URGENT: Please help save my cousin's life

[armstrong]

My cousin Christine in the US is battling cancer, and urgently needs to find a bone marrow donor. Unfortunately, finding a perfect match for her bone marrow type is particularly difficult. This is hard enough for the average person; there are over 20,000 types of bone marrow, so the average person has a 1 in 20,000 chance of finding a match. These numbers are even worse for Christine. Because she is Filipino, she needs to find a donor of the same ethnic background, and there are hardly any Filipinos on the US National Registry.

Right now is our best chance of having the Bone Marrow Transplant work. Each day's delay decreases her chances of surviving. Please contact your Filipino friends or relatives in the US, and ask them to contact their friends. Anyone you know who is all or part Filipino and between the ages of 18 and 61 is a potential donor. The system is nationwide, so it doesn't matter where they live. Signing up on the registry is easy and painless. All it requires is a simple blood test. Some hospitals charge a small fee for this blood test, however the fee is routinely waived for minorities, and often for Caucasians as well, especially if you are willing to donate a pint of blood.

You can find a registration center by selecting your state on the map on this website. These centers can refer you to bone marrow drives in your community.

http://www.marrow.org/cgi-bin/NETWORK/map.pl?ctr_typ=DC

There is also a wonderful organization in Los Angeles that arranges free registration for Filipino donors.

www.asianmarrow.org

If you have trouble finding a site in your area, have any trouble finding a place to donate for free, or have additional questions, you can reach Christine's boyfriend Jacob at this email address:

info [at] christine.site.ph

You can reassure your friends that signing up for the registry does not require donating any bone marrow. If it turns out they are a match, they will be contacted, and can make the decision at that point about becoming a donor.

There are lots of misconceptions about donating bone marrow. The procedure is considered minor, simple and safe. You will be anesthetized the whole time, so you will not feel anything. When the procedure is over, you may have some soreness in the area for a day or two and you may feel a little tired. That's it. The bone marrowyou donate is replenished within 3-4 weeks. And again, you will only undergo this procedure if your blood sample shows that you are a match and you decide to donate, in which case the slight soreness you'll be feeling will be saving someone's life.

All medical expenses for the donor will be covered by Christine's insurance.

You can find out more about the registry and the donation procedure at this website:

www.marrow.org

Thank you!

Apollo a.k.a. "armstrong" :hearts:

 

[B33R]

Update: July 31, 2006 (from Julia)

Hello, everyone--

I went to go see Christine yesterday and am happy to report that she looked and sounded great. Traffic was light and City of Hope was pretty quiet; I highly recommend visiting on a Sunday. We got to chat for about 45 minutes. I ran into her mother in the elevator on the way in and once I introduced myself as Christine's friend, she immediately gave me a huge hug. What a great mom!

I don't have much info on what exactly is happening white cell count-wise, but I do know that she's been noticing a big difference in the last few days. Her energy is up and she even went outside the room one day. Yes, that's right, she actually left the bubble! Granted it was just an excruciatingly slow shuffle down the hallway but still. The funny thing was that apparently it gave her motion sickness--she's that unused to moving around a space larger than her room.

Another change is that she's starting to have enough energy and focus to read. It still exhausts her to do simple things like sitting up, but she seems to be in a good place. She's got a long way to go, but when I'm with her it's hard to believe that she's sick. She's full of more life and light than most of the people I know walking around. I know hospitals can be depressing and scary, but seeing Christine always makes me so happy. So go visit if you can! And bring snacks for the hardworking nurses who take care of her (I forgot to but won't forget again).

Keep up the good thoughts and the prayers!

julia

 

[B33R]

Update: August 1, 2006 - Day 27 - From Christine
From Christine's site - Link

Halleluiah! I'm online! A tech came into my room this afternoon and said "Congratulations, you have DSL!". Good timing, because it's only now that I feel strong enough to sit, focus, read and type, for a few minutes at a time, at least. There is still a long way to go but I am so thankful to have made it this far into the transplant. It's been a rough ride, but I'm SLOWLY getting better with each passing day.

