Day 0 ... No one fights alone!

Today is a big day in my small world ...

I say "small world" 

because my sons tell me 

I live in a bubble.

They are right and 

I'm quite comfy here.

But a little over 18 months ago

my bubble didn't feel so comfy.

In fact, I feared it would pop

as I sat in a doctors office and 

listened to my mom's diagnosis of

Multiple Myeloma

an incurable form of blood cancer.

(click HERE for that story)

I came home that night and cried myself to sleep.

No one knew I was crying 

although I suspect 

I wasn't alone.

I suspect a few of my brothers and 

perhaps some of our children

also spent that night with tear soaked pillows.

We woke up the next morning,

dried our tears,

we rolled up our sleeves, 

and went to work,

praying for a way to 

save our mother!

Our prayer led us to

The Huntsman Cancer Institute.

How blessed we feel to have them so near.

People from all over the world travel there 

searching for that hope,

that longing to know they are not alone.

We didn't know they offered such a 

Beacon of HOPE 

until we were the ones needing it.

Each patient puts a pin on 

the Myeloma board.

It's kind of like a bunch of 

little beacons

representing the hope each patient 

so desperately needs.

I suspect there are boards like this, 

for every kind of cancer treated at the Huntsman.

Thousands of patients ... 

Thousands of pins ...

Thousands of prayers ...

My mom was one of those.

I've had many tiring days 

since my mom put 

her pin on the board,

as have my six brothers, 

our spouses 

and especially 

our dad.

We've sat through countless blood tests, 

infusions and scary bone marrow biopsies.

We've strained to understand our mom's doctor.

We call him Dr. K because his name is 

just ridiculous to spell and even harder to pronounce.

He's from Europe, speaks with a heavy accent,

and saves lives.

I've heard his voice so many times 

in the past year that now I can

understand him with perfect clarity.

That heavy accent,

that used to represent fear for me, 

now represents peace and 

hope.

One year ago to this day 

my dad and I sat in a room.

It was full of tubs, needles 

and a high tech cart which 

held my mom's 

stem cells.

In the months prior 

she'd received many treatments,

including days in the hospital 

harvesting those stem cells.

It is not an easy feat

when you're needing

20 million!

But it was all worth it for the chance of

qualifying for the life saving procedure 

she was about to receive ...

A BONE MARROW 

TRANSPLANT

Two days earlier she was given a strong dose of chemo.  

She kept ice in her mouth for a solid 2 hours 

while the chemo did it's work.

The ice offered hope that perhaps 

she wouldn't acquire mouth sores. 

Thankfully the ice worked and so did the chemo!! 

Within 24 hours the cells in her body,

 both good and bad, were all dead. 

As we sat in that room,

 my mom handed out treats

to her Huntsman 

Myeloma Team.

She wanted to celebrate her 

new life!

The team knew the significance of that day

as they presented her with a birthday gift

and all sang HAPPY BIRTHDAY to her.

WOW!  

A brand new birthday!

April 22, 2014

would always be referred to as 

DAY 0

After the hullabaloo was finished, 

all eyes were focused on the task at hand.

The stem cells were removed 

from the high tech cart.

They were frozen solid 

to keep them alive and 

were infused into her 

when they were still "slushy".

As it entered her body ... it was truly 

miraculous!!

But the glowing light of 

witnessing a miracle was soon 

overshadowed by her 

shaking body.  

She was literally 

FREEZING 

from the inside out.  

Warm blanket after warm blanket were piled on her.  

I can't remember the exact number but 

I know it was in excess of 12 

and not a single one helped.

Her teeth chattered and her body shook 

as if she were standing in the frozen tundra, 

for surly she might as well have been but she

NEVER complained

and in the difficult days to come, 

she never would.