PET/CT Scan Results
My Bone Marrow Transplant specialist, Dr. Nade called to read the official report:
"There has been COMPLETE RESOLUTION of previously identified anterior mediastinal hypermetabolic tissue. There is no evidence of metabolically active neoplasm."
In other words, the tumors have completely vanished. Poof. Gone. The scans are 100% crystal clear.
My radiologist, Dr. Krazny said:
"There is no indication of cancer whatsoever."
Not one blip. Not even a speck. I'm as fresh as a newborn.
My oncologist, Dr. Piro showed me the scans. The images were a cool blue, a peaceful blue. A vast empty void of pure, unadulterated pristine health.
I am absolutely, completely, without-a-doubt, you-betcha-britches cancer-free.
After 20 months of uncertainty and heartache, this is beyond Miracle.
All my love,
Christine
P.S. More later. I need to sit down and catch my breath!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Upcoming Scans
The nervousness is beginning to mount as the dates for the PET/CT scans and Bone Marrow Aspiration procedure approach. I cannot stress enough how important these tests are. The results of these tests are EVERYTHING to me. It's like waiting for the letter telling you whether you got into your dream college or not. Or waiting to hear if you got that awesome job. Or waiting for that pregnancy test to turn blue or not. Your whole life hinges on the results. Except this time, it is not the course of your life but literally your own life that is at stake.
I've been doing okay and been dealing with only minor to moderate health issues (knock on wood!). These tests will determine if the bone marrow transplant was truly a success and possibly determine if it will be a long-term success.
Thursday, July 19 I have my PET/CT scans in Santa Monica and Tuesday, July 24 is the Bone marrow aspiration. I should get the results soon after. I hope to come back with good news.
hugs,
Christine
P.S. I will be at City of Hope for a day of appointments tomorrow. I was hoping we could say a little prayer for my hormone levels which remain a bit tweaked.
I've been doing okay and been dealing with only minor to moderate health issues (knock on wood!). These tests will determine if the bone marrow transplant was truly a success and possibly determine if it will be a long-term success.
Thursday, July 19 I have my PET/CT scans in Santa Monica and Tuesday, July 24 is the Bone marrow aspiration. I should get the results soon after. I hope to come back with good news.
hugs,
Christine
P.S. I will be at City of Hope for a day of appointments tomorrow. I was hoping we could say a little prayer for my hormone levels which remain a bit tweaked.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Francis Rex
Originally I was going to post a message I wrote the other day about how I celebrated my one-year BMT anniversary on July 5th. However another anniversary, a somber one that I feel is far more important to remember, is also upon us.
Friday July 13th 2007, will mark the anniversary of the day my brother, Francis Rex, lost his battle with Cancer. Seventeen years ago, on Friday July 13th 1990, I held his hand as it slowly went cold. I remember my mother didn't scream. She cowered over the hospital bed, exhausted and broken after five draining years, pleading with everyone in the room to please "Embrace him while he is still warm." I remember my father frozen and unreachable, his eyes scorched and sunken, staring at the white sheets that held his eldest son. I remember the nurses sobbing. And it was the doctor who had gone mad and was screaming, clenching hair in ripping fists, repeatedly shouting over and over and again, "He is in a better place now!" Shouting at no one, but instead, it seemed, to placate himself.
And my thoughts raced, raced as far as it could go, out of the room, away from this boy who could not possibly be my brother because my brother could not possibly be dead. My thoughts ran far away, back to when before he got sick. Back to BMX bikes and Rocket pops and Little League games. Back to summer and hopping across river stones, watermelon juice dripping on bent elbows, and silly giggles in the back of our big red station wagon. In our backyard pool we used to pretend "National Geographic". Rex would flop, swim and splash while I'd play Jacques Cousteau and follow his every move, describing in great detail this "strange new animal" to our enraptured TV audience.
In the years before he died, Rex and I would often stay up late talking. While other kids were gabbing about GI Joe, Donkey Kong and soccer camp, Rex and I would ask each other questions about God and life and what happens after we die. Back then, I was 14 and he was 12. He dreamed someday to become a pediatric oncologist and save the lives of other children with cancer. His wish was to be able to comfort a young patient like himself and give hope with his own story of survival… "So when one of them says `I'm scared' I can tell them I was scared too but look at me now, I'm cured."
In the days that my brother fought cancer, he never complained or revealed how scared he was. Rex held immense strength, profound wisdom and peace in his heart… all in the years before he turned 16. Because of our late night talks I thought I understood what he was feeling inside. But it was not until I got cancer that I truly understood and felt what fear and uncertainty really meant. To know the meaning of life is to know the meaning of death. My brother was so brave. There was no such thing as anti-nausea medications or any of the other medicines that help the patients of today. Back then, it was just raw, barbaric, vein-ripping chemotherapy. Compared to my brother, I had a cake walk.
Today I realized that for the first time, my brother will have been dead longer than he was alive. It's a mindF—k. Rex never had the life experiences we take for granted: his first kiss, driving a car, graduating from high school, being in love, a summer job… never mind the college experience or the joys that come after. My brother Marc shares the same Birthday as Rex, though Marc was born four years younger. May 17 has never been able to recapture the joy it once held. It is strange to think that you could ever be older than your older brother. Marc is now 29.
On one of our last late night talks, Rex and I realized that, because I was his marrow donor, a part of me would literally die with him if he lost his battle with cancer. We laughed but suddenly became very quiet. Then in deep earnest he said "If I die you have to promise me that you will live for the both of us."
People often ask me where I get my zest and passion for life: why I can be in any situation and have the time of my life: why I have all this energy, excitement, spontaneity, acceptance, affection, faith and love. It is because over 17 years ago I made a promise to a dying boy that his young life would not be lost in vain but would be remembered in every moment of mine. That is how I honor and remember my brother: By living this life as magnificently as possible and infecting everyone I come across with the magic, exhilaration and wisdom that Rex taught me.
My dear brother Rex, you remain forever alive in our hearts.
Love,
Christine
P.S. I wrote this several days ago but think it may be appropriate to
share now:
This life will end someday
But the planets will still continue their elliptical paths
And stars will implode and galaxies reborn
The ants will still find their way into honey
As ever, Love will be fought for
And broken hearts will slowly mend
And a stranger will save another man's soul.
This life will end someday
And on that day this soul will look back.
The consequences of its actions
will lift him up
or burden on him heavily.
This life will end someday
But not today.
So strike your path and find your way into honey
The galaxies will spin despite your misery or joy
Eternal life lies within us
Let Love save your soul.
Christine Pechera
July 3, 2007
Friday July 13th 2007, will mark the anniversary of the day my brother, Francis Rex, lost his battle with Cancer. Seventeen years ago, on Friday July 13th 1990, I held his hand as it slowly went cold. I remember my mother didn't scream. She cowered over the hospital bed, exhausted and broken after five draining years, pleading with everyone in the room to please "Embrace him while he is still warm." I remember my father frozen and unreachable, his eyes scorched and sunken, staring at the white sheets that held his eldest son. I remember the nurses sobbing. And it was the doctor who had gone mad and was screaming, clenching hair in ripping fists, repeatedly shouting over and over and again, "He is in a better place now!" Shouting at no one, but instead, it seemed, to placate himself.
And my thoughts raced, raced as far as it could go, out of the room, away from this boy who could not possibly be my brother because my brother could not possibly be dead. My thoughts ran far away, back to when before he got sick. Back to BMX bikes and Rocket pops and Little League games. Back to summer and hopping across river stones, watermelon juice dripping on bent elbows, and silly giggles in the back of our big red station wagon. In our backyard pool we used to pretend "National Geographic". Rex would flop, swim and splash while I'd play Jacques Cousteau and follow his every move, describing in great detail this "strange new animal" to our enraptured TV audience.In the years before he died, Rex and I would often stay up late talking. While other kids were gabbing about GI Joe, Donkey Kong and soccer camp, Rex and I would ask each other questions about God and life and what happens after we die. Back then, I was 14 and he was 12. He dreamed someday to become a pediatric oncologist and save the lives of other children with cancer. His wish was to be able to comfort a young patient like himself and give hope with his own story of survival… "So when one of them says `I'm scared' I can tell them I was scared too but look at me now, I'm cured."
