MD Anderson Monthly Check-Up

Here am I. Back in the saddle again. Flew in last night, took a taxi from Hobby to the Rotary House where I stayed for the night. I am Kirkless until tonight when he drives in from Dallas. Gave blood specimens at 9AM this morning and here am I.

At 11AM I'm meeting with a "Social Worker." Back when I didn't know any better, I had an encounter with one of these overly nice shrinks (God bless 'em). I know they mean well, but, frankly, they creep me out. Too many questions about death, impotence, incontinence and need. I find myself fighting the urge to say something outrageous that will make them think I'm crazy. That's because I secretly believe that is there intent: to make sure I'm sane.

That should be interesting. Meanwhile, nothing interesting is really going on. Just all the ordinary weirdness that comes with visits to MD Anderson. For instance, I just got to hear every word of an elderly man's conversation on his cell phone because he's got it on BLAST and (apparently) doesn't know how to turn it down. Also, so far, I've received two calls on my cell phone from people asking for Mona. After some prodding (since I am rather bored,) I found out from the caller that this number was given out as a "hot lead". I didn't ask what she was selling, but told her I was not Mona. Another oddity about this trip: I completely forgot my toothbrush, toothpaste and deoderant. As I was packing yesterday at home, I remember saying to myself, "I always forget something, but not this time." Alas, it was not to be. Thankfully, I've got back up: Kirk is on his way this afternoon.

I'll find out Friday how low I am in my team's estimation of my blood counts. I'm looking forward to it.

If you have questions, you'd like me to ask Dr. Weber, please send them to swilder@ccccd.edu or place them as comments on my blog by Friday morning. I'll be sure to ask her at my appointment.

Eating Green

I eat green because green heals. But... like Kermit the Frog says, it's not easy... eating green.

To beat cancer, however, eating green means more than having a stalk of broccoli at lunch every day, which I do. It means steaming the "hardcore" greens, like kale or Swiss chard, and adding them to a fruit smoothie. Be warned (nonetheless.) Adding greens to a fruit smoothie will transform a rosy cheeked happy beverage into something that looks like baby poop. Now, while making baby poop smoothies is fun for the whole family (especially middle schoolers,) it's another thing entirely to actually ingest the thing. Knowing it is good for you helps, but...sometimes when alone and the giggles have descended back to the belly (from whence they came) it's not easy eating green...that looks like baby poop.

But no fear. Since cancer came into my life, I've developed a system for eating (or doing) anything I'd rather not...because it's good for me. I pray.

Now, I realize many people will want to emulate me in this activity, so I've written down a sampling of my prayer; and you can repeat it, like the prayer of Jabez, but for eating green smoothies.

Here it goes:

Lord, I know You made green things to heal us. But, in my fallen-ness, I've made a fruit smoothie with kale, and it now looks like baby poop. Please enable me to eat this without puking, but, instead, let it heal me, in the name of Jesus. Amen.

While this simple prayer is excellent for eating green, prayer also works for other things that are difficult to "swallow" like...chemo, reading Proust or watching Dr. Phil. Prayer helps with all things we know are good for us, but find aren't easy going down.

Cancer of the Feet

When my oncologist here delivered his diagnosis of cancer to me, the first words I said were “I knew something wasn’t right.” But what I thought was, “So that’s why my feet have been hurting so much!” The strange truth is that day one after the first shot of Velcade, my foot pain ceased.

Yet for two years before my first chemo treatment, I’d been reduced to my Saucony’s as everyday attire. My grey suede boots, platform mary janes, clunky leather mules, red low-top Converse and blue jean sneakers I loved so much had laid dormant and covered in dust on the floor of my closet. Their mouths, as I gazed down on them, opened to me in a silent and horrified plea that could not be answered. My shoes would not be comforted, nor would they be comfortable. And I…I had been grandmotherized by their loss. For you cannot look like a hip and happening 39-year-old (always my goal,) when wearing running shoes with kaki pants.

So, after a while, I came to believe that the diagnosis of all my doctors was wrong. I did not have Multiple Myeloma. No, I had cancer of the feet. I hoped this would not mean I would have to get a feet-ectomy. Otherwise, I’d find myself needing no shoes at all. This would be unacceptable, seeing as shoes were my favorite fashion accessory, my hobby and, quite possibly, my life. Yes, I decided, if the doctors suggested that my feet would have to go, I’d tell them that doing so would take away not only my life, but my very…sole.

Cassy Girrrrl

My favorite doggy playing in the snow.

Hair: Summer of 2006

See, I told you, my husband, Kirk, took a photograph of just my hair at Caprock State Park--that is, when I wasn't looking.

If my hair falls out during the transplant, will his love fall out, too?

