#the nurse said it was large enough that they could take the three biopsies but still get benign results

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

pro: there’s a chance of it being a false negative, but so far it looks benign

con: this means that my eating issues, lack of energy, etc have no answers

[euphoriyoongi]

☂︎ Doom at Your Service || p.j.m smau

☂︎ Summary:

you lost your parents at an early age, and now you’re diagnosed with a brain tumor, forcing you to have less than 100 days to live. As you pray for the destruction of the world, the destruction himself—Jimin—comes to live with you in your last days.

☂︎ Pairings: Doom!jimin x sick!reader

☂︎ Word count: 2.4k

☂︎ Warnings: language

prev. // next.

m.list

☂︎일 one— peace out

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

“It’s glioblastoma.” The doctor said, looking down at the paperwork in front of him. “It seems like a few tumors. It’s terminal.”

Terminal? Where did you go wrong in your life for this to happen? Was it because you never did anything else but work?

“It’s why you’ve been dizzy and why you’ve been throwing up.”

All you could do right now was just stare at him, wide eyed.

“We could take more tests—a biopsy—but, the location doesn’t look good.” He let out a sigh, looking behind him to see the Head CT scan.

“I see.” You said, confused, but still understanding his words.

“There’s a surgical option, however,” he stopped speaking and looked up to your eyes, nearly pleading you to take this seriously. “It won’t give you much more time.”

Keeping calm, You asked the question you were dying to hear. “Am I going to die?”

It seemed a bit morbid, but the doctor didn’t seem fazed. “Yes.”

The doctor was silent. He didn’t want to tell you and it was obvious. It might be because you knew him personally outside of the hospital, but right now, he just looked at you with eyes of worry. “If you get the surgery, you’ll have about one good year. At most.” He murmured, bringing his gaze back down to the papers. “But still, it won’t be an enjoyable year.”

“And if I don’t get the surgery?” You questioned, playing with your hands in your lap nervously. You had a feeling he was going to tell you to get the surgery and not worry about time, but what he said sent chills down your spine.

“Three months. Maybe four.” He sighed, flipping through the papers. “Please think about this, you’re going to suffer great pain if you don’t decide on surgery.”

“I couldn’t get off enough days for surgery” You said, calmly.

The doctor looked dumbfounded. “But I—I think this is much more serious than missing a bit of work.”

You couldn’t think. Maybe it was the tumor making you think that You couldn’t, but you were overwhelmed. You tried to keep your calm, and stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back behind you. “You seem like a real doctor.” You said to him with a smile.

He was a real one, but he was also a writer, and you were his editor. You couldn’t help but feel like this was all some sort of joke. It wasn’t, though, and he didn’t laugh. “Just make sure you get your writing in on time.” You said, forcing a smile. “Then,”

You started to walk away and out of the room when he called out to you again. “I trust you to make the right decision, whatever way it is for you. But please, if you decide surgery, come here or call as soon as possible.”

Now out of the room, you walked down the corridor and towards the atrium. The words the doctor said hit you straight through the heart. You didn’t want the surgery. You had too much work to do. You wouldn’t be able to. You might as well enjoy whatever time you have in life.

“Glioblastoma..” You muttered under your breath. “Glioblastoma..”

As you kept saying that treacherous word over and over again, You must’ve not of been paying attention to where you were walking. You bumped into someone in a white doctors coat, and as he caught you in his arms, your heart beat a bit faster as you looked up to his face.

What kind of..face?

Sure, he was beautiful. His eyes were sharp, and his lips looked soft you nearly reached out to touch them. His hair was some sort of dark blue..maybe green? Possibly even black. It was the kind of color the human eye would have difficulty deciphering. He was stunning. But as stunning as he was, when he opened his mouth, he knew it too. “I know I’m handsome. But I’m busy.” He smirked, and lifted you back up to your feet and walked away.

You watched him walk, his footsteps making little pit-pats on the tile floor. He was even attractive from the back as his white coat flowed behind him.

Breaking out of your funk, you continued to walk towards the reception desk to check out. “Hi, I’m Y/L/N, Y/N checking out.”

Just as you finished your sentence, sirens started blaring right outside the entrance door, and paramedics rushed in with multiple stretchers, sending the people around staring to worry about what happened. On the tv next to the desk, it showed on the news that there was a large-scale stabbing. He stabbed seven people, and all of them were rushed to this hospital. And well, you guess this included the perpetrator as well.

You gritted your teeth. “That crazy—“

“Mam? Are you going to pay?” The receptionist called out to you, and you brought your attention back to her.

“Ah, yes..”

Looking at the bill, it was nearly seven-hundred dollars. Your eyes widened and you nearly said some things You shouldn’t say. “Crazy—“

“What?” The lady tilted her head at you, her eyes squinting.

“Ah, never mind.” You looked around the room. “Can I pay this in monthly installments?”

The lady started to type on her computer. “For how many months?”

The doctor’s words flooded back into your mind when she said the word “month”. It reminded you that you would only have a few of those to live…and it was strange to think you don’t have longer. Just an hour ago you were living your life like normal, thinking you’d have forever to go. Truth is, life isn’t permanent. And it’s only a matter of time when you get a death sentence.

Smiling, you just said the only amount of time you have. “For three months, please.”

Back in the emergency room, Jimin stood in the midst of all the injuries, watching the stretchers roll in one by one.

Not yet. He thought to himself, watching a stretcher with a man bleeding heavily. He couldn’t help them. It was their fate.

Just then, another stretcher rolled in. This time, it was followed by multiple paramedics and he was put onto an ER bed.

There he is.

Since Jimin was dressed up in a hospital coat, the paramedic started to explain the situation. “He’s the perpetrator. He tried to kill himself on the scene. The police are on their way.”

He nodded, and turned to his right, where a nurse was coming to tend to the patient. She noticed that he didn’t have a badge with his name on it, and blinked at him. “Excuse me, which department are you—“

He interrupted her by fixing the sleeve of her top, and she stared at him right into his eyes. Big mistake. He stared back, gazing deeply into her as if compelling her. He was.

Her eyes widened as he didn’t even need to say any words for her to listen to him.

Smirking at her, Jimin leaned in closer. “Pull the curtain around the perpetrator. I need you to make sure no one but the police can enter.” He demanded, staring intently at her until she answered.

“Yes doctor.”

He smirked again as she walked away, and made his way back to the man who didn’t deserve to die after hurting all of those people. It wasn’t fair.

The man was heavily bleeding from the stab wound he made himself of his neck, and laid lifelessly as Jimin neared. “Open your eyes, prick.”

As if on command, the man’s eyes pierced awake, getting a blurry image of Jimin standing over him with a frown.

He laid there without speaking as he nervously looked at Jimin, who wasn’t helping him at all. “Ah, I see. You think you are something, eh?” He sneered, a smile resting on his face. “We’ll I’m the one who’s something. You’re nothing.”

He leaned closer to the man. “It feels as if you parked in my goddamn parking spot. A horrible park job, by the way. Totally ruined my mood.”

He let out a few groans and he tried to look away, but couldn’t seem to.

Annoyed, Jimin had enough. He reached out his hand and choked the man, gritting his teeth. “Move your fucking car.”

The man was confused, he hasn’t parked anywhere. He realized that it wasn’t a car he was talking about. It was the action he did. Doom. He brought doom on peoples lives and well, that was jimin’s job.

He choked him still, the man’s hands coming to grasp onto Jimin’s pleading to let go.

“See, doom isn’t your job. It’s mine. You were completely careless.” He hissed, wiping his eyebrow with his free hand.

A smile dawned on his face. “So I’m gonna be just as careless.”

The man grabbed onto Jimin’s white coat, blood smearing onto it. “I’m going to make you pay for taking my parking place.” He nearly growled, and focused his attention to the man’s neck wound, healing it as he groaned in pain. He didn’t deserve to die. To get away with what he did.

The man let go of his grip on Jimin when he realized he had been healed, and stared up at him in shock, holding onto his neck and panicking.

Jimin smirked, and turned around as if to walk away, but had a sudden thought.

“Ah, one more thing.” Jimin said, turning around to face the man, who was clutching his neck. “There’s something that’s much more dreadful than doom.”

Silence took over the space they were in, the man still gasping for air and Jimin having his arms crossed over his chest with a smile.

“Life.”

At that, he abruptly turned and was about to leave, when the police moved the curtain. “We’re the police.”

Smirking, Jimin looked over at the criminal.

The criminal groans and cried, watching Jimin fade from his view, his smirk never ceasing.

He walked away, proudly, leaving the police behind to do the justice.

No one gets away with taking his job.

No one.

On a balcony of the hospital, a tall man stood, overlooking the view of the city. He wore hospital clothes, and slippers that seemed to be too small for him. As he heard footsteps nearing him, he knew who it was. “You’re here?”

“What are you doing?” Jimin asked him, walking up next to him to overlook as well.

He looked over at him, noticing the large blood stain obviously visible on the white coat. “You could’ve at least changed.”

Jimin huffed. “I didn’t so I could show you it.”

He then hit himself in the spot where the blood was, and it began to disappear as if it was never there. “Some kind of god you are.” He muttered, leaning up against the balcony’s railing. “Are to tired of this hospital life, too? You have the whole world in your hands.”

The man scoffed, running his hand through his shortly cropped brown hair. “You try being sick.”

“There you go again, acting all pitiful.” Jimin smiled, looking towards him.

They both looked out to the skyline, where the sun was nearly setting. The sky had a bit of and orange hue to it, reflecting against the buildings.

“I feel like a gardener.” Namjoon smirked, still looking away from Jimin. “I’m always planting and watering. Wishing it will all grow.”

He then turned to Jimin. “But not all of them sprout. And some that do, can be poisonous plants. Some medicinal herbs. Who knows.”

He was talking about the earth. Joon was a god. He was the reason Jimin existed. It felt strange that his fate was all because of him.

“But..” Joon carried off, turning away. “The garden doesn’t belong to the gardener.”

Catching him off guard, Jimin furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what am I? In this garden of yours.” He asked him seriously, hoping to get some kind of assurance that he wasn’t only living to bring doom to the world.

“You’re a butterfly.” Namjoon said, smiling.

Jimin scoffed. “Until when? How long will I be a butterfly?”

He was inderectly asking how long will he have to live as a death-bringer. A walking ticking time bomb that was never able to live amongst human kind, only to watch destruction that was brought upon by him. He didn’t even mean to do the things he did most of the time, and unhappiness just occurred around him. It was like the would would drain if color just by the sight of him.

Namjoon stared at Jimin, tilting his head. “Forever.” He sinfully smiled, noticing Jimin’s frown as he said it.

Jimin scoffed again. “Damn man, you’re so cruel. Even on someone’s birthday.”

Joon’s happy demeanor shifted. “Birthday? Someone?” He shook his head. “Since when were you born? You were never born. And you were never a human, so how could you be someone?”

Jimin felt his heart crack a bit. He shouldn’t be upset about that statement, but he was. He silently looked at Joon, waiting for him to keep going.

Joon just sighed, and rested his elbows on the railing. “Go, be someone’s wish today. It’s the only day you could do it.”

“Even my birthday isn’t for me.” He said, bitterly, and feeling bitter as well. He just wanted to have a purpose in life, and not it being doom. Destruction. Pain. Irritation.

“It’s for the humans.” Joon smiled.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Those damn flowers.”

Humans were the only reason of his existence. And he wanted it to be over. He didn’t want to live anymore, especially with the way he was living. The only way he could cease to exist was if the humans did, too.

They both stood there quietly, looking over the world as if it’s in the palm of their hands.