Picture a boundary of a 15-yard radius surrounding your humble bed. Now imagine not going beyond that boundary for almost an entire summer. Yet, within that circle you experience one of the most remote and arduous of journeys, with 90% of the time not extending beyond center. It's been 36 days since the heavy doors of this hushed, sterile ward sealed off the aromatic chatter and pungent textures of the outside world. And each day has been draped with uncertainty, with Hope clinging to the yards with long arms.

The effulgence of life is so real here because death lingers so close. It would be too easy to describe the experience as "surreal", but the world inside the heavy doors does bear closer to a disjointed dream or stuff of placid nightmares. Except for the one hour when you are "unhooked" in order to take a shower, your heart is literally tethered to a pair of six (or seven?) foot long vertical poles on rolling casters, via catheter tubing from your chest. This is also known as the "IV tree", whence hangs a buffet of chemotherapy, narcotics, nutrient support, antibiotics, antifungals, antivirals, and antirejection drugs. Nurses and long-term patients share a special dark humor with each other to help cope with the daily activity of holding on. One of the running jokes is that you are "married" to the "IV Tree" for your entire stay. As a result, some people have taken to christening their trees with special names. Men, especially those under 40, call their trees the "mother-in- law" or simply "in-law". Women tend to be more whimsical, with "Antonio Banderas" or "George Clooney" being the popular guys to have by your side 24/7 while facing the day.

And with each day it is the tiny goals, the littlest of accomplishments that bring applause and tears: Going 24 hours without needing narcotic pain medication; Feeling well enough to raise your arms above your head; Regaining the ability to swallow food. Less than a week ago, I tested my strength and stamina by trying to stand in the shower. When I was finally able to stand for the entire five minutes, the nurse clapped and cheered and then sheepishly pumped her light-blue, non-latex glove in the air.

I love showering. Though the private bathroom is just five feet from my bed, the shower is only time I can "escape" from the bland heavy air of the hospital ward. The faucets turn, the hot water flows down, I close my eyes and suddenly I am covered in Plumeria lather in an outdoor shower on Maui; I am kayaking sea caves in the Meditterean; I am dancing in Virginia rain.

Four days ago, I was finally allowed to leave my room, covered in mask, gloves and isolation gown. I took a short walk in the morning and starting yesterday, I take another short walk in the evening. There are many stories in this hallway. Some tragic, some inspiring. There was the 3-year old girl and her mother who waved to me through the window. A year and a half ago the little toddler was fighting for her life . Three times her mother was told that her little girl would not make it through the night. Now the little girl smiles with cherubic cheeks, healthy. There is also Rodrigo, who had a transplant 28 years ago and now works as a BMT nurse to help others make it through.

Okay, there goes my energy... need to doze off for now. 27 Days Down. 73 more days to go before I can leave the hospital.

I can't believe it's August. Sending much much much love.

xo,
Christine

 

[creme]

that's awesome.

 

[Kenny]

Thanks Rob

 

[briman1970]

I've been praying for you Christine! I'm sure many others have been doing the same! Awesome to hear the update from you this time!

 

[B33R]

Update: August 4, 2006 - Day 30 - From Christine
From Christine's site - Link


Good news.

My blood counts have been doing so well over the last couple days that the doctors have decided to move me to the village... TODAY. The village is a small cluster of "outpatient" bungalows located on campus. The rooms are by no means fancy... more like a medically-themed Hotel 6, but at least we will be out of the busy main building. It is quieter, has more privacy and each unit has its own kitchenette.

The nurses keep on reiterating "You're not out of the woods yet" and then follow with a laundry list of things to avoid (like sunlight), symptoms to watch out for (like a cough) and medications that are essential. Supposedly if I forget to take two pills in particular, I won't survive more than 24 hours. The hospital staff goes on to say that if complications, infections or rejection were to occur, it would most likely happen in the next 6 months, but more likely in the next 70 days. No champagne popping yet but things are looking good so far. Think good thoughts.

The staff here says that my recovery had been "remarkable". I attribute it to all the prayers and good vibes that are whizzing through the air. Thank you so much for the continued prayers and for being with me every step of the way. Medicine can treat, but it is love that heals.

Love,
Christine

 

[B33R]

No update today, I just wanted to say I'm glad the updates are getting more positive and that Christine is well enough to post them.

