Appointment With Dr Liau

The appointment with Dr Liau was AWESOME. She had reviewed all of my scans, and wasn't sure if I even had any tumor tissue. She said that before she would cut me open, she would need for me to have a Dopa PET scan. It's the scan that we've been wanting, but my doctors at UW would not authorize. It's a special scan that's used for low grade tumors. The scan would differentiate between tumor cells and scar tissue.

If the results from the scan show that the tissue in question IS tumor, she is very confident that she can remove it. She would have me do a functional MRI to verify the location of the tumor against healthy tissue. A fMRI is a typical MRI except for the fact that they ask you a bunch of questions, watching the areas that light up. Then they will stick little needles in different muscle groups and watch again for the different areas of the brain that light up. My tumor is in my language and sensory location. All in all she seemed very happy with my current situation, that I seem perfectly healthy, and the area in question seems to mostly be growing out in the tumor cavity which is great! It's better if it grows into the void as apposed to into healthy tissue.

Dr Liau thinks she could remove all the tumor (if that's what it is). I would not need to do another awake surgery, unless something comes up on the fMRI (if my speech or movement areas aren't where other peoples are). I would not need to shave my whole head, she would just shave along the original incision on either side. Sounds do-able!

The meeting happened so fast, it seemed, although she answered every single question. I'm so excited, and I literally adore Dr Liau. I can't go back to UW. I'm a convert. It's going to be tricky to visit Liau for all of our MRIs and appointments, but heck, she is LEGIT. She was on board that I should not do radiation (at this point). She scheduled the proper test, Dopa PET. She is kind, and exceedingly intelligent. She's the best oncologist I've ever met.

Now I need to go, I have an appointment with an acupuncturist. I'm very excited!!

I can't believe how different Dr Liau is compared with my other oncologists at UW. My oncologists at the UW have been pressuring me for radiation since October, and they keep telling me how much the tumor has been growing, constantly freaking me out. Dr Liau was quite the opposite. And, if it does turn out to be tumor, after reviewing the Dopa PET, Dr Liau was very confident that we could remove that tissue, and use it for the personalized vaccine.

This just reiterates to me the necessity of choosing the right doctor. Thank you for all of the support along the way, this journey just keeps getting better and better!

To Knife or Not To Knife

Yesterday, I walked a couple of loops around Green Lake with my friend Lauren. On the way to meet her (she lives in Green Lake like me so we meet half way), I saw this gorgeous dahlia. I mean, I think it's a dahlia. It was misting, and every plant had mother nature's glitter. It was a beautiful morning, a great day to be alive, to be healthy, to be able to walk and explore and laugh and talk. The possibility of another brain surgery reminds me of all the trials I worked through before. The first two brain surgeries were incredibly hard on me, and the recovery for months and months and months were horribly trying. But, I got through it. At times I didn't know if I'd get better. I didn't know if I would ever get my speech back together, find the words that I wanted to communicate with, my phonetics and word finding were in pieces. I didn't know if I would ever read again, or once I was able to slowly read aloud, like a child just beginning, I didn't know if I would ever be able to understand those words.

Any fears I might have about undergoing another brain surgery are definitely founded, but it still shouldn't hinder me from moving forward with a successful treatment. I used this analogy with a friend yesterday when she was picking up her cherries (thank you!), I want to hit Herman with a firing range. I want an arsenal to beat this tumor, hit him from all angles, give him no reprieve. Technically, according to the research, it's possible to cure my type of tumor in rats with various high dose supplements, and of course, our friends have already stopped theirs. But, I haven't been able to ingest the amounts that are necessary for killing doses like my friends did. We think that we're winning the fight, that the smaller amounts that I take might be holding Hermie at bay, or perhaps even reversing some of his growth, but the MRIs have not been definitive. In fact, my oncologists, and the radiologists, believe that Herman has continued to grow progressively. In order for me to be comfortable, I need to see more serious results.