[tinyshe]

[remember to save and share as this information is being suppressed and censored]

Awareness Foundation COVID-19 Roundtable

Story at-a-glance

The Awareness Foundation COVID-19 Roundtable is a sign of wakefulness and hope during times of censorship and suppression

It includes honest opinions and expertise from 14 high-profile doctors, including myself, with a focus on the potential dangers being posed by the experimental mass COVID-19 vaccination campaign

Experts discuss how COVID-19 vaccines may cause a coming tsunami of hospitalization and deaths, along with debilitating chronic disease, early signs of which are already appearing

All agree that there’s enough evidence to halt the global COVID-19 vaccination campaign, either for everyone or — particularly — for those to whom the vaccines pose the greatest risks with little to no benefit, namely children and young people, pregnant women and those who have already recovered from COVID-19

In this time of extreme censorship and suppression of scientific debate, The Awareness Foundation COVID-19 Roundtable,1 hosted by Katherine Macbean of the Awareness Foundation, is a sign of wakefulness and hope. It includes honest opinions and expertise from 14 high-profile doctors, including myself, with a focus on the potential dangers being posed by the experimental mass COVID-19 vaccination campaign.

Each has faced censorship when speaking out, and though there are some differing viewpoints, all agree that there’s enough evidence to halt the global COVID-19 vaccination campaign, either for everyone or — particularly — for those to whom the vaccines pose the greatest risks with little to no benefit. This includes children and young people, pregnant women and those who have already recovered from COVID-19.

I highly recommend setting aside two hours to watch this roundtable discussion in full — it’s a rarity in the present day to hear such candor and open debate. However, I’ve also compiled some of the highlights below, which include warnings about the dangers these experimental vaccines may pose to society.

A Tsunami of Chronic Disease and Death

Will COVID-19 vaccines cause a coming tsunami of hospitalization and deaths, along with debilitating chronic disease? One expert on the panel, Dr. Peter McCullough, an internist, cardiologist, epidemiologist and full professor of medicine at Texas A&M College of Medicine in Dallas with a master's degree in public health, said he’s focused more on the short-term adverse effects from the shot. These nonfatal injuries fall into four major categories:

Neurologic

Immunologic

Hematologic

Cardiac

“What I'm seeing is just the late emergence of various neurologic syndromes. And it probably depends on where the seeding occurs of, uh, of, you know, the uptake of the genetic material in the brain or support cells in the brain, but there's a whole variety of cerebral, cerebellar, even peripheral nervous system abnormalities,” McCullough said, adding:2

“I've seen it in my clinic and they seem to be emerging three, four or five, six months later after vaccination … So I'm getting increasingly alarmed here that this is not just a simple one- or two-day problem. And so there's great concern, particularly in younger kids that over a course of three or six or nine months, they'll end up with heart failure or cardiac death.

… What I see is, potentially from these signals, not mass death, but just a large number of Americans and people around the world with a new chronic disease of some sort of neurodegenerative disease or cardiac disease. The patients that I'm aware of, these problems seem to be quite disabling.”

Another panel member, Dr. Vladimir Zelenko, who has treated thousands of COVID-19 patients using hydroxychloroquine (HCQ), azithromycin and zinc sulfate,3 with great success, has a different take. He believes there is a very distinct possibility that everyone who receives the COVID jab may die from complications in the next two to three years:4

“I'm just going to give you the perspective of a clinician who deals with people that are dying … 4 million dead people can testify to the unique clinical syndrome to put them there. Basically, a natural animal virus was changed to infect humans, and then its lethality was augmented to cause blood clots and lung damage.

And in concept here, we're dealing with a Hitler/Stalin type of mentality with weapons of mass destruction and the way to win this war — and it's very winnable — is in the following manner. It's a narrative war. So we need to spread the following two ideas … Don't give into the fear and choose to destroy yourself, No. 1. No. 2, treat your problem early. If these two ideas could penetrate the fixed calls of humanity, then it's really the end of this crisis.”

Dr. Tess Lawrie, whose company The Evidence-Based Medicine Consultancy has worked with the World Health Organization, agreed that the vaccines are unsafe for children and adults alike:5

“They're actually not safe for anybody, and it's clear. The databases are screaming. The databases are early warning systems, and the databases around the world are screaming that we are facing a tsunami of chronic disease.”

Inflammatory Disorders, Cancer Markers on the Rise

Dr. Richard Urso, an ophthalmologist in Houston, Texas, is also concerned:6

“Early on, we were seeing things, mostly thrombotic, but later, as we get into two and three months [after vaccination], we’re seeing a lot of inflammatory issues. I’ve had a host of people with inflammatory ocular disorders, as well as having orbital inflammatory diseases.

I typically don’t see this rash number of people. For people who don’t know, my clinical practice is probably one of the largest in the United States, if not the largest, and we get a tremendous number, in volume, of patients who come through our office. And I’m seeing late inflammatory disease, and it responds quite well to inflammatory medicines.”

Some have brushed off the notion that the virus could be a bioweapon because it didn’t cause sudden, mass deaths. But this is a misconception. A successful bioweapon can be something that causes long-term, progressive, chronic-type diseases, noted Dr. Richard Fleming, a physicist, nuclear cardiologist and attorney.

In 1994, Fleming introduced the theory of inflammation and vascular disease, which explains why these inflammable thrombotic diseases, and the causes, including viruses like SARS-CoV-2, produce disease states like COVID-19.

“As I laid out in the theory in 1994,” Fleming said, “you're going to see an inflammable thrombotic response. That’s the primary thing that people are noticing, be that heart disease or retinol disease.” The other factor is a prion component of this virus, “which is also a chronic smoldering disease.” Fleming noted:7

“If you're going to actually develop something that's going to have a massive effect on your ‘enemy,’ your goal isn't to kill the enemy any more than it was the goal of the United States in Vietnam to kill the enemy.

The goal was to maim the enemy so that more of the enemy would be taken off the field. What we've seen is something that's been implemented that is an ideal by a weapon designed to demoralize and to feed people the enemy, and to cause a slow smoldering process.”

Fleming cited data from Pfizer that showed in the 12 to 14 days following the second injection of the Pfizer mRNA vaccine, elderly individuals had a 2.6-fold increase in symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease. “This is an inflammable thrombotic process affecting every organ system and prion diseases that not only affect the brain, but also affect the heart and other vital organs of the body.”8

Dr. Ryan Cole, a Mayo Clinic-trained, triple-boarded pathologist, also said that he’s seeing potential cancer-causing changes, including decreases in receptors that keep cancer in check, and other adverse events post-vaccine:9

“I’m seeing countless adverse reactions … it's really post-vaccine immunodeficiency syndrome … I'm seeing a marked increase in herpetic family viruses, human papilloma viruses in the post-vaccinated. I'm seeing a marked uptick in a laboratory setting from what I see year over year of an increase of usually quiescent diseases.

In addition to that — and correlation is not causation — but in the last six months I have seen — you know, I read a fair amount of women's health biopsies — about a 10- to 20-fold increase of uterine cancer compared to what I see on an annual basis. Now we know that the CD8 cells are one of our T-cells to keep our cancers in check.

I am seeing early signals … what I'm seeing is an early signal in the laboratory setting that post-vaccinated patients are having diseases that we normally don't see at rates that are already early considerably alarming.”

Do the Vaccinated Pose a Risk to the Unvaccinated?

Sherri Tenpenny has heard thousands of anecdotal reports that something is being transmitted from the vaccinated to the unvaccinated:10

“We're injecting a synthetically made messenger RNA and strips of synthetically made double-stranded DNA by different mechanisms, and if that transmission goes to the other person, they don't get COVID, they don't get COVID symptoms that we typically recognize as COVID. They get bleeding, they get blood clots, they get headaches, they get heart disease, they get all of these different things.”

Dr. Robert Malone, the inventor of the mRNA and DNA vaccine core platform technology,11 doesn’t agree that anything is being “passed” from vaccinated people to others, adding that while it may be possible for mRNA to be shed through breast milk to nursing infants, possibly causing gastrointestinal symptoms, anything else is just speculation.

Others suggest it could be more of a hormonal or pheromonal issue than some type of “shedding,” which may help explain why women are also reporting abnormalities with their menstrual cycles following vaccination. Dr. Lee Merritt, an orthopedic and spinal surgeon, brought up a 2015 report by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, which looked at “shedding” in mRNA vaccines, which they call gene therapies.12 She explained:13

“They talk about, they're very concerned about the shedding — and they do call it shedding, whether that's technically correct … And they tell you in this thing who to protect, they tell you to protect neonates, immunocompromised people and elderly with bad immune systems.

They also say, we don't know what's being shed. They say it could be genetic material. It could be activated viruses and it could be a recombinant product. This is what's in the FDA data.”

Immediately Halt the Vaccine Program

All of the experts agreed that evidence suggests the mass COVID-19 vaccination program should be halted. “There is enough evidence now just from the European Medicines Agency alone, 1.7 million in reported adverse events and 17,000 deaths that the four clinical trials should be stopped,” said Dolores Cahill, a professor at the school of medicine at the University College Dublin.

“They are detailed in the classifications, cardiac related immune, uh neuropathological and fertility associated.

So I think we all have duties as doctors and scientists to say, if something is causing more harm than good, which this clearly is, we should, I think, unify and called for a stop to the clinical trials worldwide, and also that any individual prime ministers and regulators that continue the trial would have to be liable for any adverse events.”

Malone believes that the vaccines have merit for certain populations, namely the elderly, but is advocating for prohibition on vaccination for infants and newborns, through young adults up to ages 30 to 35. “And specifically,” he said, “I'm trying to stop this crazy effort to force universities and schools to have universal vaccination.” In addition, he added:

“We can argue about risk-benefit for elderly, but the risk-benefit ratio for newborns through young adults is explicitly clear. It is upside down. It's not subtle there. You're going to kill more. And, and personally, I also feel that we can dig in really hard on the reproductive health in pregnancy, in women, that there just aren't data to support the use of this product because of the potential female reproductive health consequences.”

Dr. Urso added the other significant population that has far more to risk than gain from vaccination: the COVID-recovered. “The immune status should be more important than the vaccination status,” he said.

“So I think there's three groups that are easily winnable arguments [to avoid vaccination]: pregnant women, the young and … the COVID recovered … I mean, that's a, that's a lousy thing to do to get all these people that are COVID recovered, good immune status and give them a vaccination for something they don't need.”

How to End Fear and Optimize Your Immune System

The roundtable participants are planning to continue their discussion offline to formally request an end to mass COVID-19 vaccination for the mentioned groups as well as create a statement to end government interference with the practice of medicine. Many physicians have had their hands tied when it comes to prescribing early treatments for COVID-19, like ivermectin. As Fleming noted:

“… The reason why people die with COVID is because they're not receiving treatment, so I would argue that we need to make certain that people, the physicians, are allowed to treat without government interference and that we put a hold on the dissemination of the vaccines at this point in time, until we can further investigate them safely.”

Dr. Sam White, whose reputation has been under attack since he released a video on social media detailing his concerns about the suppression of the science around therapeutics in the U.K., added:

“We could end the fear overnight by allowing access to therapeutics and changing the mainstream media narrative that there's no need for masks. There's no need for lock downs. This is more treatable than flu, as far as I'm concerned, we're just not allowed to do any treatment. If the public knew that it changes the narrative overnight.”

While we work on changing the narrative, or at least opening up discussions of science outside of the narrative, it’s always a good idea to optimize your immune system.

Toward this end, I recommend optimizing your vitamin D levels to 60 to 80 nanograms per milliliter and improving your metabolic flexibility so your body can seamlessly transition between burning fats and glucose as your primary fuel. One way to do this is to condense your eating window to about six to eight hours a day.

Even without changing your calories, this can make a profound difference, but from a perspective of choosing the right foods, one of the most important strategies that I’ve learned over my four decades of studying this is to avoid processed foods, nearly all of which are loaded with vegetable, or seed, oils.

These oils have a high content of linoleic acid, which contributes to mitochondrial instability and increases susceptibility to oxidative stress. This, in turn, increases immune dysfunction and mitochondrial dysfunction. These are simple strategies I recommend, as they're useful to improve your overall health and resiliency to fight any infection.

As mentioned, I highly recommend listening to the discussion in full to get all of the details that weren’t included here. At the next meeting, the group plans to discuss how to move forward to challenge the narrative in greater detail, including fighting back against the organizations, such as the Wellcome Trust and the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, that are heavily investing in this.