In the days that my brother fought cancer, he never complained or revealed how scared he was. Rex held immense strength, profound wisdom and peace in his heart… all in the years before he turned 16. Because of our late night talks I thought I understood what he was feeling inside. But it was not until I got cancer that I truly understood and felt what fear and uncertainty really meant. To know the meaning of life is to know the meaning of death. My brother was so brave. There was no such thing as anti-nausea medications or any of the other medicines that help the patients of today. Back then, it was just raw, barbaric, vein-ripping chemotherapy. Compared to my brother, I had a cake walk.Today I realized that for the first time, my brother will have been dead longer than he was alive. It's a mindF—k. Rex never had the life experiences we take for granted: his first kiss, driving a car, graduating from high school, being in love, a summer job… never mind the college experience or the joys that come after. My brother Marc shares the same Birthday as Rex, though Marc was born four years younger. May 17 has never been able to recapture the joy it once held. It is strange to think that you could ever be older than your older brother. Marc is now 29.
On one of our last late night talks, Rex and I realized that, because I was his marrow donor, a part of me would literally die with him if he lost his battle with cancer. We laughed but suddenly became very quiet. Then in deep earnest he said "If I die you have to promise me that you will live for the both of us." People often ask me where I get my zest and passion for life: why I can be in any situation and have the time of my life: why I have all this energy, excitement, spontaneity, acceptance, affection, faith and love. It is because over 17 years ago I made a promise to a dying boy that his young life would not be lost in vain but would be remembered in every moment of mine. That is how I honor and remember my brother: By living this life as magnificently as possible and infecting everyone I come across with the magic, exhilaration and wisdom that Rex taught me.
My dear brother Rex, you remain forever alive in our hearts.
Love,
Christine
P.S. I wrote this several days ago but think it may be appropriate to
share now:
This life will end someday
But the planets will still continue their elliptical paths
And stars will implode and galaxies reborn
The ants will still find their way into honey
As ever, Love will be fought for
And broken hearts will slowly mend
And a stranger will save another man's soul.
This life will end someday
And on that day this soul will look back.
The consequences of its actions
will lift him up
or burden on him heavily.
This life will end someday
But not today.
So strike your path and find your way into honey
The galaxies will spin despite your misery or joy
Eternal life lies within us
Let Love save your soul.
Christine Pechera
July 3, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Fireworks
Anniversaries and holidays conjure up all sorts of memories and emotions. The last few days have been very introspective and raw.
When thoughts and feelings are twisting inside, a walk is a good way to sort them out. It was on one of these walks last week that I was especially tormented by the memories and tears of last
year. My plodding along the sidewalk was suddenly stopped short by a glint of color. Coming into focus, flitting right in front of my eyes, I swear, was a saffronbutterfly. Alright, it was actually pungent-orange in color but that's close enough for me. The tops of its wings appeared to have rhinestones on it. Shiny, glinting spots that caught flashes of the sun. Mesmerized, I slowly raised my hand palm up. On cue, the butterfly gently landed on my fingertips! I swallowed my gasp, for fear of scaring the beautiful creature away. Then I imagined what this scene must have looked like to passers-by. Some urbane Snow White in T-shirt and jeans, gazing at a butterfly on her fingertips. It gently raised and lowered it's shimmering wings. Looking at it, I was hoping for some profound message, some great epiphany, the great existential answer to all the ancient questions about meaning and existence. But it just rested there for a bit before flitting away. I stood and watched it waft towards some blossoming bushes. Perhaps it was just a little wink from the universe.
This weekend I was visiting a friend's place and had the pleasure of picking plums, apricots and apples from the fruit trees. Summer was bursting everywhere. Heaven is the simple joy of precariously cradling an armful of fresh-picked fruit, while reaching up to pluck yet another ripe plum.
Last year, on the eve of the transplant July 4, in the midst of great uncertainty and fear, a glass partition stood between me and my friend M. I lamented that I was in the hospital, on my favorite day of the year. And I cried out a
gainst the statistics that said I would never see another summer. From my bed and through the glass pane, M and I promised each other that we would be together "next year" and I would be healthy and cancer-free and we'd watch the Fireworks outside, under the stars, and drink wine and hug and toast to life. Last night, we did just that. Along with a few other friends, we went to the Hollywood Bowl for the Fireworks show. I felt something in me burst as the sky lit up with sparks and fiery whistles. Everything about that moment was what I so earnestly prayed and hoped for, all alone in that dark hospital bed a year ago. Of course the tears would not stop running down my face. It felt like I finally made it home.
- - - - -
An edited version of what I wrote last July 4:
the night before the transplant i am sending love out in all directions from my bed. From my window tonight, I could see the entire horizon ablaze with fireworks. It was the most spectacular July 4th I've ever seen….. Yes, I'm a little scared and a little anxious, but I'm just filling myself with love and gratitude and faith to make it through the next 24 hours. So, sending sparks and fireworks to everyone from my heart to yours. I will be praying all night tonight. Praying that a year from now we will be watching fireworks together. And that 50 years from now we'll still be craning our necks to the sky to shout out "oooh and"aaah".
- - - - -
July 4th is my thanksgiving. It's about uniting with friends and community and taking the time to enjoy life together. I've seen too many who succumbed to cancer this past year. Beautiful husbands, brilliant girls, promising sons. I live my life fully in honor of them. I am so blessed to have reached this point. I have scans and tests at the end of the month to see if the transplant will be a long term success.
This year, I hope the Fireworks remind all of us of all our blessings.
As ever,
Christine
P.S. July 5, the actual transplant day, I made another fun "next year" wish that will come true. That'll be in my next post!
When thoughts and feelings are twisting inside, a walk is a good way to sort them out. It was on one of these walks last week that I was especially tormented by the memories and tears of last
year. My plodding along the sidewalk was suddenly stopped short by a glint of color. Coming into focus, flitting right in front of my eyes, I swear, was a saffronbutterfly. Alright, it was actually pungent-orange in color but that's close enough for me. The tops of its wings appeared to have rhinestones on it. Shiny, glinting spots that caught flashes of the sun. Mesmerized, I slowly raised my hand palm up. On cue, the butterfly gently landed on my fingertips! I swallowed my gasp, for fear of scaring the beautiful creature away. Then I imagined what this scene must have looked like to passers-by. Some urbane Snow White in T-shirt and jeans, gazing at a butterfly on her fingertips. It gently raised and lowered it's shimmering wings. Looking at it, I was hoping for some profound message, some great epiphany, the great existential answer to all the ancient questions about meaning and existence. But it just rested there for a bit before flitting away. I stood and watched it waft towards some blossoming bushes. Perhaps it was just a little wink from the universe.
This weekend I was visiting a friend's place and had the pleasure of picking plums, apricots and apples from the fruit trees. Summer was bursting everywhere. Heaven is the simple joy of precariously cradling an armful of fresh-picked fruit, while reaching up to pluck yet another ripe plum.
Last year, on the eve of the transplant July 4, in the midst of great uncertainty and fear, a glass partition stood between me and my friend M. I lamented that I was in the hospital, on my favorite day of the year. And I cried out a
gainst the statistics that said I would never see another summer. From my bed and through the glass pane, M and I promised each other that we would be together "next year" and I would be healthy and cancer-free and we'd watch the Fireworks outside, under the stars, and drink wine and hug and toast to life. Last night, we did just that. Along with a few other friends, we went to the Hollywood Bowl for the Fireworks show. I felt something in me burst as the sky lit up with sparks and fiery whistles. Everything about that moment was what I so earnestly prayed and hoped for, all alone in that dark hospital bed a year ago. Of course the tears would not stop running down my face. It felt like I finally made it home.- - - - -
An edited version of what I wrote last July 4:
the night before the transplant i am sending love out in all directions from my bed. From my window tonight, I could see the entire horizon ablaze with fireworks. It was the most spectacular July 4th I've ever seen….. Yes, I'm a little scared and a little anxious, but I'm just filling myself with love and gratitude and faith to make it through the next 24 hours. So, sending sparks and fireworks to everyone from my heart to yours. I will be praying all night tonight. Praying that a year from now we will be watching fireworks together. And that 50 years from now we'll still be craning our necks to the sky to shout out "oooh and"aaah".