At this point I take 29 pills in the morning, 24 pills in the afternoon, 48 pills in the early evening, 8 pills shortly after that, and finally before bed I take 6 pills. Most of them must be taken with whole milk so I'm tethered to a refrigerator. It's exhausting to keep up on the schedule, and I'm sick from swallowing all the pills - not to mention the fact that I feel like a cow. Literally. I find that on most days I don't even leave the house. The supplements may take years to heal me, and I need to keep on them in order to stay in front of Hermie's growth, to hold him back. It's a lot of work. If I go through with this clinical trial I might be able to aide my immune system to fight Hermie on my own. My body might be able to clean up the tumor, and heal itself. I could still take the majority of supplements, or all of them if I so chose, as my immune system also went to work. It would be an arsenal against Mr Herm. What's better than that?!?!

I'm scared to do another brain surgery, I think I've made that blatantly clear, yet I'm excited for the possibility of a personalized tumor vaccine. The freshest tumor has the best chance for success, so the surgery truly is necessary to be the most effective. Bad things can happen during surgery, I'm proof of that, and I'm actually very fortunate because I recovered from most of the ill effects of my brain surgeries. Some are not as lucky. But, this treatment could also heal me. It's a gamble, and we won't know if I'm a winner unless I go through with it and see what happens.

Hermie is Winning

The appointment went in the worst scenario possible. They proved to us that the tumor has been consistently growing. The artemisinin does not appear to be working. We all feel completely deflated. There was crying from each of us. I don't even know how to process this information. I am not winning the battle against Hermie. The radiology reports that had been showing the same measurements at each MRI, had been haphazard and the doctor apologized. He said that he's seen that before, even to one of his family members who has a low grade glioma like me. He said that there are MRI reading specialists all in a room, going case by case, and that they're overworked and they can get sloppy. That they don't always review all the way back a few MRIs to truly compare. So, basically, those reports, which we had been banking on, were bogus. 

The worst part is that the way the specialist reviewed all of the MRIs in front of us, showed that the artemisinin does not appear to be working. It should have been causing Hermie to shrink, which he hasn't. I need to regroup and think about what we're going to do next. 

Perfect timing, my Wenatchee girls planned a long weekend, gifting me with a trip to Kaui. So, tomorrow morning I'll be flying out with Kristin, Michelle, Jessaca and Jenny. These girls always cheer me up and fill me with hope. They're exceedingly intelligent, too, so I'm sure they can help me figure out what to do. 

I am so deflated, and scared. And now I am beginning to understand why so few people survive this cancer. It's vicious, tenacious, persistent, and effing strong. I just have to figure out how to outsmart it - and apparently, it's not going to be easy. 

Thank God for the baby ducks.
There's always something beautiful to find, even when you're down.

Too Large? Too Dense?

Man. What a week. I've been a busy bee. Happy second anniversary to us...for the brain surgeries, that is! April 27th and 29th (which also happens to be my mom's birthday - yay for mom!). Last Friday, I jogged over to the UW hospital to retrieve my most recent records from my MRI. I always get copies of the actual scan, and then I also get the radiology report which shows the analysis by the radiologist experts. It's important to get copies of the reports because they are constantly contradicting my nurses and oncologist. It's incredibly confusing.

For example, at the main appointment after my MRI, my oncologist haphazardly pulled out measuring instruments to compare my current MRI on April 19th, to the tumor scan in January, during which he showed a couple of millimeters of growth in a couple of directions, telling us the tumor was progressing. But, according to the current radiology report, my tumor measured the same exact size of 10 mm x16 mm x 11 mm.

What gives? Are the nurses and oncologists uneducated in accurate MRI measuring techniques? If so, maybe they shouldn't be interpreting the results in our meetings. Maybe they shouldn't be inferring results and determining treatment until they receive the official radiology report. According to the current report, there is slight growth, however the measurements have not changed. I'm not sure why they would say that there has been slight growth, and yet the measurements have not changed. We were so confused that my parents contacted the hospital so that we could talk to a MRI reading specialist. For the record, this is not a typical or usual occurrence, and it is not encouraged - but my family is persistent. I think most people don't analyze their MRIs quite as deeply as we do, but I think people should. On Thursday morning we'll be meeting with a fellow who constantly reads brain MRI's. We're hoping that he can explain why the measurements have remained exact over the past six months, over three MRIs, and yet they're saying there's growth. We're not arguing because we can see the slight changes, but we're confused as to why the measurements haven't been adjusted.