[awkwardshanandagins]

It’s A Good Day To Feel Sorry for Myself

Friday, June 30, 2017, was a day I’ll always remember.  I wish I was saying that because something amazing happened in my life, but unfortunately, it was not amazing.  It was, however, life changing.

My lovely friend and hair dresser, Julia, worked me into a 7:00 a.m. appointment.  I told her a few days before that I was going to postpone getting my hair done since I’m not working and I don’t know if or when short term disability will kick in.  My pubey gray hairs were popping out all over my damn head but without knowing if I’m going to be paid, I didn’t want to spend money where I didn’t have to.  She wasn’t having it.  She knew how terrible I was feeling and told me I would feel better with pretty hair. S he convinced me to still come in and said she wouldn’t charge.  She’s one of my people.  She’s one you know will lift your spirits when you’re having a hard time crawling out of your black hole.  Not only was she not charging me, she worked me in when she didn’t really have an opening.  So 7:00 a.m. it was.

I always enjoy my time with Julia.  She is friends with my sister and my parents and she knows everything about our family.  She’s easy to talk to and always listens while I bitch about my problems.  Hair stylists are also therapists so if you can’t afford both, pick a hair stylist, you’ll get therapy too!

I was a nervous wreck on Friday.  It was day three into my three to five day wait for my MRI results.   Were they really going to make me go five days? That means I would have sat all weekend long just letting this shit eat away at me.

I had a doctor’s appointment that day at 10:10 with my OBGYN.  It was the post op to the laparoscopy I had the month prior.  I got there early, per usual.  My whole life is pretty much me showing up early to things and waiting.  It’s a problem.  Anyways, I’m checking in at the little kiosk Kaiser offers now and my phone rings. I could tell by the number that it was Kaiser calling me.  Dear lord, here we go.  It was Dr. Miller, my optometrist wondering if I had a few minutes.  I continued to check in while his voice rang through my head.  Honestly, I don’t even know how I checked myself in, I was not even paying attention to what I was doing.  Lucky for me, I’ve been spending so much time at Kaiser it was like second nature.  Dr. Miller informed me my MRI results came back and he did find white matter on my brain.  I’m using the term “white matter” loosely here.  I feel like that’s what he said but I don’t fully remember.  Basically, he found lesions throughout my brain.  He said he’d be referring me to a neurologist and they’d be calling me to make an appointment.  The lesions are what they look for to diagnose MS.  Don’t worry he assured me, it doesn’t mean I have it and the neurologist would be able to give me more answers.  Don’t worry? Okay sure.  He was able to diagnose the optic neuritis from the MRI so that was a definite.  Wooo!  One answer.  Finally, one definite answer. Also, don’t worry? You, sir, can suck it!  How do you not worry?  If anyone can answer that about any situation ever, I would be eternally grateful.  Anyone?  Bueller?

How do you not worry when so far you have every symptom of MS that you’ve seen.  First sign, optic neuritis?  Check!  Lesions on your brain shown in a MRI? Check!  Every other symptom I’ve been reading about for the last week and a half?   Check check check! It’s MS; I’ve already diagnosed myself.  Thanks, doctors, for starting to catch up.

I felt like I was punched in the gut.  I was now standing by the elevator which would take me up to my OBGYN appointment, only I wasn’t getting on.  Nope, instead I was standing in everyone’s way not realizing I was being the person I hate.  I cannot stand when people act as if only their presence matters and you can fucking walk around.   Once I realized I was blocking a man in a wheelchair, I stepped out of the way.  “So do I have it or not have it?”  I’m sure I sounded completely panicked and breathy.  It could really go either way he said.  He ended the call by telling me to write everything down because the neurologist would pretty much interrogate me.  He also informed me he couldn’t fill out the FMLA paperwork and to take it to the neurologist.

My boss had pretty much forced me into taking time off earlier in the week.  I’m pretty sure it was God working through her.  He knew I needed to not be working and that I wouldn’t step back myself so he shoved me into it.  Not working relieved stress over the past two days, but dealing with HR and FMLA added it’s own level of stress.

Checked in for my appointment, I sat down in the waiting room as far away from people as I could.  My eyes were welted with tears and I’m sure my face was as white as a sheet.  I sat there thinking what this means for my life.  Should I call my husband? Or maybe text him? I was frozen. I didn’t do anything.  I just sat there, staring at a wall, mouth half opened with a glazed over look in my eyes.  I definitely looked crazy at this point.  That’s okay, crazy keeps people away.

The nurse, Lisa, probably the kindest soul I had encountered in some time, called me back. “How are you?”  I’m okay. Lies! I was far from okay but it is not socially acceptable to verbally diarrhea all over someone when they ask how you are. They are asking to be nice, not because they actually want to know. “Well, how have you been feeling?” She looked back at me, which by this time we were under some awesome fluorescent lights which make everyone look like a fucking nightmare and said “oh, you don’t look like you feel well.”

I completely broke down and not just because we were now standing next to the scale I knew my fat ass had to get on.   Poor Lisa.   She was so kind.   She got me kleenex while waiting for me to pull my shit together.   I somehow got a few words out and let her know I just got some scary news and hadn’t had time to process.  She rubbed my back while I sniffled and snotted all over the place for a few more seconds. It’s not unlike me to cry in public.  I’m a fucking disaster like 90% of the time.  At least this time I had good reason.  I let her know the news I had gotten and her face looked genuinely sad for me.

The table was unusually low to the ground this time.  I thought to myself that Dr. Barton would have to kneel if he was going to get face to face with my vagina. How odd.  We went through the normal questions while tears continued to stream down my face.  I had at least pulled myself together enough to talk.  She told me to get undressed from the waist down and the doctor would be in shortly.  I thought today was just for talking, but lucky me, I get to unleash the vagina.

Dr. Barton came in and immediately patted me on the back.  He said Lisa informed him of what’s going on and that he was so sorry.  He sat in front of me, which I was at like chest height from the damn table being so low.  Awkward.  He told me how his mom had MS and that if she were alive today, she would have been a different woman with all the advances they’ve made with treatments.  We talked about my pain I was still having.  Pelvic pain has been a constant in my life so I assumed the surgery just didn’t do what we had hoped.  He was concerned there were other issues.  He pushed around on my abdomen while giving me the ol’ one-two POW.  You know, the two finger exam.  Everything hurt.   Everything. He got the cold metal rod out.  My favorite.  That felt like a fucking dagger being jolted into my uterus.  I had my head turned towards the wall, tears still streaming down my face.  He told me he wanted to look at my ovaries since he did the ovarian drilling; he wanted to make sure they were healing appropriately.  Out comes the giant wand.  I seriously wanted to cry just looking at it.  Oh that’s right, I was already crying.  Holy balls that thing hurt.

“Well you have a large cyst on your left ovary.”  Cool.  Do you want to just punch me in the fucking face while you’re at it?  Just add it to the list of reasons I’m feeling sorry for myself and let’s move on.  He let me know it definitely wasn’t there during surgery and had developed since.  He assured me this is good news because tumors don’t usually show up this fast so it had to be a normal cyst.  He said he’d watch it to be sure but he was almost certain it would go away on it’s own.  If not, it would require more surgery.  That’s a fun thought right now.  I really hope at this point, you can read the sarcasm in my head.

Not only was the cyst present, he was sure I had a uterine infection from the surgery.  He apologized that he caused that but said sometimes it just happens, even with the sterile room and tools used during surgery.  He felt genuinely bad.  He knew it was just adding to my sadness.  I assured him it’s not his fault, simply what my body does.  I got an infection when I had a uterine biopsy as well.  That PA let the infection go for a few months though.  At least he was catching this now.  He said my pain is from a mix of the cyst and the infection.  He ordered an antibiotic shot to give me for the infection and quickly realized he couldn’t give it to me because of my penicillin allergy.   Instead, I got a lovely 14 day supply of doxycyclene.  Fun!  Now I can’t even drink my problems away and to top it off, a yeast infection will be in my near future no matter how much yogurt I eat or probiotics I take.  I’m convinced at this point my body hates me.

Finished up the appointment with a urine test and a super long line at the pharmacy.  Dr. Barton scheduled me an appointment for the following Monday to check in on the infection.  If I am still in pain by then, he’s going to add another antibiotic into the mix.  The optometrist’s office called and had scheduled me a follow up appointment as well, for the end of July to check my vision.  The neurologist’s office called me while I was in line at the pharmacy. They scheduled me for July 17th.  Why in the world would they make people wait that long?  I’m pretty sure they are here to torture me.  Too dramatic?

I had a lot of time just sitting by myself throughout the 2+ hours at Kaiser.  I tend to be a dramatic person, I’m aware of this.  Usually by now, I would have texted and called all my family members to tell them what is wrong with me but today was different.  This was a lot.  I needed time to process and gather my thoughts.  I still had that panicky dumb face on throughout it all but it kept people far away from me so I didn’t even try to change it.

As soon as I got in my car, I let go.  I let the tears gush out.   There had been a very slow and steady trickle but now it was like fucking Niagara Falls.  I pulled it together quick.  There was a cute little family by my car looking around for their car.  They had no idea where they parked.  I sympathized.  I’m usually that person.

First call I made was to Paul.  I told him what was going on while I sobbed. Sobbing, driving, talking on the phone, all with only one eye.   I’ve gotten pretty good at this over the last week.  By the end of the call, I could hear him crying on his end.  This shattered my heart.  I cannot stand to hear my husband cry.  He has the softest and kindest soul of anyone I know.  I hate that he was hurting.  I assured him I would be okay and everything would be fine.  I like taking care of other people, it helps take the focus off myself.

I called my mom next.  She and my dad had just recently retired and were on a trip to Maine with my aunts and uncles.  They almost didn’t even go because of everything going on but I assured them they needed to go and have some fun.  There was absolutely nothing they could do so there was no point in canceling.  My mom was so sad at everything I had to tell her.  She wept on the phone and promised me she didn’t do cocaine while she was pregnant with me.  This has been an ongoing joke in my family for sometime.  We have sick humor.  I don’t know about anyone else, but I cannot handle when my parents cry.  It breaks my heart to hear them so sad.  I promised them I would be fine and they needed to enjoy the rest of their trip.

I called my sister and told her what was going on.  She and my parents are my biggest support after Paul.  She told me she’d be over to pick me up shortly because I needed to get out of the house and be around people.  As much as I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide, she was right.  We went and walked around Olde Town which is only a few blocks from my house.  We took her two youngest to the candy store and she and I got coffee at this cute little place called Global Goods.  We sat and talked and laughed.  My sister and I can always laugh.  We are our own biggest fans.  We find ourselves hilarious.  We went to the Army Navy Surplus store where I bought a pair of sweats I wanted to live in for the next few months.  I won’t actually allow myself to.  However, I am wearing them at this moment.  We all need a good pair of fat pants.   Then we headed to the library to check out some books and movies.  The library is my favorite place again.  I stopped visiting the library when I was super young.  I had been buying books I want to read over the past couple years which is so dumb. Why buy them when you can check them out for free?  Especially now that I’m not working.

I checked out a book on MS.  My sister opened it up and just so happened to start reading at a point where it said “it’s okay to feel sorry for yourself.”  Phew! Good thing because I’m in that stage hardcore.

I’m thankful my sister picked me up.  I didn’t know how much I needed her but I did.  She also ended up waxing my eyebrows which I didn’t even know how much I needed. They were quickly turning into a uni.  I spent the rest of that evening crying and shoving my face with pizza.   Probably should have eaten healthier at that moment but cooking was the last thing I wanted to do.

This has definitely not been one of my better weekends.  As much as I’ve been keeping myself busy, the crazy and usually depressing thoughts just pop back up at the most inconvenient times.  I know it will all be okay and in a sense, I am relieved at the news.  I have not felt well or even right for a few years.  Doctors have made me feel crazy as they’ve continually told me that I’m fine because my blood work was normal.  Obviously, not everything shows in your blood.  I should have pushed harder.  You definitely have to be your own advocate when it comes to doctors and I had let myself down the past couple years.