- - - - -
July 4th is my thanksgiving. It's about uniting with friends and community and taking the time to enjoy life together. I've seen too many who succumbed to cancer this past year. Beautiful husbands, brilliant girls, promising sons. I live my life fully in honor of them. I am so blessed to have reached this point. I have scans and tests at the end of the month to see if the transplant will be a long term success.
This year, I hope the Fireworks remind all of us of all our blessings.
As ever,
Christine
P.S. July 5, the actual transplant day, I made another fun "next year" wish that will come true. That'll be in my next post!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
"Save the Date" and SiCKO
Save the Date! It's official. 80s Prom Night 2007 - Forever Young: Reclaim the Dream, will take place Saturday August 11!
This is it. The big party to celebrate beating the big nasty "C". This will not only be a night of unconditional love wrapped up in a bunch of silly fun, but a night to look back and celebrate all that we accomplished last year, of beating the odds, of rising to the occasion, of taking something so ugly, scary and uncertain and transforming it into something far-reaching and beautiful. Not only do I want to celebrate the miracle that I am still alive, but also the miracle of life that every one of us shares at this VERY moment. Our turn on the ride. For now, the world is ours. Don't miss out on it.
Prom Night is going to rock. Why the 80s? It was the decade of "Choose Life", "Open Arms",
and Dancing on the Ceiling". It was a time of optimistic youth, electric keyboards and romantic dreams. We pined to "In Your Eyes", practiced our Billy Idol snarls, bopped in our basements to "Blister in the Sun", squeezed into Jordache jeans, scrunched Dippity-Do into our hair, dabbed on some "Drakkar Noir" or "L'air du Temps" and made out in the back seats of giant Buicks. We embraced life. So dust off those ruffled blue tuxedos and shiny-magenta taffeta dresses. You have six solid weeks to find yourself a babysitter, some blue eye shadow and the most atrocious outfit. Corsages and boutonnières welcomed. And don't worry about going solo; quite a few of you are deciding to go stag. We're gonna let it all go, breath out a huge collective sigh of relief. And dance our little buttooski's off! WE DID IT. The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades. Evite coming soon.
Changing gears: I had the privilege of attending an exclusive preview screening of "SiCKO"
earlier this week. After the screening, Michael Moore held an electrifying Q&A with Ron Howard. I say: See this movie. It is revealing, shocking, enlightening, depressing and hopeful all at once. There is a segment that has to do with Bone Marrow Transplantation and all I can say is that the same situation could have happened to me. One sobering fact that Moore shared in the Q&A which was not mentioned in the film: Our generation will be the first generation in the history of America that can expect a SHORTER life span than the previous generation. The WWII generation is healthier, stronger, and will live to an older age than my generation can ever hope for. [[[shudder]]] This movie helps explain why.
I have PET/CAT scans and a Bone Marrow biopsy at the end of July. They represent a sort of Finish Line to this 19-month marathon. I hope to pass with flying colors.
Alive and Kicking,
Christine
This is it. The big party to celebrate beating the big nasty "C". This will not only be a night of unconditional love wrapped up in a bunch of silly fun, but a night to look back and celebrate all that we accomplished last year, of beating the odds, of rising to the occasion, of taking something so ugly, scary and uncertain and transforming it into something far-reaching and beautiful. Not only do I want to celebrate the miracle that I am still alive, but also the miracle of life that every one of us shares at this VERY moment. Our turn on the ride. For now, the world is ours. Don't miss out on it.
Prom Night is going to rock. Why the 80s? It was the decade of "Choose Life", "Open Arms",
and Dancing on the Ceiling". It was a time of optimistic youth, electric keyboards and romantic dreams. We pined to "In Your Eyes", practiced our Billy Idol snarls, bopped in our basements to "Blister in the Sun", squeezed into Jordache jeans, scrunched Dippity-Do into our hair, dabbed on some "Drakkar Noir" or "L'air du Temps" and made out in the back seats of giant Buicks. We embraced life. So dust off those ruffled blue tuxedos and shiny-magenta taffeta dresses. You have six solid weeks to find yourself a babysitter, some blue eye shadow and the most atrocious outfit. Corsages and boutonnières welcomed. And don't worry about going solo; quite a few of you are deciding to go stag. We're gonna let it all go, breath out a huge collective sigh of relief. And dance our little buttooski's off! WE DID IT. The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades. Evite coming soon.Changing gears: I had the privilege of attending an exclusive preview screening of "SiCKO"
earlier this week. After the screening, Michael Moore held an electrifying Q&A with Ron Howard. I say: See this movie. It is revealing, shocking, enlightening, depressing and hopeful all at once. There is a segment that has to do with Bone Marrow Transplantation and all I can say is that the same situation could have happened to me. One sobering fact that Moore shared in the Q&A which was not mentioned in the film: Our generation will be the first generation in the history of America that can expect a SHORTER life span than the previous generation. The WWII generation is healthier, stronger, and will live to an older age than my generation can ever hope for. [[[shudder]]] This movie helps explain why.I have PET/CAT scans and a Bone Marrow biopsy at the end of July. They represent a sort of Finish Line to this 19-month marathon. I hope to pass with flying colors.
Alive and Kicking,
Christine
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
pituitary wonder
I was at City of Hope all day yesterday. And I had doctor appointments all day today. Recuperation really is a full-time job. :)
Another inexplicable-miracle-something has happened in the last week. As you all know, my endocrine system has been messed up, my pituitary gland shut down, sending all bodily systems controlled by hormones into a tizzy and that basically means the WHOLE body. The docs originally said I might have to be on medication for the rest of my life. Well, thanks to prayer and alternative medicine, the results today indicated that my endocrine system is back to NORMAL! My pituitary gland is A-OK! The endocrine doctor was "very pleased" to see that the problem was "resolving on it's own" and my oncologist was simply ecstatic. Next comes estrogen, the PMS hormone. Hopefully that issue will resolve "on it's own" too. This turn of events is simply amazing. Even I'm astounded.
Other good news, my WBC counts are officially in the normal HEALTHY range (not just the "acceptable" range). I can eat salads in restaurants now! I can go to crowded places! (Like rock concerts!) I can swim in the ocean! Also, I'm allowed to FLY on commercial airlines again!!!!! Yaaaay! I have not traveled more than 150 miles outside of LA for over a year… and haven't had a real vacation in over two years. I wish I could get a ticket to everywhere and eat huge salads on all the worlds oceans!
The one-year anniversary of the transplant will be in two weeks. July 5, 2006 was the day my whole body changed and the odds were horribly against us. Remember that wish made that we'd be watching fireworks and "saying Ooh and Aaah a year from now"? Well, I can't wait for July 4th! I'm trying to figure out ways to mark the solemn, yet auspicious day.
Prom Night has been a challenge to plan. Sorry but I spoke too soon about the date. It appears that July 28 won't work for varying reasons, plus it is very likely that a VERY important party/fundraiser will be happening that same night which a lot of us will be attending (Including myself! The Kegger4Kevin). It looks like we are pushing into August now. I'll keep everyone posted.
One request. I visited two dear friends and City of Hope patients today. Joel is a 30-something rabbinical student who is married to a beautiful and strong woman named Heather. They have three young boys together. Robin is also in her early 30s. She is married to a wonderful guy and has a little daughter named Hailey. Joel and Robin are both going through what I went through last year. They just had their transplants last week and are going through a very rough and uncertain time. I just ask everyone to say a little prayer for them. They both have beautiful souls and both have so much yet to give to this world.
The best thing we can do with our lives is to be there for each other.
Much love,
Christine
Another inexplicable-miracle-something has happened in the last week. As you all know, my endocrine system has been messed up, my pituitary gland shut down, sending all bodily systems controlled by hormones into a tizzy and that basically means the WHOLE body. The docs originally said I might have to be on medication for the rest of my life. Well, thanks to prayer and alternative medicine, the results today indicated that my endocrine system is back to NORMAL! My pituitary gland is A-OK! The endocrine doctor was "very pleased" to see that the problem was "resolving on it's own" and my oncologist was simply ecstatic. Next comes estrogen, the PMS hormone. Hopefully that issue will resolve "on it's own" too. This turn of events is simply amazing. Even I'm astounded.