I'll continue to repost the updates here as long as you guys keep the positive thoughts going in Christine's direction.

 

[Kenny]

Yea man, it all about sending the positive thoughts her way.
Thanks again and again for staying on top of this Rob. :kickass:

 

[B33R]

Update: August 6, 2006 - From Christine
From Christine's site - Link


Alas, the new room in the village had NO DSL. And for some reason I can't access my dial-up either. I only have access online when I go to the "main house" of the village. Only two computers are provided for the entire community and are available only during business hours, thus there is usually a wait and a time limit. My point: I should be able catch up with my e-mail by 2010.

Last night, for the first time in six weeks, there was nothing between me and the sky. The stars were dim but palpable. Though having to wear a heavy surgical mask prevented me from breathing in the night air, I could feel it in the pores of my skin and it was delicious.

There is quite a bit of wildlife on campus. I saw a hawk swoop by clutching its prey. I watched a cottontail bunny rabbit in the grass munch on a guava. A squirrel came up to my door, hoping for a treat. Hummingbirds and butterflies flit and whizz by. It's like a mini- animal park.

My energy wanes from low to extremely fatigued so I am not romping through the grass just yet. But it is SO GOOD to feel the sun and the wind and the earth.

much love,
Christine

 

[Kenny]

 

[NPQueen]

It is heartwarming to read how things are going from Christine herself!! :hearts:

 

[mischievous_hon]

hhmm i was wondering, how is she now? It's augustst16 already. I was visit her site but there is no update also. Anyway i pray for her. Get well soon Christine

 

[briman1970]

It is heartwarming to read how things are going from Christine herself!

Amen to that, sista! :D

 

[Kenny]

Latest Update

One tuff lady here.

August 16, 2006

We are now 42 days post transplant, 52 days since being admitted to the hospital with another 58 days to go.

I just wanted to write in real quick. Transition to the village has been both wonderful and challenging. Been taking lots of baby steps. Ten days ago I was bedridden. Five days ago I was shuffling around, relying on a wheelchair for support. Today I can walk the two blocks to the hospital without having to stop to rest. It's simple yet extraordinary. I've been blessed to meet many heroes and courageous souls during my stay here. Some stories are inspirational, some break the heart. The word "cancer" may conjure thoughts of fear and death in some people, but here in "the village", daily conversation whirls around the subject of life and love. Of connection, commitment, faith and trust. There is no time for facades.

My daily routine is scheduled around doctor appointments and prescription medications. It's a matter of finding the balance between light exercise, deep rest, meditation and mental stimulation. Cabin fever is a good sign. I get emotional with every hug I share with visiting friends and family. When alone, I escape by reading or playing music. There's a grand piano in the small theater here and I've been tinkering with "Daydream Believer" by the Monkees: (I like to listen to it on my ipod as I hop around the rose garden.) A couple friends came by the other day and we thought to take advantage of the theater for rehearsals and skits. I plan to sit in the audience and shout "More energy!"

These days, it is challenging to remember things and write fluently. My doctor assures it has to do with what my body has been through. "Cognitive dysfunction" or "ChemoBrain" thankfully is temporary, but it's disquieting when your brain is only able to think in sentence fragments.

Even though I must hide from the sun and wear a heavy surgical mask, it is so revitalizing to be outside. My doctor just gave the approval for me to ride in a car. I can leave campus, but only for a short time and have to stay in the general vicinity. The first place I visited, of course, was REI. It was the first time I left the hospital grounds in over seven weeks.

It means a lot that there are angels out there who continue to spread the word, conducting marrow drives, and educating friends and family about signing up on the registry. Let's continue the good.

In terms of health and recovery, my blood counts plateau'd last week and this week the levels have actually gone down to a semi-critical level. This has caused a bit of concern and we are praying that things improve soon. Each day is still a struggle but to be alive… that alone is a blessing.

The other night my mother and I briefly left the room to watch the Perseid meteor shower. We only saw one shooting star, but it was enough to make a wish.

Much Love,
Christine

Please take a moment and send your thoughts her way.

Peace,
Cyberian

 

[slaughterbeck]

One tuff lady here.