As devastating as the news is, I can see the silver lining.  There is now light at the end of this very dark tunnel.  I had given up hope that they would ever figure out why I always felt so terrible.  I had accepted the fact that I was probably just crazy and a hypochondriac.  I had accepted the fact that I was just always going to feel this way.  I no longer have to accept that.  With a diagnosis comes a treatment plan.  I can feel like a normal person again and that is something I never thought would come.

This is just yet another bump in the road on our infertility journey.  Life has some unexpected twists and turns but we’ll ride it out because we know God has good things in store for us, even though we may not understand his timing of it all.

[fqtoxicity]

Bittersweet Validation: Thoughts on my Muscle Biopsy, has been published on My Quin Story

New Post has been published on http://www.myquinstory.info/muscle-biopsy-experience/

Bittersweet Validation: Thoughts on my Muscle Biopsy

“The chances of the biopsy showing anything are pretty low, if at all,” the neurologist said to me as he walked out the door.   I looked unknowingly at my wife as his words caused me to briefly reflect on the history that brought me here.

My symptoms started in 2007 after taking 750 mgs of Levaquin for 21 days.  No, I did not have a shotgun reaction where all the symptoms come on at once, but instead my symptoms all came on slowly.  But, looking back, the contrasting before and after Levaquin could not be more stark:

Before and After

Before Levaquin:  I had a career in law enforcement and I was physically large and very active. At 6’ 4” and 243 lbs I would bicycle, on average, 7 -10 miles a days, and bench press 300 lbs. And no, I wasn’t some muscle-bound knucklehead either.  My I.Q. ranged everywhere from 145 to 160 depending on which test (Stanford–Binet through Raven’s Matrices) and I had completed two college degrees in disparate fields.  The worst health problem I experienced was the occasional knee problem, from and old track injury in high school, and GERD, from drinking too much coffee at work.

After Levaquin:  Tendinitis, tendinosis, small fiber neuropathy, mild denervation of distal muscles,  two heart attacks (yes two), gastroparesis, chronic fatigue, and mitochondrial dysfunction.  These are the main diagnoses and does not include the numerous other small issues that affect us post floxing.

Big difference, isn’t it? Even the heart issues I know were caused by Levaquin.  You could be thinking that I could have had heart disease brought about by lifestyle or genetics not brought on by the Levaquin, but for the most part, you would be wrong. You see, prior to my floxing, I was provably healthy. I did not drink, smoke, or engage in otherwise naughty health habits. Arguably, you may have found me a bit boring (not that I didn’t engage in a bit of revelry in my younger days) but I could readily attest that I was not diabetic, I ate healthy, and like I mentioned above had a routine exercise schedule.

In addition, four years before my floxing I had a nuclear cardio stress test and heart scan, because I wanted to increase my high intensity workouts. Being in my early forties, my doctor wanted me to have the test to rule out any abnormalities, such as arterial heart blockages (remember Jim Fixx) before I increased my high intensity workouts. The result was a clean bill of health, when it came to my cardio system, but I digress.

I have had the blessing of having two excellent primary care physicians over the last decade, with the first one being spectacular (no, he was not the one who floxed me, that was a urologist).  The second primary care, and also my current one,  is not completely ‘on board’ with the fluoroquinolone toxicity, but he agrees that in my case I was delivered a “one – two punch” where the Levaquin initiated some very unpleasant problems in my body.

Back to Neurology

Despite fasciculations, muscle fatigue, mild atrophy, and neuropathy, numerous EMG’s and NCV tests showed no abnormalities.  That changed somewhat in 2010 when my neurologist, frustrated he could not find anything, sent me to the University of Chicago’s Peripheral Neuropathy clinic.   Again my EMG & NCV came back negative, as did any other tests with reasons for my symptoms, except for one. The performed a nerve punch biopsy on my right thigh and ankle.  Send off to a lab called Therapath in New York, the results came back abnormal.

The nerve biopsy detected ‘significantly reduced small nerve fibers’ and they gave me diagnosis of peripheral neuropathy (polyneuropathy). Interestingly enough, the pathology on the tissue showed no amyloid deposits or micro-inflammation. One of the neurologists who did the nerve punch said the damage was indicative of a toxic exposure, such as seen with heavy metals, yet all my testing showed no exposure. Despite my suggestions and even protestations, no one at the University of Chicago, would even entertain the idea that Levaquin cause this damage.

My symptoms continued to progress with severe gastrointestinal problems manifesting and the diagnosis of Gastroparesis.

In 2013 a repeat EMG at my neurologist’s office started showing some subtle changes to my nervous system. Their EMG showed mild to moderate denervation of the in my distal muscles. During a follow up appointment to discuss the EMG findings, the specter of mitochondrial problems was brought up in the conversation and my neurologist suggested that I see a mitochondrial specialist.  Even he was puzzled due to my previously robust health. My primary care agreed based on my symptoms, but unfortunately my insurance company denied the referral, so I was left to work within my local system.

My primary care then referred me to the Illinois Neurological Institute (INI), located in Peoria Illinois, and covered by my insurance. There I saw a neurologist who specialized in muscular dystrophy.  I saw this neurologist several times before the option of a muscle biopsy was discussed.  This neurologist was skeptical of most of my suggestions and in general was skeptical that mitochondria problems could be behind the health problems I was experiencing. To me it was obvious, but to him, since I exhibited no signs of large motor problems commonly seen in neuromuscular pathologies, I was a puzzle.

The muscle biopsy that we discussed would be an invasive procedure.  It would be a deep open biopsy of vastus intermedius muscle of the left leg.  The procedure involve about a three inch incision where they would harvest about an inch-long strand of deep muscle fibers. The neurologist reiterated that because I did not have an elevated CPK, the likelihood of my muscle biopsy showing any abnormality was very slim.

Sources of Information

It was then I reached out to the United Mitochondrial Disease Foundation (UMDF), Mito Action, and the Mitochondrial Medicine Society (MitoSoc).  I was told by the UMDF that this biopsy holds the greatest promise for detecting mitochondrial problems over needle or punch biopsies.  I shared this information with my neurologist who again said that it more than likely would come back negative, so be prepared for the possibility.

The UMDF told me that an elevated CPK was not necessary to capture mitochondrial problems. I shared my concerns with my general practitioner told me that the neurologist, who has his expertise in muscular dystrophy, was viewing my case through the filter of his experience. Admittedly, my neurologist said that they do not see many mito cases (even though most neuromuscular disease are indeed mitochondrial based).

After several months of deliberation, mainly over fears of how I would tolerate the procedure, I decided to go ahead with the biopsy. Oddly, my insurance company factored into the decision.  They repeatedly denied my doctor’s request for genetic testing calling it ‘experimental’ and cost prohibitive.  Ironically, the muscle biopsy was going to cost much, much more than the genetic testing.

I had quite a bit of anxiety about the procedure since I do not metabolize drugs well since floxing, but I went ahead with the procedure on February 7th, 2017, a deep open muscle biopsy of the left vastus intermedius. I tolerated the procedure fairly good and was told that it would take several weeks to analyze the tissue.

The week before the procedure I am sure I became an annoyance to the neurosurgeon’s nurse.  I wanted to make sure that they performed the correct testing on the muscle tissue so I forwarded them lists of tests taken from the UMDF and MitoSoc websites and pestered them until I was sure that the pathologist was on the same page.

Finding a Culprit: Bittersweet Validation

After several weeks, I was contacted by my neurologist’s nurse who said the pathologist found some abnormalities. The pathologist said they did not find any red ragged fibers normally scene in mitochondrial disease but they did find cytochrome oxidase negative fibers which are indicative of mitochondrial dysfunction often seen in mutated or damaged mitochondria. They recommend the muscle tissue get sent off to a University lab for more in-depth testing which will take about 8 weeks.

Since then I have been researching the findings. I do know we are on the right track as the findings do explain my symptoms.  We just need to dig a little further in the genome and the mitochondrial metabolism to uncover some more answer.

After so many unremarkable tests, and so many years, some of the bigger pieces of the puzzle for me are starting to fall into place.  One floxy friend told me that the results must be ‘bittersweet validation’.   I guess that would be a good way of putting it.

If another floxy undergoes this type of procedure looking for answers, I would be interested in hearing their results and experiences.

Testing Resources:

http://www.mitosoc.org/tissue-testing

http://www.umdf.org/lab-evaluation/

[rilenerocks]

November, 2014

Michael had a cyst on his eyelid which was drained by our eye doctor. He also had a visit with the dermatologist who observed some odd tissue on the crown of his head and performed a biopsy which showed precancerous cells. She asked him to return in December for a second look. Hyper vigilance continues.

We welcomed Thanksgiving with stunned gratitude. After the 2013 holiday, we thought we’d spent our last favorite family holiday together. That previous November, we’d been told that Michael’s Merkel cell cancer had returned, scattered throughout his bones, and that absent treatment, his prognosis was 2-3 months. With treatment, perhaps he’d have a year. And here we were, past that year with the family gathering again in our home. Michael had weathered his chemo well but despite that, we knew that the cancer, which had been undetectable for 4 months, was now visible again in a few spots on his skeleton. Thus far, he remained asymptomatic. We’d managed to take a few special trips and were doing pretty well at living mindfully. But we were also tired and stressed. The anxiety of living from scan to scan had worn both of us down. Life outside Michael’s cancer hadn’t stopped either. My mother, aged 91, was now showing signs of dementia. Her life in assisted living was getting harder to manage as she regularly confused her medications, causing dizzying symptoms. She was also having wild diabetic episodes which required frequent trips to the ER. My sister and I were trying to manage her problems together, but as her power of attorney for health care, I needed to be present much of the time. I resented having to be away from home at all when Michael was struggling with the disappointment of his scan. In the midst of everything, I was reminded of what I’d learned as a much younger woman – during times of crisis it’s likely that people will become more like themselves rather than developing new and better responses to stress. That certainly applied to both Michael and me. When the family dispersed, he went into a dark, irritable space. Facing his mortality every day was wearing on him and withdrawal was one of his go-to life management techniques. Mine was to begin probing and pushing, getting it all out on the table, aggressively trying to dissect every feeling and every thought. Michael had frequently said drily throughout our lives, “would you mind removing your feet from my back?” Yes. I was usually impatiently stamping my feet at the finish line before Michael got out of the blocks. In the best of times we tolerated each other’s differences pretty well. These however, were not the best of times. Being angry and alienated from each other is truly a dreadful feeling when you know that time is so limited by disease. Neither one of us could allow too many days to pass before limping back to each other, trying to find our common ground so we could reunite and face whatever was coming next. There’s no manual for dealing with terminal illness. We just kept going, trying to manage ourselves and our relationship in the best possible way.

December, 2014 was an intense month. Michael went back to the dermatologist who destroyed more tissue on the top of his head with liquid nitrogen. My mother continued to deteriorate both mentally and physically. She was in and out of the hospital every few weeks. I realized that assisted living was about to become a thing of the past. In two years she’d gone from living with me to the partial care facility – now she seemed destined for a nursing home.

Meanwhile Michael had his December scan. Not only had the three spots which were radiated failed to respond but there were two new ones. He was still pain-free but we knew he needed to get some systemic treatment before the cancer became more widespread. I had sent out a dozen inquiries to researchers across the country who all felt like Michael’s best bet was the clinical trial for a PD-1 inhibitor rather than the possibility of using Tarceva and Zometa which might affect one of the mutations in his tumor tissue. A branch of that PD-1 trial was starting in January at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis, only a few hours away from home. We were desperate for him to get approved for that before there was a decline in his overall physical condition. The learning curve about clinical trials was steep. In our naïveté, we thought having a proven incurable disease targeted by the experimental therapy was enough to qualify. Instead there were rigorous standards involving previous treatments, blood count levels and in Michael’s case, what was the most challenging – evidence of measurable disease. We found out that bone metastases were not considered measurable disease; rather there needed to be soft tissue that could sized for potential shrinkage from the treatment. I still can’t understand the narrow parameters of a trial to treat a rare and incurable disease. However, our local radiation oncologist informed us that the scans he used to develop his radiation plan for those first three recurrent cancer spots showed soft tissue involvement along Michael’s rib. He gave us copies of those scans with the rib area highlighted. We managed to get an appointment to see the principal investigator for the St. Louis trial in mid-January.