I am baffled by the contradicting interpretation of the measurements of my brain tumor. Is it really that subjective? It doesn't seem right. They're trying to tell me to do radiation and fry my brain, yet even the doctors and specialist within the hospital aren't on the same page of what we're dealing with.

It is imperative for patients to get their medical records and review on their own. Not only before you enter a treatment, but also because doctors will say there's "no new growth" when that actually means, "not much" or a few millimeters. That's what was happening to me before October of 2011, and that is a serious problem. Let me tell you why: If your tumor is growing, but you aren't aware, you don't know that you should be looking into treatments. According to my bioengineering artemisinin guru researcher friend, there is a point when a brain tumor can be too large or too dense to treat it safely with artemisinin. When he told me that, I almost vomited (he wouldn't have known - we only talk over email). It never occurred to me that the artemisinin might not work. It all started unravelling when we noticed that the three other areas of concern continue to shrink, and yet Hermie grew just a bit. I asked the guru, one of the top artemisinin researchers in the world, and he said that if the area isn't shrinking like the others, it might be too large or too dense to eradicate with artemisinin. AAAAAAAAAAHHHH! Seriously? That never, ever occurred to my simple, hopeful mind. I thought I just needed to find the correct dosing.

So, what have I learned? Well, if I would have been reviewing my MRIs ever since my surgeries, I would have seen the changes in growth, and I would have been able to start the artemisinin treatment to treat my brain cancer. EEK. AAAAHHHH. I'm so frustrated with myself. I realize that it was an innocent mistake, that I didn't realize how much I needed to be on top of my care, but that doesn't fix the problem of possibly missing my window. We won't know for sure until the next MRI on July 19th. I'm not going to lie, the idea of this treatment not working is absolutely terrifying. I'm not willing to give up though, and, deep in my heart I truly believe that it WILL work, but jeez. This is scary.

To change the subject, here's a photo from the weekend that should make you laugh. Danny, Eric (Dan's brother), Christel (Eric's girlfriend), and I went to the Huskies spring football game, and we came upon photos of the two players of the jerseys that Dan and I wear at Seahawks games. How crazy is that? Just another sign showing that we're a match made in heaven.

Chubby Hermie

Other than the growth of Hermie, the meeting went relatively well. The oncologist listened to our protocol, but as he was nodding, we realized that our protocol doesn't matter. I could have inserted the name of any treatment and he wouldn't have cared. He had already looked at my scans and determined that little Herman had grown. He didn't care about the three other areas which had visibly shrunk. We are incredibly bummed that Herm grew, but the tumor cells are less densely populated, and we're looking into two new institutions for further review. We're also going to contact the researcher who tackles artemisinin to see if he will comment on the scans. We're hoping that he will expand on the typical growth patterns of tumors treated with artemisinin. In reviewing the subject, my family and I recall the possibility of the tumor expanding before it gets smaller. Here's a couple of photos for your review. 

Oct 2011 - Jan 2012 - April 2012

After the MRI, but before the meeting with my oncologist, I went to the records department and had a tech burn a disk of my MRI. We brought all of my previous disks from all of my other MRI's and we reviewed them on my father's laptop so that we wouldn't be blindsided during the appointment. It also makes it easier to figure out any questions we might have. The doctor has no idea that we did that. He never knew that we had already reviewed the scan. I don't think it matters though - he doesn't have to know EVERYTHING.

April 2011 - Oct 2011 - Jan 2012 - April 2012

After the appointment, we mailed off a copy of the scan to our friends who have already beat their cancer, then we headed to my parent's hotel. We pulled up all of the scans, and analyzed to our heart's content. We looked at them with the lights on, with the lights off, from a side angle, from above and below. We zoomed in and we zoomed out. It's important to really go through this stuff with a fine toothed comb. Our oncologist is very busy, he doesn't have the time (only 30 minutes) to review everything, so recently we started conducting our own reviews at home.

My oncologist is not impressed with my protocol, he feels that I still need to start doing radiation. He said that the growth was minimal, but it is still growth. He doesn't care that in the past six months there has been barely any growth, he's concerned about the past year of scans. I understand what he says, but at the same time, all we care about is the past six months - that's the time frame of the artemisinin. I told my oncologist that I'm not ready to give up, that I'm going to do three more months of artemisinin.