Naaa. I mean, you'll notice his hair sort of fell out a few years ago. Did I stop loving him, then? No way.

Jacob, my son, is in the foreground. Same color hair as mine. No lies here.

Told ya.

Childhood Hair

I've always had good hair. Especially when I was a kid.

My grandma Jerry used to paint pictures of me and she struggled to render my hair the way it really was. I wonder what colors she used to paint it...oh, I digress.

Anyway, I'm hoping that when my hair grows back it'll look like it did when I was a kid. A perfect manifestation of my "inner child" springing out of my head unafraid.

I Am My Hair

I am my hair.

I know it's vain, but I must tell you now that when I was a little girl I had FANTASTIC hair. It was wispy and yet curly, the color of pale yellow mixed with white. Like my son, who had the same hair only slightly darker and curlier, people at the grocery were drawn to touch my hair when I was a little girl. They just couldn't help themselves. My hair was like an enchantment.

This power of my hair did not become evident to me until I was a teenager. I fought the curls in those days, though it mattered little in the humid bay area near Houston. I straightened with all my strength, but an hour later...poof. I was back to curly. As a drill team dancer in High School, I straightened AND THEN hot curled my hair. Now that was brilliant. But it didn't matter, as I said. One hour later and poof. Nonetheless, people loved my hair, and thus loved me.

In college, I eventually let my hair be free. Especially when I was playing Luciana in Comedy of Errors at Winedale. The cascading curls were perfect for any Renaissance female role, comedy or tragedy. People applauded me from the audience, but I knew it was for my hair. Bravo! Bravo! For Sherry's hair!

Last summer, before any of this cancer had made itself known to me, I noticed a picture Kirk took at Cap Rock State Park. It was a picture of just my hair. Kirk loves my hair. I swear he mentions it weekly. It's embarrassing, but true. My hair is SPLENDIFOROUS. I love it; Kirk loves it; the WORLD loves MY HAIR. And that has made all the difference.

But now I say goodbye to the hair that has defined me and I wonder if the world will still love me when I look like a Buddhist monk.* Only I won't look like a Buddhist monk. I'll look like a cancer patient. There won't be any hiding the cancer behind my hair any more. It'll be just my face--my round, chubby face. With my round, chubby face and no hair to dazzle them, will I still find love? For only my soul and spirit will be left in my eyes....hey, my eyes....that's it!

I AM my eyes....

*I will supposedly lose all my hair during the transplant AND it may not grow back as it is now.

Stay tuned for my upcoming photographic TRIBUTE TO MY HAIR.

It's Snowing And I've Got Cold Feet (About the Transplant)

Alternative medicine: Practices not generally recognized by the medical community as standard or conventional medical approaches and used instead of standard treatments.

Since October, I've come to know alternative medicine. I've read books, articles and documents of various lengths from friends, family, homeopathic doctors, alternative therapists and the internet. The experience leaves me with feelings that are as broad as the field of alternative medicine itself.

I've had quite a few people--strangers and friends alike--offer to sell me vitamins. These encounters left me cold.

On the other hand, many people--strangers, friends and family--have offered remedies of various kinds because I asked for them. Some of these remedies have been extremely helpful; others just seemed too silly, crazy or downright impossible. Strangely, remedies I've rejected work beautifully for others. And even more strangely, remedies that once worked for me stopped working for a while, then worked once again.

But today I got cold feet about the transplants. I started looking for holistic doctors. I had met with one who really creeped me out. Maybe this time it wouldn't be so bad....

Whatever the case, as I wander through this haze of choices, it's good to know solutions I can really use have been offered by loved ones. Like what I'm going to do with my pets or how I'm going to get my house scoured in preparation for my return when my immunity will be low (thank you, Heather and Ina!)

Picture Website: Now Public

No need to sign up to see my pictures any more (as far as I can see.)

To see pictures of our vacation to Zion National Park and the Grand Canyon this past summer of 2006, follow this link:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sherrywilder/

(Some of of my art photographs are there, as well.)

Thank You for Praying

Thanks to my mom, Kirk's mom, my sister and many other friends and family, prayers for my healing and discernment concerning the transplants are being said by many, both by individuals and by churches whose prayer lists I've been placed on.

Thank you for praying. Because of your prayers, I am now very close to remission. My counts put me today at .5 on a scale that goes down to zero, meaning remission.

