Making a Run for It

When I first was diagnosed with cancer five years ago I kept repeating to myself “Only good will come of this. Whether I live or die, only good will come of this.” I prayed this everyday.

And out of the fire, good did come.

Most of this good was not by my hands but by the hands of strangers and friends. And it is wonderful to see that “good” continues to pay it forward.

A few months ago, my friend Barbara would have laughed if you asked her to trod a full mile non-stop. But after hearing the news of my clear scans and being cancer-free she thought “Wouldn’t it be great to give to another cancer patient, the chance to experience the miracle that Christine has accomplished.” A self-proclaimed “not a runner type”, she is currently in training for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society half-marathon to raise money to fight cancer. Barbara is awesome. Check out her homepage and see a nostalgic photo of what I used to look like in that big blue hospital mask:

http://www.active.com/donate/tntgla/tntglaBGregso


My friend and fellow Bone Marrow Transplant survivor, Janice and her husband Larry will be participating in the “Light the Night” Walk this Sunday in Woodland Hills. The walk raises money to, you guessed it, fight cancer. Janice and I were roommates at City of Hope. She continues to support and help patients, whether it be raising funds for research or sitting bedside to lend a hand to hold onto. Janice is a goddess. Here is her page:

http://www.active.com/donate/ltnLosAn/2046_JLevyLTN


Both of these fundraising walks address blood cancers, the category of cancer in which my Lymphoma diagnosis falls under. If you can contribute to help find a cure for this disease, please do. It’s amazing what a few dollars put in the right direction can do to change the world.

Changing gears. I’d like to thank the team who participated in my name (In my honor? What’s the right word here?) at the Beer Olympics in Williamsburg, Brooklyn recently. A good time for a good cause. Congratulations guys!

Hugs,
Christine

I'm Back!

I'm back after an emotional
homecoming to the Northwest
and the East coast. It was the
first time I was allowed on a
commercial flight since
December 2005. As the plane
lifted off the earth, my throat
clenched and tears began to stream down
my cheeks. I thought, “My God, I
made it. We did it. It’s August 2007 and I’m alive.” This thought popped into my head everyday, several times a day as I made my way through the
streets of Seattle, strode the great avenues of Manhattan and sailed the
gleaming waters of Martha’s Vineyard. A year ago I didn't even have the
strength to walk more than a few feet. Now I am riding my bike for miles
and making plans for months ahead. MONTHS ahead!!! You have no idea
how GOOD that feels for someone who, at one point, wondered everyday
if she would make it through the night.

I have not updated my blog in the last few weeks because I took a much
needed break.  It has been 21 straight months of searching, fighting,
praying, hoping, crying, introspecting, speaking, reaching, dealing
with, recovering, writing, giving, surviving and talking cancer.  I
needed some downtime before embarking on this second chance at life.

I have much to catch up on, plus there is a lot going on, so instead
of writing one huge onerous message, I’m going to break it up into
smaller bites so all the details are easier to digest.  For now,
here’s a quick summary:




While on this first vacation, I found out that my survival story and
prom celebration were on the front page of a few national papers and
that a video news segment about the party was broadcast around the
world via satellite TV.  “Forever Young 2007” is probably the only
fake prom to ever be broadcast worldwide!  It’s wonderful to know that
a small group of people, dancing under aluminum stars and paper
streamers, (in terrible 80s outfits, mind you) can create so much hope
for so many. :)













The Writing for Wellness book is coming out next week and we already
have thousands of pre-orders via Amazon.com.  The writing program
developed in our class (and featured in the book) is being introduced
to health centers across the country.  We (the writers) are excited to
know that other patients and families will benefit from the healing
power of writing and sharing with others. All proceeds from the book
benefit City of Hope.  I’ll send the link soon.

I continue to speak at events and fundraisers and will give more
details about a huge dinner/concert event on October 14 for A3M (I’ll
be speaking in front of up to 2000 people that night!), a big
dinner/dance on November 10 for Angels of Hope, and a Comedy
fundraiser later this winter in San Francisco for the Asian-American
Donor program.

I have a few friends who are participating in marathons and walks to
raise money and awareness for cancer research.  Please look out for
those updates and help support someone who is trying to make a
difference.  All you have to do is pledge.  They will do all the hard
work for you! (Meaning running like, 26 MILES!)  All you have to do is
click "send".

There’s probably more pertinent stuff I’ll remember over the next day
or two.  Yup, got a lot of catching up to do!  In more ways than one.
Life is good.

Love,
Christine

pre-Prom Update

We have so much to celebrate this weekend. My father's voice broke
apart on the phone when he realized that this "Celebration of Life"
was actually happening. I cried too. Who would have guessed that
this devastating nightmare would have such a fairytale outcome. I'm
so thankful for every little thing, every little moment of every day.

The results of the "one-year" Bone Marrow Biopsy came back 100% donor.
In the past, "100% donor" meant "promising" or "a good sign". The
marrow also came back "clear". This triple-confirms that the cancer
has completely vanished. At 13 months out, it is safe to officially
say that the donor marrow has taken and that the transplant is
successful.

My brother and I in the fountain at Cal Anderson Park in Capitol Hill

I just returned from Seattle, my first trip since all this began so
long ago. When the plane lifted off the tarmac my heart burst with so
much happiness that I couldn't stop tearing up. It wasn't until we
reached altitude that I let it sink in... I am finally free. Up in
Seattle, I met more people whose lives were changed by this crazy
journey. A church that conducted a marrow drive honored me, my family
and my friends C and M. I also met someone whose life was literally
saved by the campaign. It was incredibly humbling.

When the one-year milestone passed, I received the name and contact
info of my donor. I was handed a Chinese name and an e-mail address.
I stared at it for a week. I couldn't believe my donor, my hero, was
only a click away. We are now communicating via e-mail. His wife is
a 10-year survivor of APL. They have a son. My donor's name remains
anonymous to the public for now... at least until I get his permission
to reveal his name to everyone. I can't wait for the day when we will
meet face to face.

The Prom, to me, is like a high school graduation. It represents the
end of a special time and the beginning of an expanded time. We are
all blessed. I am in tears as I write this. Thank you, everyone
everyone everyone for seeing this girl through to the other side.

Love,
Christine

P.S. Let's ROCK the house.

Remembering Harrison

Harrison Leonardo, after spending more than half of his precious life
fighting cancer, has passed away. Harrison's story was and always has
been... and will continue to be... one of major inspiration to me and
so many others.


Life... is... Precious...

with love,
christine

PET/CT Scan Resuts

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!

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.

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

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 against 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!

"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

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

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

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? :)

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

Celebrating Health

The other day I fulfilled another one of my wishes. As most of you
know, 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

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

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

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

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

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

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