In late December, we ran off to Starved Rock for a brief two day vacation, keeping up with the tradition we’d practiced for years. I left town with my mom still in the hospital. I was exhausted from trying to deal with the logistics of her life and the bureaucracy of both her health insurance and the assisted living home. I was also exploring our own health insurance for the drugs Michael would need if he didn’t get into the trial. Our trip had a forced element to it although it was better than not going. When we returned, my mom was too ill to be anywhere but a nursing home.

December 26, 2014

Dorothy to the nursing home today. Dismal, depressing and a bitter end. I always said I’d never put my mother in a nursing home but I actually did it. Who can ever really know what they will or won’t do? Life is full of unpredictable and unimaginable changes. Those who can’t adapt belong on the losing side of natural selection. But the strong ones who survive are mutated. I am mutated. Some days I am unrecognizable to myself. Is there any girl left in me? Am I completely brittle from my experiences? Where are the soft unprotected innocent spaces? Can I find some velvety smooth place to nestle in for just a few minutes?

Our family went out for New Year’s Eve dinner as we did every year. We’d started 2014 in terror and were ending it only slightly less fearful. By January 5th, Michael started feeling pain in his hip at the site of one of the lesions which had shown up on his scan. A few days later we were frantically packing up my mom’s apartment as the assisted living facility wanted it available for a new renter. We were hoping that Merkel Cell would, as our Dr. Luyun had stated, remain at least a little indolent for another week or so as Michael’s intake appointment for the immunological PD-1 trial was looming at the cancer center at Barnes in St. Louis. With no systemic cancer treatment since March of 2014, we were certain that the slow insidious return of disease could soon escalate. We tried to stay optimistic, hoping that entry into the trial was imminent and that this new immunological drug, soon to called Avelumab, would have more benign effects than Tarceva or another chemo. Michael already needed a narcotic for the new pain. We were teetering on the edge of a cancer abyss.

On a glittering cold and sunny January morning we drove off to St. Louis. We carried the scans from Dr. Stanic, where he’d clearly marked and measured the soft tissue along the rib which was mandatory for entry into the trial. The Siteman Cancer center was huge, gleaming and bustling with activity.

We were ushered into an intake office where Michael filled out the application and waiver documents required by the trial. The principal investigator’s nurse, Joann, unfortunately reminded us a bit of Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, although she was actually more brusque. She did a cursory vitals exam and quickly got a blood draw. We mentioned that we were concerned about Michael’s low platelet issues. She said, “oh that’s no big deal – you can just get an infusion before your treatment.” We stared at her, dumbfounded. That didn’t sound much like what the protocols said. Within a few minutes we met the doctor, Gerald Linette who went rapidly over the documents and then surprised us by already having the blood test results. They showed that all Michael’s counts were adequate for the trial. Things evidently moved much faster at this large cancer facility than at our community center at home. We felt relieved and hopeful. Although this very different atmosphere was somewhat antiseptic and cold, all we really cared about was getting into the trial. We handed Linette our scan copies. He quickly informed us that Michael would be scanned on-site and that only their local results would be considered as opposed to those done on off-campus equipment. He ordered the scan and said we’d be informed of his decision as soon as the results were read by a radiologist. Michael was in and out of the test within minutes and suddenly we were on our way back home. We were mid-way through our return trip when Joann called and informed us that the Barnes scan showed only 2 sites of active cancer versus the 5 on our local scan. In addition, there was no sign of soft tissue involvement. I started arguing with her because she was being so dismissive. She cut me off and said abruptly, “Michael needs to go home and get sicker. Have him scanned every two months and call us back when things get worse.” And that was that. We were so disappointed, angry and frightened. With this avenue closed off, all we had left was the Tarceva/Zometa combination or another line of chemo. Either an untested choice or a choice we knew wouldn’t do much. The Tarceva was incredibly expensive and we needed to get insurance approval before we could begin that regimen.

The advent of pain into Michael’s life changed everything. Prior to the end of his remission, the only pain he’d ever suffered from illness was a byproduct of radiation treatment. Almost three years from his initial diagnosis, he was hugely fortunate that Merkel cell had thus far been a mysterious abstraction that he knew was inside him. Now it made its presence known round the clock. His need for pain medication became a complicating issue. The meds caused stomach problems. They didn’t really provide thorough coverage so pain woke him at night causing fatigue and mental fogginess. In addition, there was no way to pretend that he was okay, even for a short time. Although we’d been looking at the possibility of death for more than a year, the physical symptoms made things much harder psychologically. We tried to continue making the most out of every day but we had dark times, both alone and together.

We went about the business of getting Tarceva approved by insurance. Tarceva was an oral medication and the adjuvant Zometa was administered by infusion. By the first week of February, Michael began this experimental treatment, hoping that it would target the primary genetic mutation in his cancer cells and halt disease progression.

After only a few days on this protocol, side effects hit with a vengeance. Michael developed an angry pustular rash on his face, chest and the back of his neck.

He developed new pain which now involved both hips. We saw the radiation oncologist who zapped the first three spots of the returned cancer and he suggested that some of the pain might be attributable to arthritis. I was baffled by this suggestion as Michael had been through the pain of herniated disks in his life and never was as uncomfortable as he was in these moments.

He became very quiet, sighing a lot and saying he was trying to find his balance. On occasion he’d go back to teaching as a guest speaker, trying to feel like there was life outside cancer. I worried a lot about his being exposed to a broad community of germs but he needed to go there to stay sane. We’d always had differences about how much validation we got from external sources. So off he went while he could while I fussed away internally.

Within two weeks, the side effects went from bad to so bad that treatment needed to be stopped. His blood showed elevated liver enzymes and his dreadful rash covered his head and entire torso. He developed jaw and esophageal spasms, bloat and acid stomach. He grew so weak he could barely get out of bed. What a rapid and stunning reversal from the relative good health he’d maintained for so long. In addition, his pain was increasingly breaking through his meds. I found myself in the unenviable role of advocate and chief nag. Michael had little appetite and not much thirst. I knew that not eating and drinking would compound all the other issues. So it was up to me to push and prod, all day and all night, counting calories and ounces and driving my beloved husband crazy. Obviously I didn’t want this miserable job. But Michael wanted to stay alive and if he couldn’t manage his basic care, I would. Basically this failed treatment sapped his energy. He was prone day and night which only made him feel worse. Dr. Luyun suggested Michael try what was considered an “old people’s” antidepressant, Remeron. Its primary side effect was increased appetite and weight gain. At that point, anything was worth a try. By mid-February, Michael was like a shadow. Exhausted, in pain and spending lots of time sleeping. We set up appointments for X-rays to see if anything new would show up in his sore hips.

Meanwhile, at the crown of his scalp where he’d had the biopsy and the liquid nitrogen treatment, there was a peculiar lump growing. At first, the doctors thought it was a keloid and then perhaps a cyst. It was scaly, about 3/4 inches tall and seemed spongy. Dr. Luyun recommended removal. When Michael saw the dermatologist, she felt it would be better to have the head and neck cancer surgeon remove it because of its size. Our original surgeon had moved away so we went to the young woman he’d suggested. We saw her and she scheduled an outpatient surgery. That morning, I sat in the waiting room waiting for someone to call me back to see Michael in recovery. After awhile, I realized too much time was passing. I went to the receptionist who managed to send a patient liaison to talk with me. She informed me that the surgeon was sending one frozen section after another to a hospital pathologist. I immediately realized that the growth was a Merkel cell that had gotten by all the doctors. My heart literally sank into my gut. How could I tell Michael that what we thought was an innocuous cyst was cancer? Even worse was realizing that this growth, which had been present, albeit smaller, since December, was actually on his head when we’d gone to Barnes to try getting into the trial. He’d had the trial-precluding soft tissue component for months. And indeed, he’d gotten so much sicker that his liver enzymes would disqualify him from the trial at this point.

When the young surgeon came to speak to me I could see she was totally shaken. She’d had to cut almost to his skull before she found a clean margin with no cancer cells. She was barely able to seal his incision which had a large yellow bolster pressed down against it that would need cleaning while it stayed in place until skin regenerated.

I felt devastated. I pulled myself together for Michael’s sake but this trajectory, coupled with my mother failing in the nursing home, was a gigantic weight, so much to carry.

February 27th, 2015

How did this happen? In January, his scans were stable. What’s happening now? I feel so defeated. Where do we go from here? How much time is left? When my eyes pop open in the morning, my brain is instant tumult, running possibilities, turning flips, the pace so rapid that I am breathless. I continue to cast around for alternatives. I am so lonely.

        I have been sitting on this for awhile, anxious about writing on tough topics during the pandemic and now the social unrest around the world. But I promised myself I’d tell my husband’s story after he died and I’m going to do it. This is part of a series-I’m re-publishing this piece which will be immediately followed by part 2. Thank you. November, 2014 Michael had a cyst on his eyelid which was drained by our eye doctor. He also had a visit with the dermatologist who observed some odd tissue on the crown of his head and performed a biopsy which showed precancerous cells.

[rjhamster]

Overnight those tasks and routines can become the precious little places where joy is birthed. ~ Dawn Barton, Laughing Through the Ugly Cry 

You Get ToDawn Barton, Laughing Through the Ugly-Cry and Finding Unstoppable Joy  

Learning to Treasure What You Didn’t Want 

Now eagerly desire the greater gifts. And yet I will show you the most excellent way. — 1 Corinthians 12:31