God is the total reason I have weathered chemotherapy (Velcade and Dexamethasone) with relatively little pain or loss of strength. I'm not saying it's been easy; sensitivity to medications has been an issue for me my entire life. When prescribed anything by a doctors in the past, I was wont to take only half. With chemo, this God-given sensitivity has worked in my favor because it has brought me from a 5.5 rating to .5 in only 3 months. Nonetheless, being sensitive created other effects that rendered me incapable of doing in the last 2 months things like reading and writing that, as a writer and professor, gave me sustenance and joy. I am still recovering from the loss of reading comprehension, memory and ability to read (at all) or hear subtleties in other's words. But, overall, these past few weeks have been wonderful. Since I am at .5, I have not had to take Velcade injections for about a month, which formerly caused sleeplessness, pain, weakness or migraines. And the steroid--Dexamethasone, which affected my ability to process words and made me paranoid--may not ever be prescribed to me again.

Now, for the bone marrow transplants. According to 2 out of 3 of my doctors (sounds like a Trident commercial,) the best way to go into Complete Remission is to get two transplants, what they call "tandem" transplants. First, one with my own blood, an autologous transplant. Then, second, one with a donor. This is not standard treatment, but requires my involvement in a trial. My sister, unbelievably, is a match for my bone marrow. I say unbelievably because my sister, Lisa, and I could not be more different from one another. She is an engineer; I am a humanities professor. She is brown-haired, lean and analytical; I am blond-haired, not so lean and intuitive. I love her so much. Because God made her a match, I have the rare option of having a sibling bone marrow donor for a 2nd transplant. But there are risks. The risks, I believe, are not as great for those who are young, since children, teens and young people (43 is young comparatively) are now routinely given donor transplants for Leukemia with success. There is apparently a 10% chance of death, even among these young people and people like me who are relatively young and have responsive cancers and no symptoms. There are side effects of allo-transplants, as well. Some of which are necessary to get the graft v. Myeloma effect that will rid my bone marrow of all cancerous plasma cells. Some side effects are chronic and even deadly.

If you pray, please ask God to give me and my family wisdom about the transplants.

For those of you who need to know what date the auto-transplant begins for me at MD Anderson (in Houston,) I have nothing to report. I am told it will most likely be mid-February. For those of you in cyber-space who have been through or are awaiting a transplant or two for MM, please don't hesitate to contact me. Whatever the case, for the auto-transplant I will be in Houston near MD Anderson at an apartment Kirk and I will rent for six weeks. It is an "out-patient" procedure.

On February 6-9, 2007, I'll be at MD Anderson getting my monthly check up and staying at the Rotary Hotel, which is only a foot-bridge away from all my appointments. Though it is expensive to stay there, insurance covers it and flights completely. It is actually more expensive to drive, since gas is reimbursed only .20 for each $1.

Note: We need help on our animals! I'm not supposed to bring them because my immunity will be at zero. Also, our house has to be scoured from top to bottom before I return. If you have any ideas or solutions, we'd love to hear them. Money is tight with meeting our deductible and out of pocket expenses. Thankfully insurance covers much, but it is still extremely expensive. So please: no expensive (over $100 or $200) solutions.

Bite-Sized Renderings of My Adventures in Multiple Myeloma

My adventure begins in August of 2006. A routine cholesterol check discovers proteins in my blood. I am sent from one doctor to another until October, when I find myself at a Cancer Clinic in Plano, Texas. I have, at the time, absolutely no idea why I am there. That's because I know I don't have cancer. A nice oncologist tells me in his little white room that I probably don't have Multiple Myeloma, a cancer of the bone marrow, but we'll do some tests to prove it. Upon my return visit, I strut through the door, pretending to open the automatic doors magically with a wave of my arms. At 43, I am the youngest person waiting in the sunny waiting room that goes perfectly with the sunny voice that answers automatically when you call the clinic. A nurse calls my name, mispronouncing it. I don't have the will to correct her. Once again, back in the little white room where I first met the oncologist, I can tell by the look on his face as he's walking through the door that he is not happy. A bone marrow biopsy is needed to prove I don't have Multiple Myeloma.

Three days later, my husband is holding my hand as they dig into my pelvis bone for evidence with a long needle. I can bear the pain because of three things. My husband. A lollipop*. And an understanding that I'm about to prove everyone wrong. *A pain-killing lollipop.

That weekend I'm in my favorite place on the planet. Wimberley, Texas. Where my brother-in-law is having his 60th birthday party. And it is huge! I put on a brave face, but it doesn't matter--I'm scared. No one wants to talk about it. And I am so relieved. But one night a discussion ensues, and I reveal my fears. Kirk, my husband, says, "Sherry, you don't even have cancer."

The next week, Kirk and I walk hand in hand down the little hall outside the oncologist's little white room. The nice man finally enters, and he does not look happy. I do have Multiple Myeloma.

"Never heard of it," I say. "Can't have something you've never heard of, right?" I was joking, but it wasn't funny.

That was October 15, 2006.