Please take a moment and send your thoughts her way.
Peace,
Cyberian

I pray for her nearly every time I think of her and it almost always makes me cry, either out of sadness for her difficult condition or happiness for the way she handles it.

 

[Kenny]

August 20, 2006

Update: Day 46 (56) - Fighting from the inside out

Since I last wrote we got some news explaining why my WBC blood count has dropped so low, to neutropenic levels. We received the results from the marrow/graft test. It appears that, at this point, the transplant is not 100% successful….. yet. My blood is partly the donor's and partly my "old" marrow. I guess you could say there is a serious turf war going on inside me. The dueling WBC's, the cells that fight off infections and foreign bodies, are in battle with each other over who gets to stay. Of course, in order for the transplant to work, we need the donor's marrow to graft.

When I got the news I just closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. This was not good. The doctor left the room to order another blood test, leaving the door open. I sat alone on the examination table watching my feet dangle. I could hear a woman sobbing into her cell phone in the courtyard below. Sunk into his wheelchair, an obese man pushed past my door, his oxygen tank trailing behind. The flourscent lights hummed above me and, on cue, the room began to spin. I focused on my breath again. Just a little more faith. Just a little more strength. Just a little more time. There is hope. It's strange to think that a part of me has to die in order for me to live.

I just want to thank everyone for all the cards, gifts and care packages. The encouraging e-mails, calls, and visits all add up to a blanket of love, wrapping me up in the good stuff. You have all been a source of comfort as well as courage during the past several weeks. A bunch of savvy girlfriends even put together a huge "Diva box" and filled it with all sorts of luxurious goodies and sparkly stuff. Each day, for ten days, I'd reach into the box and open a new gift that would hint at a new brilliant life ahead. It was wonderful.

I'm sorry to be missing out on all the weddings, baby showers, house warmings, screenings, readings, concerts, birthdays and opening nights. I really wish I could be there. SO much has happened for so many of us in the last eight weeks. But summer is almost over. I hope all of you are taking advantage of the time that is left to create some chocolate dip strawberry-topped memories.

Meanwhile, here is a poem that my friend Michelle wrote for me in a card included in the "Diva box". It was lovely, I had to share it. Like the poems says, I wish that all our "hearts will always remember…"

Much Love,
Christine

May you soon wander freely
Among life's lovely flowers
Reveling in the beauty
Of each joyous hour

May you soon stroll
Along your beloved seashore
Glowing under the warm sun
Enjoying the fury of the ocean's roar

May the coming of your summer
Soon be announced by the gentle turtledove
And may your heart always remember
Just how much you are loved.

-M Mirandon
August 2006

 

[Billy!]

Thinking of you Christine ... Get well soon! Best Wishes from Australia!

 

[Kenny]

This isn't good

August 23, 2006

Day 49 (59) - a little set back

Well, I just found out today that I've contracted a dreaded viral infection. No one can say where it came from. In addition to the concerning "chimeric" transplant, it also explains why my blood counts are not rising. For normal healthy persons, this virus is common and does not cause any acute problems, but it can prove fatal for newborns and those with "suppressed immune systems" (moi!) Thankfully, it is treatable with heavy medication. 15 years ago, it would have been curtains for me, so in a strange way, I'm "lucky" to have contracted it now. It's amazing how far medicine has come in just a short matter of time. It's another mountain to climb over but I'm just hoping to see waterfalls on the other side.

My hair is slowly growing in. It sort of feels like thick peach- fuzz, or a little chihuahua. I've finally mastered the G-D-C chords on the guitar. Visitors are staying longer. Walking is easier but is still exhausting, but with each day I am walking farther and walking longer, even if it is just a few extra feet.

Like all of us, I'm just taking it one day at a time. And putting trust in God. Today was warm, sunny and beautiful... and I'm breathing it all in while I can.

love,
Christine

"It's another mountain to climb over but I'm just hoping to see waterfalls on the other side."

ok, that made me cry.

 

[dgridley]

Thanks for the updates.. good luck to all involved as usual.

 

[briman1970]

I will double my prayer efforts Christine. I'm sure God will see you through this battle.

Bless you!
Bri