A deep breath and a huge, slow eye roll. That was my immediate reaction. A family member had just said to me, “You get to.” This was her attempt at reminding me of the holiest of postures — gratitude — so I’d do something I absolutely did not want to do: clean my child’s vomit off my dress and new suede shoes. I can assure you there was no feeling of gratitude in this moment as I stood covered in vomit at my cousin’s wedding. “Honey, you get to clean that vomit.” You get to. If you’re not familiar with this worldview, it’s an idea espoused by pretty much every pastor, women’s conference speaker, and all-knowing aunt I’ve ever encountered: to truly enjoy life the way God wants us to, we must be grateful 24-7. We should be grateful for the little things, the big things, the smelly things, the happy and the sad — in all things we should be grateful. The truth is this: that annoying family member was right. And I do believe it now. Finding joy in the messy, tedious tasks of our everyday lives is darn near impossible sometimes. Driving the kids to school, going to your job, helping with homework, keeping up with sports, meals, and exercise, feeling miserable about what you just ate, and wearing an underwire bra when all you want to do is let those puppies loose — every single day, life is hard, ladies. I know. The tasks seem never-ending, and it can be so difficult to find joy in the tedium. Until one day, when everything that makes your eyes roll is taken away. Overnight those tasks and routines can become the precious little places where joy is birthed. The struggle quickly becomes the gift. My youngest daughter, Ellason, was four years old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and Makenzie, my oldest, was married and out of the house, tending to her own family about an hour away. My husband, Craig, was in a dusty tent in the Middle East. It was just Ellason and me at home, with a lot of love and support from family and friends. During the biopsy on my right breast, something went wrong, and they burned the skin, leaving a half-inch, black, circular burn at the incision point. Believe it or not, that burn turned out to be one of the best things to happen to me. That burn became something visible and tangible I could use to explain cancer to a four-year-old little girl. We called it the “booby bug,” and it made sense to her sweet four-year-old mind. The booby bug made mommy sick. Getting rid of the booby bug was a lot harder than I imagined it would be. Chemotherapy was a wild beast, and it kicked my butt. The plan was six rounds of a chemo combination called “red devil” (because one of the drugs was red in color), and I would receive those treatments every two weeks. The next phase was a different type of drug that I would receive weekly for twelve weeks, totaling six months of chemotherapy treatments. My chemo weeks looked a little like this: Day 1: Chemo infusion. A nurse covered in protective gear — large plastic mask and all — inserted IVs into the port in my chest and changed them every hour until my body was filled with what I like to call “the poison drugs.” (Side note: Someone should give you a heads-up that your nurse is going to look like the hazmat dudes in ET when she walks in to give you chemotherapy drugs. That image sort of shakes you up. I mean, if the nurse is covered three ways to Sunday so she won’t touch the drugs, why is it a good idea to put them inside of my body? Food for thought.) The entire process lasted about four hours, and then someone would drive me home. Off to bed I would go, feeling tired but otherwise alive. Day 2: The poison drugs hit. Nausea meds and painkillers were a must, but this wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that I had to go back to the cancer center for a bone marrow stimulant injection that increased my white blood cell count so my body could fight infection. I hated it. Imagine feeling so nauseated, with pain seething through every inch of your body, and knowing you have to go back to get a shot that’ll make you feel substantially worse. From a mental perspective, Day 2 was always the hardest for me. Days 3–4: The crescendo of suffering. The poison drugs battled with my body. They were pure misery. I prayed, cried, and begged for God’s mercy through them. Day 5: A hint of hope. A small flicker of light appeared at the end of the tunnel, and I began to feel a bit of relief from the process. The first five days are followed by nine days of recovery and desperately reaching for normalcy until the cycle ends and I am shoved back to the starting line all over again for the next Day 1. The more rounds of chemo I had, the longer the miserable part of the process would take. The effects of Day 2 would stretch over two or three days. And the effects of Days 3 and 4 — my rock-bottom days — would sometimes last almost a week. The overwhelming pain, nausea, and discomfort were constant, and so were my pleading prayers. But I can’t write honestly about my chemo days without adding this: it was in the agony and sickness that I found God on the most beautiful and intimate level. Nothing has pried open my raw, aching heart like having my body and soul assailed by that disease and its horrific treatment. In the depths of my pain, I came to know Him best. I believe it is often at our most helpless, our most vulnerable, that we are most primed to hear and see Him. Anyway, back to the vomit at my cousin’s wedding. Yes, it all comes full circle. I’m sharing the not-so-pleasant details of my chemo routine to paint a picture of what life was like in that season, but also to give you some background on how I learned to embrace the “you get to” philosophy. While I was undergoing treatment, there was no driving Ella to school, no making her lunches or picking out her clothes. There was no playtime, no homework together, no running and tickling. I wanted to play an active role in my own life, and I couldn’t. Chemo was a prize-fighting boxer, and I was on the ground slamming my hands against the floor to tap out. I wanted to be done; I begged for it to be over. I wanted to be a mom, and I didn’t want to be sick a moment longer. Despite how hard I was fighting, I was still riddled with guilt over the kind of mother I was to Ella. I think women are the only creatures who can be gripping the ring of a toilet in sickness and still feeling guilty that they can’t drive their babies to school. We are crazy, beautiful creatures, aren’t we? As I fought through weeks of chemo, I found moments of joy and laughter with Ella. Not on a playground or in a car drive, but in the sweet, quiet moments lying in my bed with her snuggled next to me, close to my belly and wrapped in my arms. I am not sure if I comforted her more or if she comforted me, but Ellason was my saving grace at the end of each day. When I felt well enough, I would make up stories, starring her as the princess, me as the queen, and daddy as the king. (The queen was always very beautiful, of course.) The stories would change daily, and she loved it. After months of treatment, I remember the day I was finally able to pick up Ellason from school. I was elated that I’d been given a two-week break from chemo, and I finally felt well enough to drive. It was something so small, but it meant so much. When the normal, everyday pieces of life get taken away, you realize they make up a beautiful and wonderful existence. Before cancer, I had taken so much of this for granted; I even thought of some of those activities as the burdens. (What do you mean, you need lunch again? Didn’t we just do that yesterday?) In reality, these mundane activities were the sweet blessings of life. When cancer took away the mundane, I finally understood driving my daughter to school was a gift. Chemo was teaching me how to fight for moments of joy and hope. I was learning to look for them, and I was realizing all those things I resented were actually things I got to do. In fact, I eventually reached a rather revolutionary level of “you get to” mastery. Remember what Days 1 through 5 looked like during my chemo treatments? The beast of chemo was destroying me and my life; I hated the treatments and all that came with them. I hated walking into that cancer center and being poisoned each time. Chemo was the enemy — that is, until I learned my hardest “you get to” lesson. Every time I arrived to get chemo, nurses took my vitals and drew my blood to make sure I was “healthy enough” to be poisoned. My body was weaker each round, and my white blood cell count needed to be more than one thousand. When I walked in for my fourth round of red devil, I was fighting with all that I had — but this time I was also battling a fever. After a few minutes, the nurse walked over and with pity in her eyes said, “I’m so sorry. We can’t give you chemo. Your white count is too low.” My body wouldn’t be able to fight the infection. I actually couldn’t get the thing I hated getting most. This was the beginning of a big mind-shift for me. At first I was a little relieved. They gave me a shot of white blood cell booster, hoping to increase my white count overnight, and sent me home. The next day I arrived, and I was ready. My vitals were taken, blood was drawn, and soon I would be heading back for the red devil. But wait. “Dawn,” the nurse said, “your counts are too low again. I am so sorry. We will try again tomorrow.” The tears fell so fast and so hard and wouldn’t stop for hours. I needed this chemo to fight cancer; I had to have it. How could I want something I so intensely loathed? That’s when I realized: I needed to change the story in my head. Chemo was a gift. I get to get chemo. Chemo gave me the ability to fight cancer and live. It was a gift that generations before me did not have. Three days later I was able to receive my gift again. I would love to tell you that my view on making lunches and driving to school has remained in a place of gratitude, that I do it daily with a skip in my step and joy in my heart, but I would be lying. I am human. I complain. I get overwhelmed and annoyed. I grow tired of driving back and forth to school. I roll my eyes at a busy schedule. I loathe going to the grocery store. But I do have a gift that many don’t. When it all seems like too much, I have the gift of remembering what it felt like to have it all taken away. I remember what it felt like to desperately want to drive a little girl to school and go to a playground with her. I know that feeling, and I am grateful for it. I get to make those lunches. I get to clean her vomit off my shoes. Never in a million years would I have dreamed the diagnosis of cancer was a gift. But I can tell you unequivocally it was. A crazy, wild, precious gift. I got to battle cancer. In that battle I learned to love my family more, and I met God on a whole new level. So whether it’s a life-changing battle or one of those mildly irritating or gross parts of life, they don’t look so bad when that story in your head changes. When you realize that the gifts you’re being given are right there in that unattractive packaging. You get to open them, and you might find out that God designed them just for you — for your good and His glory. Excerpted from Laughing Through the Ugly-Cry and Finding Unstoppable Joy by Dawn Barton, copyright Dawn Barton. * * * Your Turn What do you get to do today? Do you get to work from home? Supervise kids' distance learning? Clean the house? Do the laundry? Deal with frustrating co-workers? Shop for an elderly neighbor? How are the get to’s changing your perspective? Come share with us on our blog. We want to hear from you about what you’re grateful for! ~ Laurie McClure, Faith.Full

[officialroyalqueen]

Everything you want to know about Cervical cancer: What to look for and why to go for a smear test

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});     Every  year, about 2,600 women are diagnosed with cervical cancer in England, and 690 women die from the disease, a rate of two women a day. But despite these worrying rates, about 25% of women who are eligible for cervical cancer tests are not attending screenings with their GPs. Why you should go for your cervical screening Last year, actor Michelle Keegan live blogged her smear test in an effort to show women they are a simple process and are nothing to be scared of. She admitted she had been putting it off, but said afterwards it had taken less than two minutes and been uncomfortable but not painful. Since then, Jo's Trust, a cervical cancer charity, has launched a 'Smear for Smear' campaign with celebrities posting pictures of them smearing lipstick to encourage people to go for their tests.     Screening helps to prevent cells becoming cancerous and is the most effective way to prevent cervical cancer. Failing to catch the cells before they become cancerous can lead to a life-threatening diagnosis. According to Jo's Trust, smear tests can prevent 75% of cervical cancers. What are the symptoms of cervical cancer? Most of the time, the first sign of cervical cancer is abnormal bleeding. This could include if you bleed during or after sex, between your periods, or after you have been through the menopause. You might also experience some pain during sex, or an unusual or unpleasant discharge. Some people have pain in their lower back or pelvis. The new advert reminds women not to ignore their test letters Image: The new advert reminds women not to ignore their test letters If you experience these, you should book an appointment to see your GP, who can give you advice. Cancer is not the only cause of any of these issues. What might show the cancer could be advanced? Cervical cancer can spread from your cervix and trigger symptoms in other parts of your body. You may experience lower back pain, or pain in your pelvis. You might get severe pain in you side or back, caused by your kidneys. You should also be looking out for changes in how often you go to the toilet, and whether you lose control of either your bladder or bowel. Blood in your urine, severe vaginal bleeding, and either or both of your legs swelling are also signs of the cancer spreading, according to the NHS. What else could cause vaginal bleeding? Cancer Research UK says that it's not just cancer in any stage that can cause bleeding after sex. sometimes this is caused by cervical erosion or ectropion. Erosion is when cells that are normally inside the civical canal end up on the outside of the cervix. It can happen to women on the contraception pill. It's nothing to do with cancer, and is completely harmless. If you're worried, you can see a doctor who might recommend changing your contraception. It's always a good idea to get checked by a GP if you have bleeding after sex.  What happens at a cervical cancer screening? (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});     Some women avoid getting their screenings done because they are nervous about the process, but it's one of the best ways to prevent cancer. The test will help identify whether any cells in your cervix are pre-cancerous. You'll be sent a letter by the NHS inviting you to book your screening. You'll have your first one when you are about 25, and they happen every three years until you're 49, and then every five years if you're aged between 50 and 64. The procedure involves a speculum being inserted into the vagina After that you'll only have them if you had abnormal cells at least once in the last three tests. Appointments for your screening will last about 10 minutes, with the procedure itself taking half of that time. You'll need to undress from the waist down, behind a screen, and lie on a bed where you'll have a sheet placed over you. The female nurse will ask you to bend your legs, put your feet together and keep your knees apart. You might have to alter this position through the test. The nurse will insert a speculum into your vagina, using some lubricant, to open up into the cervix. Then a small brush will be used to take a sample of cells, which will be sent for testing. You might experience a small scratching feeling during this part of the test. The tool will be removed and you'll be able to get dressed behind the screen. The HPV vaccine is now given to girls aged 12 to 13 Image: The HPV vaccine is now given to girls aged 12 to 13 What if I'm nervous? The medical staff will be used to nerves before a test and you can ask questions to make sure you know what to expect. There are alternative positions you can ask to try if you're not comfortable, and you can ask to stop if you are in any pain. You could also bring someone with you, if that will help, or read a book during the test to take your mind off it. What happens afterwards? You might experience some light bleeding, which is normal. If you have any heavy bleeding, then make sure to see a GP. You'll get your results within 14 days. If they take a bit longer, call your GP to check if they are on the way, but don't worry. Most people will have normal results. Once your results arrive, if they are normal, you'll be invited back for another test in three to five years. If there's an abnormal result, you might need another test a bit sooner, so you may have to return within one year. You might need a colposcopy, which is a different type of test to look at your cervix. If your results were unclear, you could need another test within three months. What happens if they find HPV? HPV stands for human papilloma virus. There are more than 100 types of HPV and they can affect a range of areas, including cervix, anus and mouth. The presence of HPV in the cervix could lead to cervical cancer. It can also cause cancers in men, including cancer of the penis, but this is more common in men who have sex with men. If HPV is found, it does not mean cancer is present or the patient will definitely get cancer. Huge backlog in cervical screening samples is 'deeply concerning' Huge backlog in cervical screening samples is 'deeply concerning' If HPV is found but there are no cell changes, you will need to return for another screening in a year to make sure it's gone. But if the same result comes back three times, you'll have a colposcopy. If HPV is found the first time, with cell changes, you'll go for a colposcopy straight away. What is a colposcopy? This procedure will help doctors determine whether the HPV cells they have found in your cervix are harmful. You'll be referred for the treatment if your test came back showing abnormal results, or if your results were unclear on several occasions. The procedure will take place in a hospital, and lasts a bit longer to the smear test, but it's similar in the process. The patient will undress from the waist down, but this time will sit in a chair with leg supports instead of lying on a bed. A speculum will widen the vagina to allow a doctor to look inside at the cervix with a microscope. The microscope won't make contact with the patient. Cara Delevingne joined the smear for smear inititive Image: Cara Delevingne joined the smear for smear inititive A liquid will be applied to highlight any abnormal areas, and then a sample will be taken for examination. There may be some discomfort at this point. The doctor may be able to offer a result straight away, but results of a biopsy, the tissue sample, will take longer - anywhere from four to eight weeks. If those cells were abnormal, then the patient will have to have them removed. This could be done via electrical current and fine wire, in a large loop excision of the transformation zone (LLETZ) procedure, or with a cone biopsy, where a segment of the tissue containing the cells is cut out of the cervix. What are the stages of cervical cancer? Stages help divide cancer, indicating how big it is and whether it has spread. Stage 1 is often divided into 1A and 1B, but in general, means the cancer is just within the neck of the womb, which is the cervix. Public Health England has launched a campaign to get women to have their tests Image: Public Health England has launched a campaign to get women to have their tests Stage 1A covers two small subsections. and is the point at which cancer is so small it can only be seen with a microscope or a colposcope. The cancer will be anywhere between 3mm and 5mm at this stage. If the cancer has grown to stage 1B, then the cells will be larger, but still only within the cervix tissues. At 1B, cells could be up to 4cm or larger in the neck of the womb. If cancer is caught at stage 1, it can be treated with surgery and a combined treatment of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. Surgery could involve removing the cervix and the womb, a hysteroctomy. But for some cases, where it's caught very early, it will be possible to remove most of the cervix but leave enough behind to be able to become pregnant. At the really early stages, some women can just have a small area removed, called the tranformation zone, or a cone biopsy. These are similar to treatments that women with abnormal cells that need removing will have. HPV shame and confusion preventing women from cervical screenings HPV shame and confusion preventing women from cervical screenings At stage 2, the cancer has begun to spread from the cervix and into the surrounding tissues. This stage is before anything has spread into muscles or ligaments, or the lower part of the vagina. This stage is divided into 2A and 2B, which are also sub-divided into lower sections. The sections in 2A cover the cancer being 4cm or less, and 4cm and above, but only covering the top of the vagina and the cervix. In 2B, the cancer will have spread to the tissues around the cervix. Stage 2A is usually treated with surgery and chemoradiotherapy (a combination of chemotherapy and radiotherapy) but stage 2B is usually covered just with the chemoradiotherapy. Stage 2A usually means the womb and cervix are completely removed, called a radical hysterectomy. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});     Chemoradiotherapy is likely to involve daily sessions for five days a week, for five weeks of radiotherapy, and then chemotherapy once every two or three weeks, depending on which drugs are needed. Rebecca Adlington was among those who backed smear for smear Image: Rebecca Adlington was among those who backed smear for smear Stage 3 means the cancer has spread further, up to the structures around the cervix. At this stage, the cancer will be present in the cervis, and surrounding structures in the pelvis. In stage 3A, there will be cancer in the lower third of the vagina, but not the pelvic wall. Stage 3B means there's cancer in the pelvic wall and it is blocking the tubes which drain the kidneys. This stage of cancer usually requires a combination of chemotherapy and radiotherapy, as in stage 2. Stage 4 is the last stage of cervical cancer and means it has spread into the bladder or rectum. It indicates the cancer is now outside of the womb and cervix. 4A indicates there is cancer in the bladder or nearby organs. Once the cancer is labelled 4B, it means there is cancer further away from the cervix, such as in the lungs. At stage 4B, the cancer could also be called metastatic or secondary. Stage 4 treatment usually consists of a combination of surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy. A patient undergoes chemotherapy. Image: Most patients will need chemotherapy and radiotherapy Cancer caught in the earlier stages can be much easier, and the NHS says it can even be curable when caught at early stages. But the progression of the cancer can be slowed down and symptoms relieved if it is caught later, helping to improve quality of life. In the early stages, it can be removed by a process called large loop excision of the transformation zone (LLETZ), which uses a fine wire and an electrical current. It's done under local anaesthetic only, so the patient will be awake during the procedure. At higher stages, it's far more likely the patient will need a level of hysterectomy, and some chemo or radiotherapy. What should I do next? If you're aged between 25 and 64 and you think you've missed a smear test, get in touch with your GP to find out if you can book an appointment. If you last test came back within the time limit and it was normal, then there's no need to worry. If you notice any symptoms, keep a log of what is happening and go to your GP to seek advice. Above all, attend screenings at your GP each time you are invited. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});    

