Did you ever have one of those days when you feel both sad yet energetic?  I do not really understand it. Usually when I am sad, I do not function very well, but today, I feel that I need to be busy.  I suppose this is just my mind trying to keep my brain from thinking about the sadness I feel.  And the odd part I am not even sure why I am feeling blue.  I have a feeling writing this blog has something to do with that, and that I am getting close to my 3 month blood draw and check up.   
     The kind of Leukemia, CML, has been managed with a daily medication called Gleevec.  For the most part it has worked, keeping my white cell blood count well within the normal range, and there are very few cancer cells even showing on the test results.  When I was first diagnosed, it was hoped that I would get a complete "molecular response", which means there are no live cancer cells observed.  I have not, unfortunately had this happen. Yet.
    When I began taking Gleevec, I had some unpleasant side effects like vomiting, edema, having a hard time sleeping, yet being tired all the time.  I also have a rash that comes and goes that at times embarrasses me as it breaks out on my arms and is not so great to look at. But these are minor in contrast to the fact that taking this pill everyday keeps me healthy and alive.  I must have my blood checked every three months.
     I find that as the date draws near, I become a little anxious.  I have an anti anxiety medication that I can take, and I do.  It takes that underlying fear that threatens to come to the surface.  I think I have resolved myself to the fact that there is possibility, however small, that I could "relapse".  I am very aware how precarious our lives are, and God could decide to pluck me up to heaven sooner that I may be ready.  I don't think I am afraid of being there.  I am just now sure how I will get there.  Will there be pain?  Will I suffer?  Will I even know?  These thoughts always invade my consciousness near my blood draw date.
     This year, my anniversary is June 6th.  I have my blood drawn on the 4th.  I suppose I should not be so anxious, and I really hope that this feeling will exit for good, by I doubt that it ever well.  Cancer has a stronghold.  I may lead a completely "normal" life.  But, as I've said before, my normal, is definitely not even close to a healthy person.  My entire soul is all wrapped up in my day to day living.
     This past September I went in for my check up, and when Dr. Sood came into the room I knew almost at once that something was wrong.  He was looking at me while he said,"So, your counts are going up."  At first it didn't register.  Until he showed it to me on the computer.  The graft that keeps track of the TSH(cancer cells) was moving up.  It had gone up a little bit the previous check, but this time it was hovering very close to the  line.  The big black line on the chart that separates the "in remission" to "out of remission".  They don't really call it remission unless there are no cancer cells apparent.  As I said, I have never had this, but have hovered in the middle of the "green" line(no cancer cells)j and the black line.  I was precariously close to that line.  A thread of fear  tickled my spine.  I could feel it creep up my back and into my brain.  H mentioned things  like changing the medication, but if  the medication I was taking was becoming immune to the cancer, I may need to think about a bone marrow transplant.  
     I remember going home that day and immediately going to the Internet.  Dr. Sood had told me we would need to wait until December to test my blood again as it is a slow growing cancer, and may take awhile for the cells to multiply.  If the counts were up again in December, we would move to a new protocol.  Wait for the cells to grow?  This sounded horrible.  I would have to let leash my mutated white blood cells to grow in number before I could try another therapy.  To say I was anxious, nervous, upset.... It was crazy.  I was going crazy.  I wanted to scream.  In my head and my dreams I did scream.  I think it would have done me good to go somewhere and do just that.  Scream.  Loud.  And long.
     By the time November and Thanksgiving came, I was beside myself with worry.  I had a friend that was going through the bone marrow transplant, and we were staying in contact, as he told me of his experiences.  I didn't think I could do it.  I still don't.  There are a lot of side effects of the heavy doses of chemo and radiation to kill all the white cells, both healthy and cancerous.  The 100 days.  After receiving the donated bone marrow you begin 100 days of isolation to be free of anything that could cause infections.  Any kind of infection.  It was a tough road for him.  And he is a Marine Vet, younger and much healthy then I am.
     I asked my brothers and sisters to have their bone marrow tested to see if they would be a match should I need it.  I was apprehensive about asking.  I was thinking it would but them out of their way.  They all have jobs, and families and other obligations.  I didn't want to intrude on that.  I was surprised that they all said yes.  In fact, Karen didn't even let me finish asking when she said simply,"just tell me when and where to go."  I was humbled.  I am humbled.  On Thanksgiving, after saying Grace, I asked all that had gathered at our table to pray for me.  I had never done that before.  It seems selfish to me for some reason to ask for prayers.  I give them freely, but do not accept them so freely, somehow thinking I am unworthy.  I am still learning to accept these gifts from God.  Because that is what prayers are.  Small gifts from people who can do nothing else.
     When the day finally arrived, I had had the blood drawn a week before the appointment, I had Dan come with me.  I didn't know how I would react if it was bad news, and I would needed his support.
     Dr. Sood came into the examine room smiling. "Everything looks good."  The count had gone down.  A lot. I breathed.  He is not sure why or how this happens, but he assured me that things were good.
     June 4th will be 6 months, and I am still nervous.  I don't know if things will go up or down or stay  the same.  It is this game I must play out in my head every three months.  
     I think I just answered the question I asked when I began writing.  I don't think I am sad so much as I am anxious.  The day will come and pass and my journey will continue.  I am still surviving.  One day at a time.  This realization came to me sometime in March.  There was an aha moment.  I had been thinking of all I had been through after receiving an invitation from our local Relay for Life sponsored by the American Cancer Society to walk in the survivor lap.  Last year I walked for the first time, and I cried the entire lap of the track.  It seemed unreal.  I shouldn't be there.  The invitation  that I was holding in my hand in March, was a pivotal moment.  I was a survivor.  I am a survivor.  And I have RSVP'd and will walk proudly on June 14th.  God has given my many graces and I am thankful for every one, big or small.  If I am anxious and questioning, all I have to do is remember the grace of God that I am here, living as he would wish.  And I pray.  And I have peace.
May my peace be shared with you.'
Barb