Other good news, my WBC counts are officially in the normal HEALTHY range (not just the "acceptable" range). I can eat salads in restaurants now! I can go to crowded places! (Like rock concerts!) I can swim in the ocean! Also, I'm allowed to FLY on commercial airlines again!!!!! Yaaaay! I have not traveled more than 150 miles outside of LA for over a year… and haven't had a real vacation in over two years. I wish I could get a ticket to everywhere and eat huge salads on all the worlds oceans!
The one-year anniversary of the transplant will be in two weeks. July 5, 2006 was the day my whole body changed and the odds were horribly against us. Remember that wish made that we'd be watching fireworks and "saying Ooh and Aaah a year from now"? Well, I can't wait for July 4th! I'm trying to figure out ways to mark the solemn, yet auspicious day.
Prom Night has been a challenge to plan. Sorry but I spoke too soon about the date. It appears that July 28 won't work for varying reasons, plus it is very likely that a VERY important party/fundraiser will be happening that same night which a lot of us will be attending (Including myself! The Kegger4Kevin). It looks like we are pushing into August now. I'll keep everyone posted.
One request. I visited two dear friends and City of Hope patients today. Joel is a 30-something rabbinical student who is married to a beautiful and strong woman named Heather. They have three young boys together. Robin is also in her early 30s. She is married to a wonderful guy and has a little daughter named Hailey. Joel and Robin are both going through what I went through last year. They just had their transplants last week and are going through a very rough and uncertain time. I just ask everyone to say a little prayer for them. They both have beautiful souls and both have so much yet to give to this world.
The best thing we can do with our lives is to be there for each other.
Much love,
Christine
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
GVH
I got not so great news yesterday. The Graft vs. Host has gotten worse and I'm back on anti-rejection medication and now on prednisone, a powerful steroid with infamous side effects. Chronic GVH shows up in a good percentage of post BMT-patients usually around the one-year mark, but only if triggered. If treated well, the condition is merely a temporary unpleasantness. But if not kept in check, can spiral into something far worse.
Tomorrow, June 6, is the fifth anniversary of my initial diagnosis and it makes me somber to think I have been fighting this disease for so long. I remember when I first got diagnosed; I thought "Six months and then I'm out". I could have never imagined I would still be fighting up to now. Then again, the odds said that I shouldn't have made it this far. I feel both joy and sadness.
On a brighter note, this Friday June 8 there is a good chance you might see me on TV again. I was interviewed for the show "Making the Cut" airing at 5pm and 9pm on TLC. I spoke about the loss you feel when all your hair falls out because of chemotherapy. But I also spoke of the hope and joy you feel as it slowly grows back after cancer. Anyway, I thought I'd let y'all know in case you want to check it out. My hair was still uber short so I look very different.
xo,
Christine
Tomorrow, June 6, is the fifth anniversary of my initial diagnosis and it makes me somber to think I have been fighting this disease for so long. I remember when I first got diagnosed; I thought "Six months and then I'm out". I could have never imagined I would still be fighting up to now. Then again, the odds said that I shouldn't have made it this far. I feel both joy and sadness.
On a brighter note, this Friday June 8 there is a good chance you might see me on TV again. I was interviewed for the show "Making the Cut" airing at 5pm and 9pm on TLC. I spoke about the loss you feel when all your hair falls out because of chemotherapy. But I also spoke of the hope and joy you feel as it slowly grows back after cancer. Anyway, I thought I'd let y'all know in case you want to check it out. My hair was still uber short so I look very different.
xo,
Christine
Sunday, June 3, 2007
National Cancer Survivor's Day
Today was National Cancer Survivor’s Day. Every year on the first Sunday of June, events take place in communities across the nation to celebrate life after cancer. City of Hope has one of, if not THE biggest event of them all.
The theme this year was “Academy of Hope Awards”, complete with Oscar statues, stretch limos and the illustrious red carpet. I volunteered, dressing up like Kate Winslet from Titanic, an outfit that included a wig of long luscious auburn hair. My friend CN is a Marilyn Monroe impersonator and she fired up the red carpet while I helped welcome and take pictures of the beaming survivors. We wanted them to feel like stars. We even had paparazzi and adoring fans cheering the survivors on as they stepped out from their limos. Just being there was magical and unbelievably rewarding. One sincere smile coming from one sincere soul can restore faith in anything.
While I was there a young woman approached me and said my name in earnestness. How she recognized me in that giant wig I do not know. But she introduced herself and her eyes welled
up as she told me the story of her Mother. How a year ago her Mother was told she was dying of cancer and sorry there was nothing the doctors could do for her anymore. They gave her Mother a bottle of morphine and sent her home to die. This young woman said her mother was at first resigned to her fate but then was inspired when she saw our website. Her Mom decided to fight, went to City of Hope and was given a brand new drug that no one has ever heard of. One year later and there was her Mom standing in front of me, healthy and cancer–free. We both burst into tears and hugged each other for what seemed like forever. Her husband glowed. The young woman’s mother kept repeating, “Because of you, I am alive. Because of you.” And I smiled but all I kept thinking was, it wasn’t just me, it was everyone. My friends, my family, and people I haven’t even met who inspired her to not give up and seek the right doctors and treatment for herself. And then I felt so blessed for having such incredible people in my life. Again, what we have accomplished together is simply immeasurable.
Update on health: I go in tomorrow for another full day at City of Hope. Health-wise, there are still some complications going on with my skin, endocrine system and whatnot. But compared to other patients at 11 months post-transplant, I am doing remarkably well.
Since I started getting acupuncture treatments three weeks ago, my energy and stamina have skyrocketed. I fulfilled another wish and returned to my beloved bike path and actually pedaled all the way from Playa Del Rey to Manhattan Beach and back. Granted, I was slow and it took me three times as long to do it but I did it and even I was amazed. There was no way I could have done it 6 weeks ago. Recently I went to a party my friend was DJ’ing and was able to rock out and dance without hurting myself. Again, I was amazed that I could keep up. The best part was when some college-age kids in attendance asked “So when do YOU graduate?” “Very soon.” I thought. “Very soon.”
Much love,
Christine
P.S. The other night I walked along a warm sidewalk chasing the colored sprinkles and vanilla ice cream dripping down from my cone and onto my fingers. My friends and I talked about plans for beach bonfires, the Hollywood Bowl, and camping in the Sierras. Aah, I thought, summer has officially begun. Care to join? :)
The theme this year was “Academy of Hope Awards”, complete with Oscar statues, stretch limos and the illustrious red carpet. I volunteered, dressing up like Kate Winslet from Titanic, an outfit that included a wig of long luscious auburn hair. My friend CN is a Marilyn Monroe impersonator and she fired up the red carpet while I helped welcome and take pictures of the beaming survivors. We wanted them to feel like stars. We even had paparazzi and adoring fans cheering the survivors on as they stepped out from their limos. Just being there was magical and unbelievably rewarding. One sincere smile coming from one sincere soul can restore faith in anything.While I was there a young woman approached me and said my name in earnestness. How she recognized me in that giant wig I do not know. But she introduced herself and her eyes welled
up as she told me the story of her Mother. How a year ago her Mother was told she was dying of cancer and sorry there was nothing the doctors could do for her anymore. They gave her Mother a bottle of morphine and sent her home to die. This young woman said her mother was at first resigned to her fate but then was inspired when she saw our website. Her Mom decided to fight, went to City of Hope and was given a brand new drug that no one has ever heard of. One year later and there was her Mom standing in front of me, healthy and cancer–free. We both burst into tears and hugged each other for what seemed like forever. Her husband glowed. The young woman’s mother kept repeating, “Because of you, I am alive. Because of you.” And I smiled but all I kept thinking was, it wasn’t just me, it was everyone. My friends, my family, and people I haven’t even met who inspired her to not give up and seek the right doctors and treatment for herself. And then I felt so blessed for having such incredible people in my life. Again, what we have accomplished together is simply immeasurable.Update on health: I go in tomorrow for another full day at City of Hope. Health-wise, there are still some complications going on with my skin, endocrine system and whatnot. But compared to other patients at 11 months post-transplant, I am doing remarkably well.
