5! 4.5.6
Five years. Wow. This is a HUGE milestone. Every day of my life is special. I think about the poster I made numbered 1 through 100; I would cross out each day until I would get to 100. Day +100 was going to be my huge milestone. Then I was looking forward to six months where I could get off some of the pills I had to take everyday. Looking back, days turned into weeks that turned into months. But every minute meant something at the beginning. I remember my hospital routine. Yes I had stayed in hospital rooms enough to have a routine. 5 am get up, walk or ride the bike until 5:30. Walking 32 laps would be one mile-I didn’t do that much, it was really boring and hard. I rode the bike with my headphones on and would tune everything out. I wanted to be a good patient. I wanted to know that even if I didn’t make it, I tried so hard for me and for everyone I loved that I didn’t want to leave. Some mornings, I would think about who would get which CD of mine because those were golden tickets as far as I was concerned. Then I’d stop myself from thinking that way. But it never left me. Death felt so close sometimes to me. And that sickness, although I can’t feel it the way I used to is nothing I will ever forget. But in my heart and mind, I think of all the people that helped me along the way. Helped isn’t even the right word, saved is.
My journey started on December 3, 2003 when I was first diagnosed with leukemia. I learned very quickly I wanted to live as a functional person with a working brain. When I went into acute respiratory failure, I kept saying in my head, “God or whoever you are, take me if you make me a vegetable…I don’t want to be here if I can’t know what is going on.” And from that day forward, I learned as much as I could. I wanted to understand why this was happening, what kind of recovery my body would need, approximately how many days rest I would need before my counts would go up and I asked for every copy of lab work I could get. I would chart everything and go through every count. I would ask all sorts of questions. I would argue with doctors about giving me blood transfusions. I advocated for the quality of my life as best I could versus the quantity. I am forever indebted to my doctors and to the nurses who spent hours with me and who allowed me to be me. It was hard to transform my life from being a fighter to being human again. For two years after my transplant, I felt like I had armor on me. I had to slowly allow myself to feel again and to be human. I had been poked, prodded, opened up and through a war.
For my 30th birthday, I bought myself a road bike. And I remember riding on 9W one day by myself. The composition of the sun on the landscape was exquisite. It was simple but it gave me a feeling of freedom. I started to cry as I thought about all the chemo and nights of sweating in the hospital rooms. And here I was, outside, riding on a road, breathing fresh air and smiling. I was happy to be alive and to know the amazing people I know. And I know some real incredible people who live in a special place in my heart. If five years ago, my doctor came in my room and said, “Five years from now you will be bike racing and going to law school,” I don’t know what my response would be. I could barely focus on what was going to happen tomorrow at that point.
I am motivated by the genuine love I feel around my life everyday. The thank you list continues to expand. My stem cell transplant donor, an amazing man in Sweden unrelated to me. You have saved my life. Words can't encompass the gratitude. Thank you.
My family, you know that you are my rock, my friends, you know you are my stars, my dog, you know you are my dog, and Alison, you are my tea and oranges (I don’t know if you knew that). I love you all.
Five years ago: Take a look at April 2006. How far I’ve come with all of you.
APRIL 2006 BLOG POSTS
"Who looks outside, dreams; Who looks inside, awakens." Carl Jung
Love,
Jenn (Falcon)
My journey started on December 3, 2003 when I was first diagnosed with leukemia. I learned very quickly I wanted to live as a functional person with a working brain. When I went into acute respiratory failure, I kept saying in my head, “God or whoever you are, take me if you make me a vegetable…I don’t want to be here if I can’t know what is going on.” And from that day forward, I learned as much as I could. I wanted to understand why this was happening, what kind of recovery my body would need, approximately how many days rest I would need before my counts would go up and I asked for every copy of lab work I could get. I would chart everything and go through every count. I would ask all sorts of questions. I would argue with doctors about giving me blood transfusions. I advocated for the quality of my life as best I could versus the quantity. I am forever indebted to my doctors and to the nurses who spent hours with me and who allowed me to be me. It was hard to transform my life from being a fighter to being human again. For two years after my transplant, I felt like I had armor on me. I had to slowly allow myself to feel again and to be human. I had been poked, prodded, opened up and through a war.
For my 30th birthday, I bought myself a road bike. And I remember riding on 9W one day by myself. The composition of the sun on the landscape was exquisite. It was simple but it gave me a feeling of freedom. I started to cry as I thought about all the chemo and nights of sweating in the hospital rooms. And here I was, outside, riding on a road, breathing fresh air and smiling. I was happy to be alive and to know the amazing people I know. And I know some real incredible people who live in a special place in my heart. If five years ago, my doctor came in my room and said, “Five years from now you will be bike racing and going to law school,” I don’t know what my response would be. I could barely focus on what was going to happen tomorrow at that point.
I am motivated by the genuine love I feel around my life everyday. The thank you list continues to expand. My stem cell transplant donor, an amazing man in Sweden unrelated to me. You have saved my life. Words can't encompass the gratitude. Thank you.
My family, you know that you are my rock, my friends, you know you are my stars, my dog, you know you are my dog, and Alison, you are my tea and oranges (I don’t know if you knew that). I love you all.
Five years ago: Take a look at April 2006. How far I’ve come with all of you.
APRIL 2006 BLOG POSTS
"Who looks outside, dreams; Who looks inside, awakens." Carl Jung
Love,
Jenn (Falcon)
posted by Jenn at 10:39 AM
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