Today was exhausting and I need to go relax. We just got home and I need to put my feet up. It's a bummer that Hermie grew, but at least his friends are shrinking. All in all, at least Herms isn't growing exponentially. It could be a lot worse, and I'm grateful. I'm sad that he grew, but I know that this isn't over!

Transparency

Last night, Danny went with his college buddies to bottle their personally crafted beer at a local brewery. Left to my own devices, I whitened my teeth, mudded my face, and ate a pound of strawberries. I don't need to say much about the latter choice, other than it was excessive and thirty minutes later, I immensely regretted my over consumption.

I'm anxious for the MRI tomorrow morning. I realize that what is done is done, that whatever we see is what we see, but I can't help but be nervous. I wish I could just let it all roll off my back, and live my life, then show up at the hospital and finally worry. There's no point in stressing about the results, and yet, it's impossible to avoid it.

In my semi-stressed state, I've been reading a couple of books written by doctors. One was the book titled, The Anatomy of Hope, and then the most recent is Routine Miracles. Both are giving me a better perspective of a doctor's position in patient care. It has prompted me to reorganize my appointment. Let me expand.

I've decided that I need to discuss my alternative treatment with my oncologist. Not in the glossed over fashion that we've attempted in the past, which has caused us to be brushed off. I need to get more in depth and I believe that since we've always met with my oncologist as a group, my parents, Danny, and I, our large presence limits intimacy. So, tomorrow, Danny and I will meet privately with my oncologist and explain everything that we've been doing, starting from the beginning.

We will explain that we've been doing a researched based protocol. I'm going to tell him that the research has been conducted in the Bioengineering Department right here at the University of Washington. I will tell him that we're in contact with the researchers, and that we have a friend who has already eradicated her tumor with a combination of said treatment. This friend had the same exact type of brain tumor as mine, a stage 2 infiltrated/diffuse astrocytoma, even down to the lack of co-deletion of p19-1q (he will recognize the importance of that statement).

I'm going to tell my oncologist that this protocol is not invasive, it's cheap, and relatively speaking, it is without side effects. I'm going to tell the doctor that I need an oncologist that's willing to follow my situation, and understand that I am a unique case. I want someone who is on board, and excited about the progress and fortitude with which I'm going to fight this. I'm going to feel out this oncologist and see if he truly wants to see me cured with any type of treatment, or if he is more interested in western medicine's standard of care. My case is definitely out of the box, and I'm going to tell him that I'm looking for a teammate. By having this honest and open dialog, I think I will find out whether or not I will keep him on my team. It's all about how he responds to this discussion.

I'm excited and nervous to have this talk. I think it's about time I gave transparency to my doctors, but I also understand that it could go horribly wrong. It's a risk that I'm willing to take, though, it has to happen so that I can get the best care. They need to know what they're dealing with, and I need to give them the opportunity to truly help.

After Danny and I discuss my situation with my oncologist, we're going to call in my parents so that we can all review the MRI results. I feel like the first half of the meeting needs to be intimate, and private, so that the oncologist isn't overwhelmed by all of our faces, expressions, questions, etc. I want to look in my doctor's eyes and have his full attention. I am going to lay it all out on the table, and analyze his reactions. This could be an epic success or a tragic failure. Either way, in life, I'm reminded, you can't be afraid of the answers because it's the only way to move forward.

Juggling Act

I am so incredibly frustrated. This happens lately with each reoccurring MRI, they juggle me around, calling the week prior to change things. They change up my appointments, cancel on me, or switch me to see nurses instead of my doctors, and it's incredibly frustrating! They don't even ask! We schedule my MRIs three months in advance. My parents take time off of work, travel to Seattle to be with me, and Danny takes time off of work.