Since I started getting acupuncture treatments three weeks ago, my energy and stamina have skyrocketed. I fulfilled another wish and returned to my beloved bike path and actually pedaled all the way from Playa Del Rey to Manhattan Beach and back. Granted, I was slow and it took me three times as long to do it but I did it and even I was amazed. There was no way I could have done it 6 weeks ago. Recently I went to a party my friend was DJ’ing and was able to rock out and dance without hurting myself. Again, I was amazed that I could keep up. The best part was when some college-age kids in attendance asked “So when do YOU graduate?” “Very soon.” I thought. “Very soon.”Much love,
Christine
P.S. The other night I walked along a warm sidewalk chasing the colored sprinkles and vanilla ice cream dripping down from my cone and onto my fingers. My friends and I talked about plans for beach bonfires, the Hollywood Bowl, and camping in the Sierras. Aah, I thought, summer has officially begun. Care to join? :)
Friday, May 25, 2007
It's all worth it
I received this e-mail message last night.
This is because of the hard work we've done.
This is what makes it all worth it. :)
much love,
christine
"I don't think you know who I am, but I am a friend of Jane's.
Because of your story my sister and I entered the bone marrow
donor program. It was unlikely that we were going to be a match
for you as we are not Filipino. We really thought that we would
never be called, because after all what are the chances of being a
match for someone. We were wrong my sister was called and she
is the match for a woman with leukemia (I think). She is having her
physical this week and if all goes well will be doing the donation
towards the end of June. I thought I would let you know that
because of you someone else has found a match.
Keep up the good work and best wishes to you."
-DrDb
This is because of the hard work we've done.
This is what makes it all worth it. :)
much love,
christine
"I don't think you know who I am, but I am a friend of Jane's.
Because of your story my sister and I entered the bone marrow
donor program. It was unlikely that we were going to be a match
for you as we are not Filipino. We really thought that we would
never be called, because after all what are the chances of being a
match for someone. We were wrong my sister was called and she
is the match for a woman with leukemia (I think). She is having her
physical this week and if all goes well will be doing the donation
towards the end of June. I thought I would let you know that
because of you someone else has found a match.
Keep up the good work and best wishes to you."
-DrDb
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Celebrating Health
The other day I fulfilled another one of my wishes. As most of youknow, while I was in the hospital, I started a list of wishes and
things I wanted to do after transplant. It gave me something to
look forward to, to aim for and dream about. It also helped me to
believe that I would indeed survive and do all those things one day.
Some wishes were simple, like "Walk along the beach at sunset".
Others were more ambitious, as in "Visit all the major cities in the
world".
This weekend I fulfilled a simple wish. A couple friends and I went
to a festival in the park. An Afro-Cuban band drummed and
trumpeted from the stage. The wish fulfilled: To dance barefoot in
the grass. I felt so free and alive; with the sun piercing through the
tree branches above me and the branches themselves shuddering
to the boom beat of all the drums. I laughed as I let the hipsway
and the swirl overtake me. It felt so good, I actually started to cry.
To be outside in the fresh air dancing under the trees, without
having to worry about blood counts and statistics and scans…
that is freedom.
Save the date: To celebrate the one-year anniversary of the
transplant, my first BMT birthday, as well as my real Birthday
(which I had to postpone), I plan to have a party on a Saturday in
mid to late July. It’s going to be an 80s PROM.
The cheesy theme: “Forever Young: Reclaim the Dream”.
The uglier the prom dress the better. Ruffled shirts and blue
tuxedos strongly encouraged. Taffeta and poof sleeves welcomed.
I’m still trying to find a venue so if anyone has any suggestions
please let me know.
And just to get you guys TOTALLY PSYCHED ...
Dreaming of spiral perms and penny loafers,
Christine
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Mother's Day
I was at City of Hope today. My blood counts are holding but we discovered a new complication. I have practically no hormones in my body, minimal enzymes, probably no endorphin-type guys either. My pituitary gland may be completely shut down and my thyroid might be next. So I'm up for another battery of tests very soon.
This explains the dry skin, the fact that I have no hunger or thirst reflex, why my mood has been lower than usual, why I feel dull and yet over-sensitive, and why Hugh Jackman just doesn't do it for me anymore. No wonder I haven’t been myself lately. Again, things might look okay on the surface, but it will take some time for my whole-self to completely heal. I trust that everything will come back into balance eventually. Our bodies are miraculously self-healing. When you cut yourself, you don’t have to worry and focus and meditate on the cut healing itself. You just KNOW it will, and you go on with your life and *voila* one day you look and the cut is healed. You didn’t see it or make it happen. It just happened. The same principles are at work even with the most traumatic of wounds. Our bodies are infinitely intelligent and incredibly resilient. All we need is time.
I had a very tearful, (in a good way) Mother's Day. With my Mom in New York, we talked on the phone for over an hour. We recounted last year and how we both tried to be strong for each other, as we desperately chased away the fear that this would be our last time together. There was so much love and support coming from everywhere, but it was my Mother who was in the trenches with me, who sacrificed so much just to stand by my side, who drove me insane with her worry but then brought me back to sanity with her faith and inner strength. To think that this was the FOURTH time she had to go through the nightmare of watching a child suffer through cancer; twice with me, once with my brother and again with my sister. And yet she remains as passionate about life, as trusting in God, as light in her heart, as mischievous as a little girl and as beautiful in her soul as on the day she married my father. (They just celebrated their 38th Wedding Anniversary.) She is my inspiration.
Love,
Christine
This explains the dry skin, the fact that I have no hunger or thirst reflex, why my mood has been lower than usual, why I feel dull and yet over-sensitive, and why Hugh Jackman just doesn't do it for me anymore. No wonder I haven’t been myself lately. Again, things might look okay on the surface, but it will take some time for my whole-self to completely heal. I trust that everything will come back into balance eventually. Our bodies are miraculously self-healing. When you cut yourself, you don’t have to worry and focus and meditate on the cut healing itself. You just KNOW it will, and you go on with your life and *voila* one day you look and the cut is healed. You didn’t see it or make it happen. It just happened. The same principles are at work even with the most traumatic of wounds. Our bodies are infinitely intelligent and incredibly resilient. All we need is time.
I had a very tearful, (in a good way) Mother's Day. With my Mom in New York, we talked on the phone for over an hour. We recounted last year and how we both tried to be strong for each other, as we desperately chased away the fear that this would be our last time together. There was so much love and support coming from everywhere, but it was my Mother who was in the trenches with me, who sacrificed so much just to stand by my side, who drove me insane with her worry but then brought me back to sanity with her faith and inner strength. To think that this was the FOURTH time she had to go through the nightmare of watching a child suffer through cancer; twice with me, once with my brother and again with my sister. And yet she remains as passionate about life, as trusting in God, as light in her heart, as mischievous as a little girl and as beautiful in her soul as on the day she married my father. (They just celebrated their 38th Wedding Anniversary.) She is my inspiration.
Love,
Christine
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Life instead of Cancer
It’s been an emotional week, good and bad: Strange, wonderful, sad, beautiful.
GOOD NEWS – I had follow-up visits with doctors this week. City of Hope said (and I quote verbatim) “Considering what you were up against, you are doing EXTREMELY well”. It’s true. The GVH on my skin is still there but thankfully diminishing. My blood counts are steadily rising and no new complications have come up. My oncologist at the Angeles Clinic said, “Over the next three months, start shedding the ‘cancer patient’ and start preparing for the rest of your life.” Music to my ears. “The rest of your life.” My God, I actually have the rest of my life to live. Okay, there I go tearing up again.
It’s been 10 months since Day 0 of the transplant but I’ve only been out of the hospital for 4 months. Even if I get to have fun every once and awhile, I’m STILL recovering and have to wait for my body to heal and… well… I feel like I’m sitting on the bench, turning to God and pleading “Put me in the game, coach!”
Last weekend I dubbed the “Bone Marrow Extravaganza weekend”. Friday was the BMT reunion at City of Hope. I was singled out and honored among the thousands of patients there and was humbled by the shouts and applause as I stood and waved. Saturday I had the honor of being the guest speaker at Asians for Miracle Matches’ annual luncheon. It felt so good to be able to stand up at the podium one year later and thank the organization, staff and volunteers who made a difference in my life and continue to make a difference in the lives of others. I ended up going off the paper and spoke from my heart. Sunday I attended my first marrow drive since the BMT. My friend Barak funded the entire drive and signed 80 more people onto the registry at the Israeli Independence Day Festival with the help of City of Hope and other volunteers. Being there to answer questions and spread the word as a BMT success story, I felt like I had come full circle. It was an awesome place to be.