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[alivurun]

Amy Ardito Stage IV follicular Non Hodgkin s Lymphoma

ROUND I

On a visit to my doctor in 1996, I told him I had noticed some swollen glands around my bikini line. He asked if I had symptoms like loss of appetite, lack of energy, weight gain or loss, and/or night sweats. I had none, other than the night sweats, which I considered normal. But concerned about the glands, he sent me to a general surgeon to perform a biopsy. At age 26, I was diagnosed with cancer. Shocked and confused, I had no idea what the doctor said when he told me over the phone that I had lymphoma. He didn't say much more other than to give me the name of some local oncologists and treatment centers. I immediately knew that I had cancer. My mother had just been through a long and difficult 5-year battle with throat cancer and it was unreal that it could happen to a mother and daughter so soon apart. Regarding the disease itself, I had Stage IV, low-grade, follicular non- Hodgkin's lymphoma (NHL). The low-grade means that the cells are "slow-growing" cells, which are harder to treat because they are less aggressive (chemotherapy "likes" aggressive cancer types). The "stage" represents where in your body the lymphoma has spread. There are 4 stages of the disease and I was in the fourth stage. It had spread outside the lymph nodes and into my bone marrow. Reaching Stage IV was considered much more serious because it had spread throughout my body. I was first treated at Hahnemann Hospital in Philadelphia. Protocol was 6 rounds of CHOP (acronym for four different drugs) chemotherapy over a period of 5 months. This was one of the most aggressive chemotherapy treatments available at that time. Treatments were once every 3 weeks and included a 6 hour drip in the hospital, followed by recovery at home. I actually endured treatment very well. I recovered for the first week after my each of my chemo treatments in bed with a "chemo hangover". But by the second and third weeks, I was back to work and exercising. Keeping my mind occupied was critical. I lost my hair between 2nd and 3rd treatment. As the treatments got further along, the side effects increased and it was very difficult around the 5th and 6th treatments. I was declared in remission as of May of 1997. I felt great, went back to work full time, and my short hair was very stylish!

REMISSION I

After I had got healthy again in 1997, I did a lot of research about NHL on the Internet. The Internet is a powerful tool and sometimes patients think that learning about their disease is too scary or depressing; their attitude is. "let the doctors take care of it." I did that the first time and was not comfortable with that approach. I found that the education was empowering; I was able to learn enough about options in case the NHL ever returned. It was not that I did not have HOPE; I just wanted to be prepared. I also joined a support group for cancer at The Wellness Center. We had a meeting group every week for patients with blood related cancers. I found that sharing my stories, as well as listening to others challenges and successes helped me immensely.

ROUND II

I was diagnosed with a recurrence of NHL in November of 1998. Based on my research, I changed hospitals and went to Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York. My physician was an expert in my disease. One thing I learned from my research is that not every oncologist is an expert for every type of cancer. Since NHL normally affects older people, the decision on how to treat me being "so young" was questionable. The protocol was 4 rounds of another type of chemotherapy, followed by experimental drug (at the time) Rituxan to prolong the remission. Once again, I endured the chemotherapy relatively well. Although, it was a little more difficult psychologically because I knew the sickness I would feel after my treatments. I had to use many tools I had learned in my support group to "psych myself up" for the treatment. And of course, I lost my hair again. I was declared in remission in April of 1999.

REMISSION II

I was urged by physicians to think about future treatment options. Since my remission was only a year and a half after my first chemotherapy, there were very high odds that I would not stay in remission indefinitely. The Rituxan was supposed to help keep me in remission longer, but they didn't expect more than 2 years. Future treatment options boiled down to a bone marrow transplant (BMT). The BMT enables physicians to treat blood related cancers with aggressive chemotherapy and/or radiation by allowing replacement of the diseased or damaged bone marrow after the chemotherapy/radiation treatment. The BMT is still considered somewhat experimental for NHL patients, so I would probably be enrolled into a clinical trial wherever I chose to be treated. The preferred BMT is for the patient to have a related bone marrow donor; related donors are usually your siblings. My siblings were not "matches" for my bone marrow; therefore I was going to have to use an unrelated donor's marrow. My physicians checked the national donor marrow program and found that I did have several unrelated donor matches, but the odds of my body rejecting the unrelated marrow were very high. The physicians gave me 50-50 odds of surviving the actual transplant. There was a 50% chance that I would develop "graft versus host disease" and/or reject the marrow, possibly developing an infection and dying. There was also a 50% chance that my body would accept the marrow and I would be disease free for life. For me, the up-front 50-50 odds were just too great a gamble. I elected to have an "autologous" BMT, which meant I would use my bone marrow. The bone marrow is extracted from the patient prior to transplant and may be "purged" to remove lingering malignant cells if the disease has afflicted the bone marrow (as it was in my case). I was given 95-100% odds of surviving the procedure, since my body would accept my marrow. But even this option posed risks. The doctors could not guarantee that they could clean the marrow 100% and so there was potential for a relapse in the future either with NHL or another type of cancer. Even so, I chose this option in the hopes that if I ever relapsed again, by that time there would be a "cure". My family and I traveled to several hospitals to find the best BMT center for NHL. I decided to have my transplant in Boston, MA at Dana Farber Cancer Center. I was most comfortable with the hospital, the facilities, the staff, and the physicians. The treatment was considered experimental and I was enrolled in a clinical trial.

ROUND 3

In January of 2000, I was admitted to the bone marrow transplant unit at Massachusetts General Hospital, which was a sister hospital to the Dana Farber Cancer Center. I was supposed to be in the hospital at least six weeks. The bone marrow unit was basically a lock-down unit and germ free. After a BMT, the patient's immune system is similar to an infant's and the patient does not have the ability to fight off infection, therefore there can be no risk of germs. All of my visitors wore plastic gloves and face masks and were limited on visitation hours. Day 1: Removal of my bone marrow This was an operation where they removed a certain amount of bone marrow out of my body. They then run it through a "cleaning" process. Days 2-4: High dose chemotherapy Luckily, I don't remember those three days or how sick I was, but I received continuous drip of the strongest chemotherapy available. Within two days, my hair fell out again. Days 3-6: Total body radiation After chemotherapy was over, I started radiation therapy. Up until this point, I had never had radiation. Radiation treatments were three times a day for three days. I was wheeled to an underground room and was laid on a cold, steel, table right underneath a large piece of radiation equipment. They played music to try to relax me, but it was still uncomfortable. For about an hour a red beam from overhead went up and down my body. Psychologically and physically, the radiation was extremely difficult. Yet, I knew that it was the treatment that was going to cure my body of cancer and eradicate all those cancer cells that the chemo had never been able to reach. Day 7: Bone Marrow Transplant The doctors gave my bone marrow back intravenously and my new life began. Many people that have transplants consider this their "new" birthday. It is the day that they are reborn and on their way to complete recovery. Weeks 2-6: Recovery in the hospital During recovery, the side effects from the drugs were extreme. The drugs were to help any infection that might occur, but were very mind-altering. I have little memory of those weeks. I had a couple of incidents where they thought I had developed infections, but my exceptional nurses and doctors handled every incident as if it were just a bump in the road. My parents were my psychological life support during that period. My mother would sleep in my room occasionally (those were the only nights I actually slept). My father would be there in the morning drinking his coffee and reading the paper, just like he did at home. They walked me down the hall twice a day (my big outing)! They did the best they could to make me feel as comfortable as possible during those weeks. It was unreal how just the littlest things that they did for me seemed like the greatest gifts. Week 7: Home! It was a great day when I was released. I was coming off the drugs slowly and finally felt like myself again. I was able to go for walks outside and slowly got my strength back. For four months, I stayed with my parents at their home in New Jersey to recover. The best day was when I went out to my dad's golf course and swung a club for the first time in over 9 months. We only played nine that day, but what an event.

