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I don’t like to be referred to as brave when it comes to dealing with my cancer and transplant. I believe bravery means you have a choice. Most people would have done things like I did, especially given the odds.
With my diagnosis, I didn’t have an option. Get a transplant or plan on dying reasonably soon. It was a no-brainer. I didn’t feel brave, just a level of acceptance.
Bravery is running into a burning building or going into battle in the military. Bravery is doing something regardless of the danger.
I don’t see my cancer as a battle. It’s more of a slow journey. Nothing happens fast.
In the past couple of weeks, I’ve started feeling different. Maybe it’s because every moment isn’t filled with thoughts about my diagnosis, treatment, and prognosis.
Getting to this point wasn’t a direct line. My line was scribbly. It was days, weeks, months, and years of moving along the best I could. One day at a time.
Until recently, when people told me I looked great, I felt like a fraud. On the outside, I appeared to be my old self. But on the inside, I had a swarm of doubts buzzing like angry bees throughout my body.
Those bees have started to settle down now.
It started to change when I was sick during November and December. As soon as I thought I’d recovered from one upper respiratory infection, I’d have a relapse. Or I’d catch a new virus. Constant coughing and high fevers kept me from sleeping very much.
I talked to my body when I woke up in the middle of the night. I asked my lungs to calm down. I encouraged my limbs to relax. I tried to coax my sinuses to release fluid.
And I praised my new stem cells. I talked to them like they were a room full of students. I told them how proud I was that they were doing their jobs. I also complimented them on not overreacting. Because my immune system was still so new, they could have started a whole new graft vs. host competition.
Because I’d been sick many times within a short period, my doctor ordered blood tests. He wanted to see if my body had enough antibodies to fight infections. If not, I’d need to have another IVIG infusion. I had three last winter and didn’t want to go through those again. They made me feel like I had the flu.
I was so proud of my body when my IgG level was smack dab in the middle range. They measure this through an immunoglobulins blood test. Immunoglobulins are also called antibodies. Antibodies are proteins your immune system makes to fight germs and bacteria.
This showed my new immune system was doing its job. At least, that’s how I understood it.
I suddenly realized I was becoming a regular person again. I felt like Pinocchio when he became a real boy.
I no longer want every conversation to be about my treatment and prognosis. Sure, it’s okay for people to ask me how I’m doing. I want to offer a quick answer and move on to more exciting topics.
Not too long ago, I watched Good Morning America. Robin Roberts was sitting in the co-host chair, beaming with good health. I can’t see her without thinking about her MDS and stem cell transplant journey. It’s now been almost twelve years since her transplant. And looking at her, you’d never know she’d been sick.
Maybe the key to feeling like you’re in complete remission is when you begin to forget.
And you begin to do things again that require a little bravery.
At my age, that would be riding a bike.
You radiate good health. And I love the idea of talking to and congratulating your body.
You are a beautiful person inside and out and I appreciate you so very much.