Now for the fun stuff. Last week I had a “cameo” in the Gilmore Girls episode “Lorelei Lorelei”. I was visiting the set when I was invited to jump in a scene and *voila* there’s the camera tracking me across the Sookie’s kitchen. I think I had more fun doing it than watching it. Also, May 18 starts a new show on TLC called “Making the Cut”. As some of you know, I was a hair model for Vidal Sassoon until I lost all my hair. I met the show’s director while visiting the salon and before the end of the day, they put me in front of the camera for an interview. My story of hair regained will be used in a segment in one of the episodes. My guess is that I will be in the “Giving Back” episode airing June 8. Finally, I will be fulfilling my fantasy to be a runway model at the Vintage Fashion Expo this weekend at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. It’s so cool to think that less than a year later I am literally strutting my stuff.
This is all a wonderful transition and something I have been looking forward to for a long time: To write about life instead of cancer.
Much love,
Christine
GOOD NEWS – I had follow-up visits with doctors this week. City of Hope said (and I quote verbatim) “Considering what you were up against, you are doing EXTREMELY well”. It’s true. The GVH on my skin is still there but thankfully diminishing. My blood counts are steadily rising and no new complications have come up. My oncologist at the Angeles Clinic said, “Over the next three months, start shedding the ‘cancer patient’ and start preparing for the rest of your life.” Music to my ears. “The rest of your life.” My God, I actually have the rest of my life to live. Okay, there I go tearing up again.
It’s been 10 months since Day 0 of the transplant but I’ve only been out of the hospital for 4 months. Even if I get to have fun every once and awhile, I’m STILL recovering and have to wait for my body to heal and… well… I feel like I’m sitting on the bench, turning to God and pleading “Put me in the game, coach!”
Last weekend I dubbed the “Bone Marrow Extravaganza weekend”. Friday was the BMT reunion at City of Hope. I was singled out and honored among the thousands of patients there and was humbled by the shouts and applause as I stood and waved. Saturday I had the honor of being the guest speaker at Asians for Miracle Matches’ annual luncheon. It felt so good to be able to stand up at the podium one year later and thank the organization, staff and volunteers who made a difference in my life and continue to make a difference in the lives of others. I ended up going off the paper and spoke from my heart. Sunday I attended my first marrow drive since the BMT. My friend Barak funded the entire drive and signed 80 more people onto the registry at the Israeli Independence Day Festival with the help of City of Hope and other volunteers. Being there to answer questions and spread the word as a BMT success story, I felt like I had come full circle. It was an awesome place to be.
Now for the fun stuff. Last week I had a “cameo” in the Gilmore Girls episode “Lorelei Lorelei”. I was visiting the set when I was invited to jump in a scene and *voila* there’s the camera tracking me across the Sookie’s kitchen. I think I had more fun doing it than watching it. Also, May 18 starts a new show on TLC called “Making the Cut”. As some of you know, I was a hair model for Vidal Sassoon until I lost all my hair. I met the show’s director while visiting the salon and before the end of the day, they put me in front of the camera for an interview. My story of hair regained will be used in a segment in one of the episodes. My guess is that I will be in the “Giving Back” episode airing June 8. Finally, I will be fulfilling my fantasy to be a runway model at the Vintage Fashion Expo this weekend at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. It’s so cool to think that less than a year later I am literally strutting my stuff.
This is all a wonderful transition and something I have been looking forward to for a long time: To write about life instead of cancer.
Much love,
Christine
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Back home from Surgery - need help
(written under influence of oxycodone)
I finally made it back home! Yesterday was the first time I was outside in four days. Janice was generous with the TLC and probably contributed to a speedier recovery. I'm still walking gingerly and having to take pain pills but I'm ambulatory now (sort of) and able to sit up okay.
What I'm not ready to do is drive long distances. It puts too much strain on the surgery area and leaves me crying out for momma. But I have afternoon appointments tomorrow (Thursday, April 19) at City of Hope and thus, in need a kind soul who can drive and then push me around in a wheelchair. Leave around 1:45pm. Return 5:30-ish.
I was going to drive myself but I'm quickly realizing that that is not a good idea right now.
hugs,
Christine
I finally made it back home! Yesterday was the first time I was outside in four days. Janice was generous with the TLC and probably contributed to a speedier recovery. I'm still walking gingerly and having to take pain pills but I'm ambulatory now (sort of) and able to sit up okay.
What I'm not ready to do is drive long distances. It puts too much strain on the surgery area and leaves me crying out for momma. But I have afternoon appointments tomorrow (Thursday, April 19) at City of Hope and thus, in need a kind soul who can drive and then push me around in a wheelchair. Leave around 1:45pm. Return 5:30-ish.
I was going to drive myself but I'm quickly realizing that that is not a good idea right now.
hugs,
Christine
Saturday, April 14, 2007
From JT - Recovering from surgery
When I talked to Christine today, she was in lots of pain but she still cracked jokes and boy, was she high. As expected, she's in bed most of the day, and only crawls out to "gingerly" move to the sofa. She sends her good thoughts and "hug vibes" to everybody. Last night she had homemade MatzoBall soup and today she felt well enough to eat toast and eggs. I am happy to report she is being well taken care of.
-jt
-jt
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Surgery this Friday
Thanks everyone for the offers of help and rides regarding the surgery this Friday. My friend and fellow BMT survivor Janice has invited me into her home to take care of me over the weekend. Janice is one of the most caring and loving Moms I know and her husband is just as nurturing. I'm lucky to be in such good hands. Not sure yet if I'll be able to take visitors but we'll keep everyone posted.
Also, thanks everyone for the concern about me running off to get a tattoo. I assure you that Beth only meant for me to laugh at the mere notion.
hugs,
christine
Also, thanks everyone for the concern about me running off to get a tattoo. I assure you that Beth only meant for me to laugh at the mere notion.
hugs,
christine
Friday, April 6, 2007
Nine month transplant anniversary
Can you believe it has been 9 months since the Bone Marrow Transplant? Happy Anniversary! My, how time flies when you're alive…
Well, my health has slipped back just a wee bit. I overdid it AGAIN, this time by doing absolutely nothing at all… literally relaxing out by the pool at the Beverly-Wilshire. It turns out I'm not supposed to be basking out in the sun and soaking in Jacuzzis just yet. What should have been a rejuvenating spa day triggered Graft vs. Host, so now I'm hit with complications, which at this point aren't life threatening but a sucky reminder that it's going to take some time to fully recover.
One thing I got is something called "peripheral neuropathy". Basically my skin is numb... yes, numb. I can't even feel my clothes. Very freaky. I've actually had moments where I answered the door and panicked and thought," Oh my God, I'm naked!" But looked down to see that I was actually clad in three layers of clothing.
Related to this is a need to nip a problem before it gets any worse. April (Friday the) 13th, I will have surgery to take care of some digestive track issues. Again, not life threatening but the surgeon said I will probably be bedridden for up to a week, hopped up on Quaaludes. Good times. It is outpatient surgery, so I'm seeking help in someone who can drive me to City of Hope at like, 5 in the morning, hang out in Duarte all day and then drive my anesthetized badonkadonk back home in the afternoon.
I guess you can say that my new marrow/stem cells are still in training. If you want to get an actual microscopic view of one my Chinese donor cells inside my body, click HERE.
On a serious note, if I could ask everyone to take just a second right now and send a little prayer up for my friend Robin. She is going through a rough and uncertain time and spent her 30th Birthday in the hospital yesterday. Let's send some good thoughts her way. Robin's Website.
hugs,
Christine
Well, my health has slipped back just a wee bit. I overdid it AGAIN, this time by doing absolutely nothing at all… literally relaxing out by the pool at the Beverly-Wilshire. It turns out I'm not supposed to be basking out in the sun and soaking in Jacuzzis just yet. What should have been a rejuvenating spa day triggered Graft vs. Host, so now I'm hit with complications, which at this point aren't life threatening but a sucky reminder that it's going to take some time to fully recover.
One thing I got is something called "peripheral neuropathy". Basically my skin is numb... yes, numb. I can't even feel my clothes. Very freaky. I've actually had moments where I answered the door and panicked and thought," Oh my God, I'm naked!" But looked down to see that I was actually clad in three layers of clothing.