TODAY

I am cancer free. I am grateful for the opportunity to be a survivor. My attitude, my education, my choices, and the support of my family saved my life. I also am blessed for finding treatments "outside" the norm. This is all through research and experimental medicine. Yet, all the physicians and drugs in the world are not going to save a person who has already given up on themselves. Not once during this time have I ever felt sorry for myself. My blessings are to share my stories in the hopes that others can see that we can endure and that there are options out there and available. I don't know what my future holds, but my greatest gift is to share and help others in their emotional struggle in their fight with cancer. Read the full article

[euphoriyoongi]

☂︎ Doom at Your Service || written version

☂︎ Summary:

She lost her parents at an early age, and now she’s diagnosed with a brain tumor, forcing her to have less than 100 days to live. As she prays for the destruction of the world, the destruction himself—Jimin—comes to live with her in her last days.

☂︎ Pairings: doom!jimin x sick!OC (original character)

☂︎ Word count: 2.4k

☂︎ Warnings: language

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m.list

일 one

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“It’s glioblastoma.” The doctor said, looking down at the paperwork in front of him. “It seems like a few tumors. It’s terminal.”

Terminal? Where did I go wrong in my life for this to happen? Was it because I never did anything else but work?

“It’s why you’ve been dizzy and why you’ve been throwing up.”

All I could do right now was just stare at him, wide eyed.

“We could take more tests—a biopsy—but, the location doesn’t look good.” He let out a sigh, looking behind him to see the Head CT scan.

“I see.” I said, confused, but still understanding his words.

“There’s a surgical option, however,” he stopped speaking and looked up to my eyes, nearly pleading me to take this seriously. “It won’t give you much more time.”

Keeping my calm, I asked the question I was dying to hear. “Am I going to die?”

It seemed a bit morbid, but the doctor didn’t seem fazed. “Yes.”

The doctor was silent. He didn’t want to tell me and it was obvious. It might be because I knew him personally outside of the hospital, but right now, he just looked at me with eyes of worry. “If you get the treatment, you’ll have about one good year. At most.” He murmured, bringing his gaze back down to the papers. “But still, it won’t be an enjoyable year.”

“And if I don’t get the biopsy?” I questioned, playing with my hands in my lap nervously. I had a feeling he was going to tell me to get the surgery and not worry about time, but what he said me sent chills down my spine.

“Three months. Maybe four.” He sighed, flipping through the papers. “Please think about this, you’re going to suffer great pain if you don’t decide on treatment.”

“I couldn’t get off enough days for treatment.” I said, calmly.

The doctor looked dumbfounded. “But I—I think this is much more serious than missing a bit of work.”

I couldn’t think. Maybe it was the tumor making me think that I couldn’t, but I was overwhelmed. I tried to keep my calm, and I stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back behind me. “You seem like a real doctor.” I said to him with a smile.

He was a real one, but he was also a writer, and I was his editor. I couldn’t help but feel like this was all some sort of joke. It wasn’t, though, and he didn’t laugh. “Just make sure you get your writing in on time.” I said, forcing a smile. “Then,”

I started to walk away and out of the room when he called out to me again. “I trust you to make the right decision, whatever way it is for you. But please, if you decide surgery, come here or call as soon as possible.”

Now out of the room I walked down the corridor and towards the atrium. The words the doctor said hit me straight through the heart. I didn’t want the surgery. I had too much work to do. I wouldn’t be able to. I might as well enjoy whatever time I have in my life.

“Glioblastoma..” I muttered under my breath. “Glioblastoma..”

As I kept saying that treacherous word over and over again, I must’ve not of been paying attention to where I was walking. I bumped into someone in a white doctors coat, and as he caught me in his arms, my heart beat a bit faster as I looked up to his face.

What kind of..face?

Sure, he was beautiful. His eyes were sharp, and his lips looked soft I nearly reached out to touch them. His hair was some sort of dark blue..maybe green? Possibly even black. It was the kind of color the human eye would have difficulty deciphering. He was stunning. But as stunning as he was, when he opened his mouth, he knew it too. “I know I’m handsome. But I’m busy.” He smirked, and lifted me back up to my feet and walked away.

I watched him walk, his footsteps making little 0it-pats on the tile floor. He was even attractive from the back as his white coat flowed behind him.

Breaking out of my funk, I continued to walk towards the reception desk to check out. “Hi, I’m Cha Haneul, checking out.”

Just as I finished my sentence, sirens started blaring right outside the entrance door, and paramedics rushed in with multiple stretchers, sending the people around staring to worry about what happened. On the tv next to the desk, it showed on the news that there was a large-scale stabbing. He stabbed seven people, and all of them were rushed to this hospital. And well, I guess this included the perpetrator as well.

I gritted my teeth. “That crazy—“

“Mam? Are you going to pay?” The receptionist called out to me, and I brought my attention back to her.

“Ah, yes..”

Looking at the bill, it was nearly seven-hundred dollars. My eyes widened and I nearly said some things I shouldn’t say. “Crazy—“

“What?” The lady tilted her head at me, her eyes squinting.

“Ah, never mind.” I looked around the room. “Can I pay this in monthly installments?”

The lady started to type on her computer. “For how many months?”

The doctor’s words flooded back into my mind when she said the word “month”. It reminded me that i would only have a few of those to live…and it was strange to think I don’t have longer. Just an hour ago I was living my life like normal, thinking I’d have forever to go. Truth is, life isn’t permanent. And it’s only a matter of time when you get a death sentence.

Smiling, I just said the only amount of time I have. “For three months, please.”

Back in the emergency room, Jimin stood in the midst of all the injuries, watching the stretchers roll in one by one.

Not yet. He thought to himself, watching a stretcher with a man bleeding heavily. He couldn’t help them. It was their fate.

Just then, another stretcher rolled in. This time, it was followed by multiple paramedics and he was put onto an ER bed.

There he is.

Since Jimin was dressed up in a hospital coat, the paramedic started to explain the situation. “He’s the perpetrator. He tried to kill himself on the scene. The police are on their way.”

He nodded, and turned to his right, where a nurse was coming to tend to the patient. She noticed that he didn’t have a badge with his name on it, and blinked at him. “Excuse me, which department are you—“

He interrupted her by fixing the sleeve of her top, and she stared at him right into his eyes. Big mistake. He stared back, gazing deeply into her as if compelling her. He was.

Her eyes widened as he didn’t even need to say any words for her to listen to him.

Smirking at her, Jimin leaned in closer. “Pull the curtain around the perpetrator. I need you to make sure no one but the police can enter.” He demanded, staring intently at her until she answered.

“Yes, doctor.”

He smirked again as she walked away, and made his way back to the man who didn’t deserve to die after hurting all of those people. It wasn’t fair.

The man was heavily bleeding from the stab wound he made himself of his neck, and laid lifelessly as Jimin neared. “Open your eyes, you prick.”

As if on command, the man’s eyes pierced awake, getting a blurry image of Jimin standing over him with a frown.

He laid there without speaking as he nervously looked at Jimin, who wasn’t helping him at all. “Ah, I see. You think you are something, eh?” He sneered, a smile resting on his face. “We’ll I’m the one who’s something. You’re nothing.”

He leaned closer to the man. “It feels as if you parked in my goddamn parking spot. A horrible park job, by the way. Totally ruined my mood.”

He let out a few groans and he tried to look away, but couldn’t seem to.

Annoyed, Jimin had enough. He reached out his hand and choked the man, gritting his teeth. “Move your fucking car.”

The man was confused, he hand parked anywhere. He realized that it wasn’t a car he was talking about. It was the action he did. Doom. He brought doom on peoples lives and well, that was jimin’s job.

He choked him still, the man’s hands coming to grasp onto Jimin’s pleading to let go.

“See, doom isn’t your job. It’s mine. You were completely careless.” He hissed, wiping his eyebrow with his free hand.

A smile dawned on his face. “So I’m gonna be just as careless.”

The man grabbed onto Jimin’s white coat, blood smearing onto it. “I’m going to make you pay for taking my parking place.” He nearly growled, and focused his attention to the man’s neck wound, healing it as he groaned in pain. He didn’t deserve to die. To get away with what he did.

The man let go of his grip on Jimin when he realized he had been healed, and stared up at him in shock, holding onto his neck and panicking.

Jimin smirked, and turned around as if to walk away, but had a sudden thought.

“Ah, one more thing.” Jimin said, turning around to face the man, who was clutching his neck. “There’s something that’s much more dreadful than doom.”

Silence took over the space they were in, the man still gasping for air and Jimin having his arms crossed over his chest with a smile.

“Life.”

At that, he abruptly turned and was about to leave, when the police moved the curtain. “We’re the police.”

Smirking, Jimin looked over at the criminal.

The criminal groans and cried, watching Jimin fade from his view, his smirk never ceasing.

He walked away, proudly, leaving the police behind to do the justice.

No one gets away with taking his job.

No one.

On a balcony of the hospital, a tall man stood overlooking the view of the city. He wore hospital clothes, and slippers that seemed to be too small for him. As he heard footsteps nearing him, he knew who it was. “You’re here?”

“What are you doing?” Jimin asked him, walking up next to him to overlook as well.

He looked over at him, noticing the large blood stain obviously visible on the white coat. “You could’ve at least changed.”

Jimin huffed. “I didn’t so I could show you it.”

He then hit himself in the spot where the blood was, and it began to disappear as if it was never there. “Some kind of god you are.” He muttered, leaning up against the balcony’s railing. “Are to tired of this hospital life, too? You have the whole world in your hands.”

The man scoffed, running his hand through his shortly cropped brown hair. “You try being sick.”

“There you go again, acting all pitiful.” Jimin smiled, looking towards him.

They both looked out to the skyline, where the sun was nearly setting. The sky had a bit of and orange hue to it, reflecting against the buildings.

“I feel like a gardener.” Namjoon smirked, still looking away from Jimin. “I’m always planting and watering. Wishing it will all grow.”

He then turned to Jimin. “But not all of them sprout. And some that do, can be poisonous plants. Some medicinal herbs. Who knows.”

He was talking about the earth. Joon was a god. He was the reason Jimin existed. It felt strange that his fate was all because of him.

“But..” Joon carried off, turning away. “The garden doesn’t belong to the gardener.”

Catching him off guard, Jimin furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what am I? In this garden of yours.” He asked him seriously, hoping to get some kind of assurance that he wasn’t only living to bring doom to the world.

“You’re a butterfly.” Namjoon said, smiling.

Jimin scoffed. “Until when? How long will I be a butterfly?”

He was inderectly asking how long will he have to live as a death-bringer. A walking ticking time bomb that was never able to live amongst human kind, only to watch destruction that was brought upon by him. He didn’t even mean to do the things he did most of the time, and unhappiness just occurred around him. It was like the would would drain if color just by the sight of him.

Namjoon stared at Jimin, tilting his head. “Forever.” He sinfully smiled, noticing Jimin’s frown as he said it.

Jimin scoffed again. “Damn man, you’re so cruel. Even on someone’s birthday.”

Joon’s happy demeanor shifted. “Birthday? Someone?” He shook his head. “Since when were you born? You were never born. And you were never a human, so how could you be someone?”

Jimin felt his heart crack a bit. He shouldn’t be upset about that statement, but he was. He silently looked at Joon, waiting for him to keep going.

Joon just sighed, and rested his elbows on the railing. “Go, be someone’s wish today. It’s the only day you could do it.”

“Even my birthday isn’t for me.” He said, bitterly, and feeling bitter as well. He just wanted to have a purpose in life, and not it being doom. Destruction. Pain. Irritation.

“It’s for the humans.” Joon smiled.

Humans were the only reason of his existence. And he wanted it to be over. He didn’t want to live anymore, especially with the way he was living. The only way he could cease to exist was if the humans did, too.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Those damn flowers.”

They both stood there quietly, looking over the world as if it’s in the palm of their hands.

“It’s time for them to wilt.”