3 years since transplant

My birthday cake, baked by my 10-year-old niece.

In the bone marrow transplant world, the date of transplant is celebrated as a birthday. The day my body got an all new immune system from my amazing donor in Germany.
Yes, I know who he is. I get to email him. And write letters. And send pictures. It's wonderful to be able to send him updates and for him to see his generous donation in action.
I wish I could meet him. Wow, I wish I could meet him. I'd probably cry. But I know I'd give him a huge hug. 
One day I'll travel to Germany and visit My Otto. That's what we (my family and friends) called him before we knew who he was and what his name is. And now, he signs his emails Your Otto. I love it.
So, it's been 3 years since my transplant. There has been No Evidence of Disease (NED) since transplant. No complications. No issues at all.
I'm very lucky. Some of my friends who have had a bone marrow transplants haven't been so fortunate. One has died. One has had complications and now has an ostomy bag. 
Before my transplant I was given 3-6 months to live. It was July. I'd be dead before Christmas. Because of God's grace, my donor was found and my life was saved on November 18, 2015.
I feel like I've been given a second chance at life.
But it hasn't been an easy road. It's taken a while to get my strength back. I asked my doctor how long it would take to get back to "normal." He said, "it takes as long as it takes."
Ugh. Not what I wanted to hear.
But, 3 years later, I'm getting stronger. I'm working hard to get my strength back. Physical therapy. Rest. Knowing when enough is enough and not overdoing it.
I go back to the transplant clinic in a few weeks for another biopsy to check for leukemia. Am I worried about the results? You bet. I hate the biopsys. I hate the 2 weeks of waiting to get the results. 
The doctor said the leukemia could still come back. But when I hit the 5 year mark, I'm considered cured.
2 more birthdays to go. Then I can exhale. Then I can relax and not feel like leukemia is lurking just around the corner, at the next biopsy, just waiting to be discovered.
I wish I wouldn't worry about it and simply live my life - enjoy my life. But I'm always worried it's just around the corner.
God says not to worry. He's in control. He's got this. And, logically, I know this. I believe this.
Why can't I just let go and trust? 

This is what love looks like

I arrived for my weekly appointment at the Bone Marrow Transplant Clinic in Richmond and signed in as I do every week. Then the nurse handed me this envelope.




I froze. It actually took me a few seconds (that felt like minutes) before I actually took the envelope. I went to sit down and wait to be called back for clinic.
Every week I go to the BMT Clinic. They access the sexy port in my chest (I'll spare you a picture), take anywhere from 4 to 34 tubes/bottles of blood and take my vitals. Then I either see one of the four transplant doctors or one of the nurse practitioners. Oh, and I get "repletions" (hate that word) if needed. Magnesium, platelets, blood, etc.
So I'm waiting to be called back for clinic and I can't seem to bring myself to open the letter. I held it. Turned it over and over. Excitement and amazement and guilt and rolling around.
Yes, guilt.
I should have written a letter to my donor before he wrote to me. I should have written a letter to him back in November when I received his amazing, selfless gift that saved my life.
Here's what I know about him.
He's a "young" man from Germany with the same blood type as me. That's it. That's all I get until the records are unsealed. I think it's 3 years for international donors? Be the Match has lots of information on what kind of contact donors can have with recipients.
After what felt like ages, I opened the letter.

Obviously, it's been roughly translated from his German language. But his heart translates beautifully. 

I treasure this. 

YES I could celebrate Christmas with my family.

YES strength has gotten me to this point so far.

YES it has gone well.

Oh, wow. Just wow. 

What he gave me is another chance at life. A whole new life. 

Now, what am I going to do with it?

*I did write him back. I just can't share it.

Next goal ... Discharge

Engraftment is a huge party in my bones.
Next goal is discharge.
Today I'm at Day +13.  If all goes according to plan and there are NO setbacks. ...
I will get to be discharged THURSDAY. Like they day after tomorrow Thursday.
As my awesome Pastor Stu Hodges at my amazing church Waters Edge Church  says, Holy, WOW.
Lots to do.
I need to wean off the IV medication and back to the pills.
I need to increase my diet - and keep it down.
I need to walk 4 times a day.
Please pray STRENGTH over me that I don't mess up in 2 days all that God has done in 3 weeks so far.

Oh, yeah, kept finding little tiny hairs all over my pillow. I'm officially bald. And it's fine.
Here's me ...  and, yes, I'm smiling under there. XOXO

It's official ... we have engraftment

 My bags and machines ... 

In the Land of Bone Marrow Transplants, engraftment is the promised land.
It's the time/place/situation when the donor cells all find homes in their new body and start to grow and take root, if you will.
I'm officially there. It's only Day +12.
Happier I could not be.
If you'd like a more medical explanation, here ya go.
Basically, it means cancer's got no hold on me.
Still feel cruddy. That's all part of the process. Things will start looking up and I'll start feeling better as God makes me new.
Selfless donor, I just don't know what to say. XOXOX

Day Zero ... Transplant Day ... My new birthday

Wednesday, Nov. 18, I awoke to this adorable note on my white board in my hospital room in the Bone Marrow Transplant Unit.