Related to this is a need to nip a problem before it gets any worse. April (Friday the) 13th, I will have surgery to take care of some digestive track issues. Again, not life threatening but the surgeon said I will probably be bedridden for up to a week, hopped up on Quaaludes. Good times. It is outpatient surgery, so I'm seeking help in someone who can drive me to City of Hope at like, 5 in the morning, hang out in Duarte all day and then drive my anesthetized badonkadonk back home in the afternoon.
I guess you can say that my new marrow/stem cells are still in training. If you want to get an actual microscopic view of one my Chinese donor cells inside my body, click HERE.
On a serious note, if I could ask everyone to take just a second right now and send a little prayer up for my friend Robin. She is going through a rough and uncertain time and spent her 30th Birthday in the hospital yesterday. Let's send some good thoughts her way. Robin's Website.
hugs,
Christine
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Richard Jeni - Rest in Peace
If you haven't already heard, Richard Jeni passed away this weekend from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. Most of us remember his warm heart and hilarious performance during my ComedyChemo Benefit at the Key Club. I was ten minutes from home and on the phone with Colleen, who was checking news online, when she suddenly told me to pull over. The news tore us both apart. I couldn't stop crying. I kept kicking the steering wheel. WHY?!
Four years, four months and four days before he was pronounced dead, Richard Jeni and I were backstage at the Key Club and shared a conversation about how fragile and fleeting life is. He asked about my prognosis and I revealed how scared I was because I had less than a 50% chance to be alive five years from that very night. He put his arm around me and didn't say a thing. Not one funny thing. It was exactly what I needed. Then I remember hearing the surreal thunder of people chanting my name, wanting me to come out on stage. I want to remember Richard smiling and saying, "Hear that? All those people out there love you and are praying for you." At that moment I just knew that only good could come out of my situation, no matter what the outcome. Ever since that night, I've wanted to send Richard a bouquet of flowers to show how much that moment meant to me. The thank you card I sent just didn't feel like enough. But life happens and you just don't get around to it.
The fact that such an accomplished and sought after comedian would give up an evening of his precious time to help a stranger in need, goes to show you what a wonderful human being Richard Jeni was. His observations on life, love and
relationships were not just funny, they were genuine. At this point, I am still in disbelief that someone so aware of life could take his own.
We are loved more than we know. Sometimes loved more than we can handle. Yet we've all felt that despair. That dark, excruciatingly lonely, insomniacal late-night quagmire when you wish your bed would just swallow you up and be done with it. But as Anne Lamott said "Hope begins in the dark". It's the only place that it can.
We're all just trying to make sense of it all. Trying to find the meaning behind the purpose. The only answer that makes sense to me is found in a fleeting moment. Not in philosophy, fate, science nor religion. Not in words. The answer is fiery and visceral. It is being touched by God.
Evoke
The awe that swells the heart when you cradle a newborn.
The wonder that possesses as you fathom and peer into the Milky Way.
The gasp you utter as a hummingbird peruses your face.
The shout you can't control when a humpback whale leaps for the sky.
The glee of seeing winter's first snow.
That "YES!!" feeling when you hit your mark.
The peace within, watching campfire sparks waft into night
The rush of mad ravenous pulsations when you both finally kiss
The newness inside when someone says, "I love you"
In other words, the answer breathes in you in the moments when you feel most alive.
I'm finally going to send the flowers I've always meant to. You never think that there will ever be a day when it will be too late.
Richard Jeni. You will be missed.
-CP
Four years, four months and four days before he was pronounced dead, Richard Jeni and I were backstage at the Key Club and shared a conversation about how fragile and fleeting life is. He asked about my prognosis and I revealed how scared I was because I had less than a 50% chance to be alive five years from that very night. He put his arm around me and didn't say a thing. Not one funny thing. It was exactly what I needed. Then I remember hearing the surreal thunder of people chanting my name, wanting me to come out on stage. I want to remember Richard smiling and saying, "Hear that? All those people out there love you and are praying for you." At that moment I just knew that only good could come out of my situation, no matter what the outcome. Ever since that night, I've wanted to send Richard a bouquet of flowers to show how much that moment meant to me. The thank you card I sent just didn't feel like enough. But life happens and you just don't get around to it.
The fact that such an accomplished and sought after comedian would give up an evening of his precious time to help a stranger in need, goes to show you what a wonderful human being Richard Jeni was. His observations on life, love and
relationships were not just funny, they were genuine. At this point, I am still in disbelief that someone so aware of life could take his own.
We are loved more than we know. Sometimes loved more than we can handle. Yet we've all felt that despair. That dark, excruciatingly lonely, insomniacal late-night quagmire when you wish your bed would just swallow you up and be done with it. But as Anne Lamott said "Hope begins in the dark". It's the only place that it can.
We're all just trying to make sense of it all. Trying to find the meaning behind the purpose. The only answer that makes sense to me is found in a fleeting moment. Not in philosophy, fate, science nor religion. Not in words. The answer is fiery and visceral. It is being touched by God.
Evoke
The awe that swells the heart when you cradle a newborn.
The wonder that possesses as you fathom and peer into the Milky Way.
The gasp you utter as a hummingbird peruses your face.
The shout you can't control when a humpback whale leaps for the sky.
The glee of seeing winter's first snow.
That "YES!!" feeling when you hit your mark.
The peace within, watching campfire sparks waft into night
The rush of mad ravenous pulsations when you both finally kiss
The newness inside when someone says, "I love you"
In other words, the answer breathes in you in the moments when you feel most alive.
I'm finally going to send the flowers I've always meant to. You never think that there will ever be a day when it will be too late.
Richard Jeni. You will be missed.
-CP
Friday, March 2, 2007
Stupendous news!
SO much has happened, I don't know where to start!
At my last doctor appointment we found that my blood counts shot up! My white blood cells DOUBLED and everything else reached new high levels. I'm THIS CLOSE to the normal range (low normal but at least in the right ballpark). My doctor was astonished and ecstatic. All it took was for me to focus on rest, patience and health instead of pining to "get out there" and live too hard too soon. My doctor was so impressed that she lowered my medications, discontinued some pills and said I am allowed to take hot baths, get massages and go to spas again (YES!). Then she said that when I feel strong enough, I am allowed to drive myself (alone!) to City of Hope! She feels I have enough stamina and there is almost no chance that I would be in need of a transfusion or any medication that would prevent me from driving myself home. I am so glad to hear the news, but I may still ask for rides because even if it is nice to be independent, it sucks to go to the hospital alone.
Not only is my marrow 100% donor, but now my blood is also 100% donor. Remember how the results were chimeric just a little while ago? This Sunday is the 8-month anniversary of the transplant and here I am cured with no complications whatsoever and only getting better. Prayers DO work.
I'm now allowed light exercise too, which means I can go back to my Yoga classes! I went for my
first class last week and woke up the next day feeling like I got run over by a truck. Ah, baby steps. The owners of Goda Yoga have welcomed me back with open arms, giving me free reign over the studio. It is going to be a tremendous help with my recovery.
SkyBar, Koi, Paradise Cove, La Scala, Magic Castle, Sasabune, Point Dume, the Viceroy, Casa Del Mar, in fast cars and at Mardis Gras. I've partied with Grammy people and had a blast during Oscar weekend. On a recent girl's night out, I wore high-heeled pumps for the first time, stepped out with my new Halle Berry-esque chopped haircut and spent the night shooing away men trying to cram their numbers in my purse. Not bad. Most of my time is spent peacefully recovering but a girl has to get out every once in awhile.
Mike and me in our "Vanity Fair"pose
Life is grand and in the last couple weeks I've found myself at many lovely places including for a girl who was practically terminal a year ago.
This week I had the pleasure of visiting the set of "Gilmore Girls" where I got pulled into the
last scene. Watch out for the "Spring Fling" episode where you'll see yours truly running amok in a giant hay-bale maze. Between takes, I was having too much fun doing my impression of Teri Garr in "Young Frankenstein": "Roll! Roll! Roll in zee hay!" Jerome was there too and ran around the maze screaming like Macaulay Culkin ala "Home Alone". Plus, I finally fulfilled my dream of getting on the ER set and pretending to be a doctor.