This time, at the last minute (I still consider a week to be last minute in these trying times), they called to tell me that my neuro-oncologist is no longer going to make my appointment, and that I will be meeting with his "very knowledgeable nurse." I believe there are nurses that know much more than doctors, but in the past, my experience has not been good. Each MRI appointment that was held with a nurse instead of the oncologist has been riddled with bad information. I'm sick of meeting with a nurse, then having to come back to meet with the doctor to get my questions answered. I'm done paying for multiple appointments. It's unnecessary. I only want to talk to my oncologist. If I can't meet with my oncologist, I might as well just get the MRI and review it myself. The nurses always have to refer to the doctor to get my questions answered anyway, as they are very technical - or if you recall during the last MRI review, the nurse said my brain tumor was growing significantly when it actually remained the same exact size (10 x 16 x 9). I'm done with the roller coaster of misinformation. I realize that there will be errors, that medical professions are human, but I'm not going to pay hundreds of dollars to someone who may or may not know what they're talking about.

As a patient, I am a customer. I have hired my doctor to provide a service, which is to review my MRI with me and answer any questions I might have. It is irresponsible to cancel a meeting, and contract out the job to a less qualified (although surely nice) person. This cancer patient seems to get pushed around by her doctors. I hope that I'm the only one. It's overwhelmingly frustrating, right in a time when I least need more stress.

I left a message for the nurse who cancelled the appointment with my neuro-oncologist (she did it over a voicemail no less), letting her know that, "Yes, actually, I do have a problem meeting with the nurse practitioner, it's not personal, but I've hired the doctor to meet with me and review my MRI. My family is traveling from out of town, they've reserved hotels since I can't accommodate everyone. My husband has asked for time off, and in this economy, that's risky. We anticipate these appointments and take them very seriously; this brain tumor is our whole life, everything revolves around these appointments. I realize that the doctor has different priorities, but this cancer is incredibly overwhelming and I wish we would be shown a little more respect. We are willing to meet with the doctor any time throughout the day, surely there's a few moments when he can squeeze us in and honor our appointment."

If my new (yep, he's my new guy - I've only met with him once) neuro-oncologist is too booked up to meet with me, they shouldn't have allowed him to take me on as a new patient. I realize that I'm probably annoying since I'm very hands on, and that I always come with all sorts of questions, but I take my health very seriously. I mean, think about it, I've been told that this cancer is going to kill me, that I should not have children - I'm basically in a holding pattern, waiting for the next shoe to drop. I am astounded that this is how they treat someone who is fighting for their life. Although I do a lot of research about my cancer, my options, clinical trials, western, complementary and alternative treatments, etc., I also want to tap into the brain of my neuro-oncologist to answer my questions. I have a few non-negotiables: I will not over pay, or get double billed anymore (like an appointment with the nurse just to have to make another appointment with the doctor to get my questions answered), and I will not be pushed around with appointments. If they can't meet with me then I will need to find a new doctor (of course I won't tell THEM that - who knows if they'd even care).

I was so worked up just now that I had to walk into the kitchen and try a new recipe. It's was forwarded to me from a friend, and although I've tweaked it, it still has the same bones.

Turmeric Tea
1/2 Teaspoon ground turmeric (curcumin)
1/2 Lime (squeezed)
*Add agave, or stevia if you'd like
*Add milk if you'd like

If you don't appreciate Indian food, you may not enjoy this tea, but man, I swear it is scrumptious. I'm a tea fanatic, I actually have a whole drawer full of various teas, and I'm always excited to try new stuff. This drink is special since turmeric is known to kill cancer cells. It's pretty hard to ingest enough to actually kill cancer, but if you start sticking the root or the powder in everything, it sure makes it more likely! I also took two BioPerine pills (black pepper extract). Black pepper aids in the absorption of turmeric. Some people add milk to the tea, but I don't think it needs it. Another note, you'll want to continuously stir it, as the powder settles.

Sorry, for complaining throughout this entire post. I'm frustrated that I get so worked up about this stuff. I wish I didn't care, that I wouldn't have so many questions, that I didn't need to be integrally involved in my care. I wish I could just do whatever the doctors say, and be satisfied. It certainly would be much easier. The thing is, I just absolutely can not do it. I always need it to add up, I need reasons, and I need individualized care. Each cancer fighter is dealing with a unique situation. Patients react differently to mirrored treatments. Each tumor even in the same category is different. They grow differently, the characteristics may be similar, but they manifest in their own way. It is ingrained into my being that I will not survive if I am pooped through the medical system on a one-size-fits-all conveyor belt.