Day Zero is the day given to the day of your transplant. It's the day you get your new cells ... Your new life ... Your new birthday.

Days leading up to transplant count down (-5, -4, -3, -2, -1). Transplant day gets a day all to itself (Day Zero). Each day after Day Zero counts up (+1, +2, +3, +4, +5, +6, +7, +8).

I'm going to try to get this post written and up before I fall back asleep. I've never been more tired in my life.
So, today, Day +8, is actually Thanksgiving Day.
From the little I've been allowed to know about my donor, he probably doesn't give a hoot about
Thanksgiving Day because I've been told he is from Germany.
So, today, on the 50th Thanksgiving of my life, the most thing I am thankful for is you, amazing, selfless, generous donor. You have saved my life. you have given my family a chance at more years with their mommy.
You may not realize what a HUGE thing you have done, but I have. my husband has, my kids have.
I don't know how to adequately say thank you.
THANK YOU.
I am MOST THANKFUL for you.

Day -1 ...

Tomorrow is Day Zero. 

I will get my new bone marrow tomorrow. 

I will have a new day to celebrate.

No more cancer anniversary for me. I get a new birthday tomorrow. That's the day worth celebrating. 

The transplant team has destroyed all my bone marrow in preparation for my donor's marrow. 

And it's painful. 

The the chemo is rough. 

I keep playing the song "Great are you Lord," from All Sons and Daughters.

I truly love this song. 

But, it's the chorus at the end that gets me. 

"All the earth will shout
Your praise
Our hearts will cry
Our BONES WILL SING
Great are you, Lord "

"All the earth will shout
Your praise
Our hearts will cry
Our BONES WILL SING
Great are you, Lord "

Listen to the Live version below. But you gotta listen to the end. 

Day -4 and -3 ... the hardest yet

Saturday and Sunday were the toughest days yet.

Finished the 16 doses of the first chemotherapy.  

Started the next chemo Sunday. With awful premeds to protect my bladder. 

Then the chemo.

Then the antigen. 

And I'm so nauseous. 

And diarrhea has joined the party. 

This is so hard.

I can't stop thinking of my donor. 

I need prayers for strength.  Right now. Please, stop what you're doing and cover me with strength?

And did I had the most amazing visitors this weekend. :)

Lindsey, me and Melissa.

Rare picture from my 20-year friendship with Cindy.

These two. Oh, how I love them.

Day -5 and all I am is weepy

I don't know why I'm weepy.

I miss my family. Weepy. 

It's too late to order breakfast and too early to order lunch. Weepy. 

Every 6 hours of chemo is rough. Weepy.

I just don't feel good. Weepy. 

I just want to go home. Weepy. 

Mike says no way. I'm in it for the long haul. Because the long haul is the cancer-free haul. It's just so, so hard. 

He also says it's ok to be weepy. So I cry and cry and cry. 

Then I get a video like this and from a precious little soul (turn up your volume),  and Jesus wipes my tears.

Here we go ... Day -6

In preparation for a bone marrow transplant the days count down until you get to Day Zero.
Day Zero is when the donated cells are infused - kinda like getting a bag of blood cells.

Today is day -6. Today I will get a continuation of high dose chemotherapy every 6 hours.
It started yesterday at 10 a.m., then 4 p.m., then 10 p.m. and 4 a.m.
Today is more of the same schedule. Chemo every 6 hours peppered with steroids to save my lungs, anxiety meds to, well, keep me from freaking out. Anti-nausea meds. Etc.
Day -6.
It's gonna be a long road.
But I'm excited to get to Day Zero. November 18.
I wonder what - if - my amazing, selfless, generous donor is thinking about right now.
He is all I can think of. Yes, I don't know much, but I do know my donor is a he. And he lives in Germany.
How cool is that ... my new bone marrow will be coming all the way from Germany.
A volunteer courier will bring it with a special medical passport, bypassing security. What a great job that would be. Flying all over the world bringing life-saving treasure to people you don't even know.
And all this is happening for me.
Maybe that's why I'm so weepy this morning. Thinking of all these moving parts - parts that don't know me - but are doing the amazing FOR me. For my husband. For my children.
How do you begin to thank someone for something like this?
Germany is 6 hours ahead of me. My donor, I've got to come up with a name for him, is maybe finishing up his work day. He's 30. I don't know if he's married. Or if he has kids. I want him to know I have 7 kids. Seven kids who are praying for him and thanking him for saving their mommy's life.
I'm praying, too.
Praying peace, grace and that you will feel God's loving, strong arms around you.