slept through:
- a bedside X-ray 
- two blood draws for a smear comparison
- blood pressure checks
- temperature checks
- an entire bag of IV antiobotic
- sweating, lots of sweating (yuck)
I awoke to Mike asking,
"Is this 'setback' going to delay Patti's treatment?"
He got a chuckle and a resounding, "No."
Chemo begins today.  

I had a beautiful day yesterday ... Right up until 15 minutes after this picture was taken. 

And the Calvary arrives today - my brother and his wife.  When my First Mike was diagnosed and things were looking bad, my brother and his wife moved up from Atlanta to help. So, it's good, and bad that they are coming. 
I need your prayers, please. My kids are terrified. Mike is terrified. I am terrified. 
So, today, I will leave you with this ...
You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.

05 August 2015

A forced sabbatical

Day 1: Waking up in the hospital instead of my bed.
It's been four weeks total on my new Super Dangerous but Absolutely Necessary chemotherapy medication (Bosulif) and it's the end of the world as we know it.
From dangerously low lab values, to this face ...

You should see the other guy ... 
Oh my.
Attractive, I know.
Monday, I went in to see my oncologist and had a "normal" visit. It was what happened when I got home that collapsed my world.
I had just walked in the door and the phone rang. It was my oncologist. 
"I looked at your blood smears under the microscope. And I REALLY don't like what I see. I want you to come in first thing Tuesday for a bone marrow biopsy."
Not good. Not good at all.
My husband and I arrive first thing Tuesday morning. 
Three consults, two insurance calls and three blown IVs later, I'm admitted to the Oncology ICU.
"We believe you're transitioning into blast crisis. You'll need to stay hospitalized through this process. And, we are looking at a bone marrow transplant."
Questions start spilling out of me, rapid-fire.
How long will I be in the hospital?
What chemo med will I be on?
How am I going to take our son off to his first day of college on the 15th?
Will I be out of the hospital by Christmas?
Will I be alive by Christmas?

I can't. I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be sick anymore. I can't watch my dear, sweet husband watch another wife die. I can't leave my precious babies, who have already lost a parent.
I. Can't.

But my God can. 
And I'm reminded that ... 
My character should be stronger than my circumstances.
My struggle always leads to strength
God's timing is always perfect.
God will never leave my side.

Chronic myelogenous leukemia presents in three stages. Most people are diagnosed while in the chronic phase (as I was). A transition to blast crisis (where I am now) is, simply stated, a crisis.
You can read more about the phases of CML here.