But the BIG news is that my first book is going to be published!!! Along with other talented cancer survivors, I have the honor of being a contributing writer in "Writing for Wellness". It is slated to come out this summer. My story will also be featured in another upcoming book, which I can't talk about until a later date. Pop that champagne! :)
On a serious note, I'm still supporting and helping other friends and cancer patients. Life swings between the extremes of joy and sorrow these days. In the morning I may be laughing so hard, my stomach hurts. Then at night, I may get bad news and be crying so hard, my head hurts. Please pray for my friends, especially for Joel, Robin, Margie, Jerome and Elizabeth.
Remember how blessed we are and use that gratitude to help others.
xo,
Christine Pechera
p.s. Happy Purim!
"Beauty remains: the pain passes." -Renoir
At my last doctor appointment we found that my blood counts shot up! My white blood cells DOUBLED and everything else reached new high levels. I'm THIS CLOSE to the normal range (low normal but at least in the right ballpark). My doctor was astonished and ecstatic. All it took was for me to focus on rest, patience and health instead of pining to "get out there" and live too hard too soon. My doctor was so impressed that she lowered my medications, discontinued some pills and said I am allowed to take hot baths, get massages and go to spas again (YES!). Then she said that when I feel strong enough, I am allowed to drive myself (alone!) to City of Hope! She feels I have enough stamina and there is almost no chance that I would be in need of a transfusion or any medication that would prevent me from driving myself home. I am so glad to hear the news, but I may still ask for rides because even if it is nice to be independent, it sucks to go to the hospital alone.
Not only is my marrow 100% donor, but now my blood is also 100% donor. Remember how the results were chimeric just a little while ago? This Sunday is the 8-month anniversary of the transplant and here I am cured with no complications whatsoever and only getting better. Prayers DO work.
I'm now allowed light exercise too, which means I can go back to my Yoga classes! I went for my
first class last week and woke up the next day feeling like I got run over by a truck. Ah, baby steps. The owners of Goda Yoga have welcomed me back with open arms, giving me free reign over the studio. It is going to be a tremendous help with my recovery.SkyBar, Koi, Paradise Cove, La Scala, Magic Castle, Sasabune, Point Dume, the Viceroy, Casa Del Mar, in fast cars and at Mardis Gras. I've partied with Grammy people and had a blast during Oscar weekend. On a recent girl's night out, I wore high-heeled pumps for the first time, stepped out with my new Halle Berry-esque chopped haircut and spent the night shooing away men trying to cram their numbers in my purse. Not bad. Most of my time is spent peacefully recovering but a girl has to get out every once in awhile.
Mike and me in our "Vanity Fair"poseLife is grand and in the last couple weeks I've found myself at many lovely places including for a girl who was practically terminal a year ago.
This week I had the pleasure of visiting the set of "Gilmore Girls" where I got pulled into the
last scene. Watch out for the "Spring Fling" episode where you'll see yours truly running amok in a giant hay-bale maze. Between takes, I was having too much fun doing my impression of Teri Garr in "Young Frankenstein": "Roll! Roll! Roll in zee hay!" Jerome was there too and ran around the maze screaming like Macaulay Culkin ala "Home Alone". Plus, I finally fulfilled my dream of getting on the ER set and pretending to be a doctor.But the BIG news is that my first book is going to be published!!! Along with other talented cancer survivors, I have the honor of being a contributing writer in "Writing for Wellness". It is slated to come out this summer. My story will also be featured in another upcoming book, which I can't talk about until a later date. Pop that champagne! :)
On a serious note, I'm still supporting and helping other friends and cancer patients. Life swings between the extremes of joy and sorrow these days. In the morning I may be laughing so hard, my stomach hurts. Then at night, I may get bad news and be crying so hard, my head hurts. Please pray for my friends, especially for Joel, Robin, Margie, Jerome and Elizabeth.
Remember how blessed we are and use that gratitude to help others.
xo,
Christine Pechera
p.s. Happy Purim!
"Beauty remains: the pain passes." -Renoir
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Overdid it again
When my doctor turned to me with her hands on her hips, I knew I was in trouble.
"Are you already back to work?!" her voice shredded the air with exasperation.
"No." I mumbled, moping like a 13-year old. I knew what was coming next.
"You are overdoing it again. You have to stop."
Notice she did not say "slow down".
The doctor pushed a paper in my face showing that all my blood levels plummeted 25% since my birthday.
"Now your body have to work hard all over again."
OK. I admit I pushed it just a little celebrating the Birthday that almost wasn't. But what's an elated girl to do? Sit in a room and blow out candles all by herself?
"You rest more. Stop doing so much. You want to get better, right?"
I pouted. "Ohh...kay..."
I'm just so happy to be alive and feeling so fortunate for the miraculous outcome of an uncertain year. I had the honor of speaking at another City of Hope event this weekend. As usual, it was a very emotional speech. My heart broke as a couple stories were shared of patients who were less fortunate or who were having great difficulties with post-transplant complications. I was the lucky one to be the poster-child survivor who could speak on behalf of all the cancer patients. Thus, my thirst to live... NOW.
Well, lesson learned is that patience is a virtue that I'm still working on. Also, a note that I WILL be taking it easier and slower, kinder and gentler. The marrow needs all the help it can get.
We all should be taking better care of ourselves.
xo,
Christine
"Are you already back to work?!" her voice shredded the air with exasperation.
"No." I mumbled, moping like a 13-year old. I knew what was coming next.
"You are overdoing it again. You have to stop."
Notice she did not say "slow down".
The doctor pushed a paper in my face showing that all my blood levels plummeted 25% since my birthday.
"Now your body have to work hard all over again."
OK. I admit I pushed it just a little celebrating the Birthday that almost wasn't. But what's an elated girl to do? Sit in a room and blow out candles all by herself?
"You rest more. Stop doing so much. You want to get better, right?"
I pouted. "Ohh...kay..."
I'm just so happy to be alive and feeling so fortunate for the miraculous outcome of an uncertain year. I had the honor of speaking at another City of Hope event this weekend. As usual, it was a very emotional speech. My heart broke as a couple stories were shared of patients who were less fortunate or who were having great difficulties with post-transplant complications. I was the lucky one to be the poster-child survivor who could speak on behalf of all the cancer patients. Thus, my thirst to live... NOW.
Well, lesson learned is that patience is a virtue that I'm still working on. Also, a note that I WILL be taking it easier and slower, kinder and gentler. The marrow needs all the help it can get.
We all should be taking better care of ourselves.
xo,
Christine
Thursday, February 1, 2007
From Barak - Perfect take-off
For those of you who know Christine, you know how modest she can be. So I’ll tell you something she left out of her flying story:
When we went flying, Christine did a complete takeoff! All by herself! And there’s the video to prove it!!!
In December, Christine spent two weeks in the hospital, including Christmas and New Year’s. When I was there, we’d play games, surf YouTube, listen to iTunes, and pig out on hospital food. So I told her that when she got out of the hospital, we’d go flying. I started teaching her how to fly, how the plane works, and how to take off. We’d sit side by side on the bed and simulate takeoffs. We did that so many times that I think she got really tired of it. But she got really good at it, too. So much so that when we were finally rolling down the runway, I handed her the controls and took her video camera. We hit takeoff speed, and like a pro, Christine pulled back the control wheel and became an instant aviator. It was a surreal experience that I wish you could all witness: Christine the Flyer, Miss Pilot herself! It was a perfect take-off.
Barak
When we went flying, Christine did a complete takeoff! All by herself! And there’s the video to prove it!!!
In December, Christine spent two weeks in the hospital, including Christmas and New Year’s. When I was there, we’d play games, surf YouTube, listen to iTunes, and pig out on hospital food. So I told her that when she got out of the hospital, we’d go flying. I started teaching her how to fly, how the plane works, and how to take off. We’d sit side by side on the bed and simulate takeoffs. We did that so many times that I think she got really tired of it. But she got really good at it, too. So much so that when we were finally rolling down the runway, I handed her the controls and took her video camera. We hit takeoff speed, and like a pro, Christine pulled back the control wheel and became an instant aviator. It was a surreal experience that I wish you could all witness: Christine the Flyer, Miss Pilot herself! It was a perfect take-off.
Barak
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