2 Year Anniversary

Well, I did it. I beat the average survival statistic for a patient with a Glioblastoma Multiforme – the deadliest of all the brain tumors. I have brain cancer thanks to the mysterious golf ball size of aggressive malignant cells that grew in my brain. It’s been 2 years since that beast was removed by my brilliant neurosurgeon.

In those 2 years, I’ve gone through chemo and radiation treatments (which ironically has a risk of creating brain tumors) and began a clinical trial intended to train my body to fight the cancer. I’ve had 2 seizures (not counting the first) that have landed me in a hospital bed – the second one being life threatening. I spent months without driving privileges and still managed to get my kids to school and go to the grocery store thanks to my mom and my kind neighbors. My mom’s love and caring have provided my family with a consistent ‘normal’ life and have allowed me to focus on healing and fighting. I have grown even more fond of my neighbors and our spontaneous driveway parties and planned outdoor movie nights. I’ve napped, a lot. I went to New York with my husband. I’ve witnessed his courage, strength and love each and every day. I went to New York, London, and Paris with my family. I’ve read numerous books – most of them good. I met Diana Gabaldon and got her autograph. I lived through a kitchen remodel (not recommended while going through treatment.) I adopted a dog who is both sweet and crazy needy. I’ve watched my children continue to grow and thrive. My son’s guitar skills, love of soccer, creativity, ingenuity and love for some adventure amaze me every day. My daughter’s kindness, persistence at resolving social conflicts, strength in the face of adversity (like soccer ball kicks to her face), her natural skills in caring for young children, and her love of books and learning make my heart swell with pride. I have so many more things to be grateful for as I’ve attempted to live every day left in my life with joy and appreciation for the moments I’ve been blessed to experience in my uncertain future.

But the fight continues on. I’m fighting to still be here to celebrate my 4 year anniversary and my 6 year anniversary and so on…

Thank you all for the love, support, prayers and healing energy you’ve been sending my way over the last 2 years. They’ve gotten me to this point. I’d appreciate the continuing support to get to another anniversary.

As we continue the debate began by Brittany Maynard’s decision to move to a state that supports ‘die with dignity’ laws, let’s not forget the thousands of other people fighting this horrible disease and other types of brain tumors. We should also be discussing what can be done to develop new treatments and search for a cure so we don’t have to think or make decisions about how to relieve our own suffering in our last moments of life. Many of us with GBM’s have survived for extended periods of time, even if we received grim and specific prediction of the time we’ve got left. Fight on and see what miracles arrive and do your part to help others live longer in the future.

If you feel compelled to help focus on the brain tumor element of this story (not saying the national dialogue around ‘die with dignity’ is unworthy or less important), make a donation to the National Brain Tumor Association or any other organization of your choice that helps support research for treatments and cures, support for families and patients, and raise awareness of the other side of Brittany’s story.

 

One Year Ago…

…in a pumpkin patch far, far away…I was feeling cranky and blue. Distant, perhaps in a fog of mood. It was warm, much like today will be.

Everything changed that day. I had a seizure and got to ride in an ambulance. I was told I had a mass in my brain and that I needed surgery as soon as possible to save my life. I later found out I had stage four brain cancer.

As much as I don’t remember of that day and the next, and the next…I remember very clearly waking up in that ambulance to see the EMT smiling and talking to me with a reassuring voice that stopped the panic before it could even begin. I remember the ER doctor holding my hand and sitting close while she told me about the beast in my brain. I remember the frightened looks on my kids faces as they walked in to see me before they left for home. I remember my husband’s face as he fought to remain calm while he asked all of the questions I would never have thought to ask. I remember the kindness of the nurses and doctors as I arrived at Stanford and settled in for a multitude of scans and tests while I waited for a craniotomy.

It seems a strange anniversary to celebrate, but here I am…alive and functioning. I’ve had some setbacks, but to think where I could be: the risks and potential disabilities as a side effect of brain surgery, the physical damage of chemo and radiation, the financial devastation if we didn’t have insurance, the psychological trauma if we didn’t have such loving friends and family… I could be dead. But I’m not.

As hard as this past year has been, I feel blessed to be here. To have the time to cherish my family, to teach my kids critical life skills and watch them do the things they love – like play guitar and dance, to hold my husband’s hand as we walk down the street, to read yet another great book. All things easy to take for granted when you’re not counting every day as one more chance.

The typical survival rate for someone with a Glioblastoma Multiforme is dismal. As my neurosurgeon told me ‘Now we know HOW you’re going to die, we just don’t know WHEN.’ Well, so far, I’m beating the worst of the odds. The beast is locked away for now and I have a team of doctors and specialists who are the best at what they do. I am lucky to live so close to Stanford and to know that my doctors work together to give me the best care possible. I am lucky to qualify for a clinical trial that just may help make my survival legendary – along with so many other people who will discover they have a GBM.

BUT – the options for brain tumor patients are terrifyingly few. I’ve been lucky so far, but so many have been lost because research into new treatments for brain tumors is dramatically underfunded. Brain tumors are mysterious and complex – just like the brain itself. Unlike so many other cancers, people don’t know about them until they or someone they know and love discovers they have one. Awareness is shockingly low.

There are no known causes and often people have no knowledge they have a tumor until it reaches a large size. I had no significant symptoms until I had a grand mal seizure in a pumpkin patch in front of my children and 300 or so strangers. There are 120 different types of tumors and depending on the location in the brain, even a benign tumor can be devastating to physical, cognitive or psychological abilities. Over 600,000 people in US are living with a primary brain tumor and over 28,000 children.

Help me celebrate this first of what I hope will be many survival anniversaries by donating to the National Brain Tumor Society – an organization committed to raising awareness, advocating for and funding research to help improve treatment options and increase the survival rates of brain tumor patients. My friends and family will be walking on October 26 in the Silicon Valley Brain Tumor Walk – join Team EveryDayLeft Right Left in our march to find a cure. Help us all to become legendary in our survival.

Thank you to everyone who has helped feed, drive, babysit, and care for my family in so many countless other ways this past year. You are loved and appreciated in ways we could never express.