November

So, November was a good month. It's a month when my thoughts always turn to the many things I have to be grateful for. We made our annual Gratitude Turkey poster, shown below, where we write down many of the blessings we're thankful for throughout the month. This year's poster was more full than I remember any previous years' posters being.

For every day of the month (some days I was a few behind), I made a Facebook post about something I was grateful for. Here's a list of the things for which I publicly expressed my gratitude:
1. Being cancer-free
2. Noelle
3. My membership in the church
4. My five kids
5. The scriptures
6. My siblings
7. My parents
8. My education
9. My home
10. Blessing the sacrament / Michael passing the sacrament for the first time
11. Food
12. Hand Sanitizer =0)
13. Utah
14. Santa Rosa
15. "The Guys"
16. Medicine
17. Music
18. Noelle's friends
19. Electronics
20. BYUH
21. Autumn
22. My ward
23. Opera
24. Books
25. My doctors, mid-levels and nurses on East 8
26. The removal of my central line
27. Faith and hope
28. (Thanksgiving) My Stem Cell Donor
29. The Christmas Season
30. Jesus Christ

When you have cancer and meet and get to know others with cancer, you're bound to meet with some bad news from time to time. Noelle and I have gotten to know some amazing people who are in the fight with various types of blood cancers, as well. November brought some bad news to a couple Noelle and I have gotten to know pretty well, Houston and Denise Holbrook. Houston went through absolute hell just to get to the point that they could do a transplant, and a few weeks after his transplant they did a bone marrow biopsy to find out if the graft was "taking" or not. The results showed that his leukemia had returned in force. 69% of his marrow was leukemic and this meant his transplant wasn't working, or at least wasn't working yet. For a young guy who had endured so much - four solid months in the hospital, several weeks of which were absolute hell - just to get to transplant, it made me want to scream out, "THIS ISN'T FAIR! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO HIM?!?" Honestly, it made me feel guilty for how relatively easy my path to remission has been. I just got so mad. Gratefully, over the past few weeks, things have gotten better for my friend, and there's still hope.

One of the things that sucks about knowing an increasing number of fellow cancer patients is that you know we're not all going to make it. That's just the reality of the statistics we face. So far, I've been one of the fortunate ones. But how many of my fellow patients whose stories I follow through blogs and Facebook posts and personal visits WON'T be among the fortunate ones? There's not a single one of us that's an awful person who deserves to die, so why will some of us have to? It makes me absolutely sick to think about it. I have always felt an assurance that I'd be OK in the end and that God has a few more things for me to do on this earth before I say goodbye. But one of the patients whose story I follow has always had a rather pessimistic view of things since their diagnosis. They don't seem to feel any peace about what they're going through or what outcome will come their way. Is that attitude reflective of a pervading sense that they will not be one of the fortunate ones, or is it that the pessimistic attitude may actually lead them to a poor outcome. I don't know. I do know, however, with whom I'd rather converse and spend my time, and it's not the chronically pessimistic. Cancer is hard enough without someone always moaning, groaning and complaining about it in your ear.

On a much more positive note, I got my Central Line removed from my chest last Tuesday. It was a pain to deal with when I showered, and with my chest hair growing in, the dressing around it always itched like poison ivy. So now it's out and I've got a big hole in my chest, like someone shot me with a .22. Well, actually I HAD a hole in my chest but now I've got a big scab. Soon I won't even need a band aid over it. And, a really fun thing about getting that darned thing out of me is that we can soon travel outside of the 45-minute radius from LDS Hospital, as my risk of infection drops significantly without a central line. The last week of February, we intend to go well outside that 45-minute radius as a family with a celebratory trip to Disneyland, one of the few things I love about Southern California (the other two are the beaches and that my sweetheart has roots there). Here's hoping all goes well and I can avoid any hospital stays or major setbacks that could derail plans for that trip. Positive thinking and steering clear of sick people should get us there. =0) Crossing my fingers...