I believe that someday I won't need to take these MRIs so seriously. Someday my MRIs will be an afterthought, or non-existent. Unfortunately, in the meantime, I'm probably going to continue to be the friendly, yet annoying, cancer patient.

Can't They Feign Interest?

This photo is of the only thing that really put a smile on my face today. I'm down. It's been a long time since I've felt this sad.

Truth be told, in my doctor appointments yesterday, I didn't even whisper a word of my "alternative" protocol. I didn't argue, or give off any sort of attitude. I listened to what they had to say, and asked a few questions. They did not care that I haven't had a seizure in over 5.5 months, they want me on medication. They did not care that my brain tumor had scanned as "stable." They did not smile, they did not encourage. I'm now sure that it must say, "stubborn cuss" in my file because I have refused seizure medicine, and I have refused radiation. In my main meeting I told the oncologist that I'm not necessarily against seizure medicine, or radiation, I just don't feel like it's necessary at this time. He was not amused, and strongly disagreed with my opinion. The doctors do not believe in little successes in my situation. They didn't care that I had been seizure free for almost half a year, or that my tumor has not grown in the past three months. How is that? How can they not care? Or even feign interest? How can they look at me, and handle me in such a way? They see me as a terminally patient that is going to die. How can they not throw me a bone and smile at the little victories?! They look at me and they see a dying girl, when no one else in the world sees me that way. They're looking at statistics, not at me, and that makes me frustrated. They need to look at ME, at my specific situation. I feel like the kid in class that causes too much trouble, so the teacher is seating me in the back and doesn't even care if I learn anything - I'll just be bumped up to the next grade for the next teacher to deal with it, or I'll "graduate" to death.

Crushing Dreams

The most frustrating thing about my doctors, is that they are truly waiting for me to die. They don't believe that there's anything that can be done to extend my life (and yet they stiiiiill want to radiate). When we discussed the lack of change in tumor size from October 25th, and January 13th, the doctors said it didn't matter. They care about the big picture. I understand that they're trained to compile the chronological MRI scans to review and observe changes, but when I held the tumor at bay for three months I didn't get a "Woop woop!" Nor did I get a, "Huh. Interesting!" Nothing. They said it didn't matter. Really? I would have appreciated a small smile, or a, "That's great! Not what we typically see here, and you can't extrapolate that to anything one way or another, but heck it's better than the opposite." It's all always so negative. They don't believe in me, they don't believe in us collectively as brain cancer fighters. I've shopped for oncologists, trying to find a better fit, but to no avail. The truth is that according to modern medicine, I'm supposed to continuously get worse as the tumor grows. I'm supposed to progressively lose my speech, my cognitive skills, my independence, my motor skills, my dexterity, my body will start falling apart, echk...everything. I'm supposed to be a good girl, a model patient, and to just give in to whatever my doctors recommend, and succumb to this cancer, and I can see how people do. When you're surrounded by professionals who handle your care, and they don't believe in you, it's hard to believe in yourself.

It is true, the brain tumor did not grow in the time period from October 25 to January 13, the doctors verified that fact today in our appointment. It's amazing how Danny, my parents and I, find this astounding fact to be something to rejoice in, and yet the doctors completely blow it off. It's sad, really. We should be jumping up and down, using this momentum to catapult us to the next phase of our Adios Hermie mission. But somehow, instead, I just feel defeated, and wiped out. I don't cry very often, probably only once every three months, but I can feel a swelling of emotion.

It was a long day of appointments, and there was a lot of information. The main point is that my oncologists, and all of my doctors for that matter, are in the business of crushing dreams. They all expect me to die, it's in their words, and worst of all in their eyes. My dream is to live, and today they just peed on that.

The Time Will Come

I'm grateful for so much each day. Things pop in my head, and then I start smiling. It can be as simple as, "My house is so rad. It's full of daylight even when it's rainy outside!" Lately, though, I've been going for the big ticket items. My mind has been full of happiness thinking about how wonderful it is that I haven't had a seizure since August 5th (the day before my birthday - I was probably just too excited!). I haven't taken anti-seizure medicine since September 27th. And, biggest of all, as Danny and I were running errands today, I realized that I could have just finished last week as my first week of radiation, but instead, I'm happy and healthy and trying to kill this brain tumor with alternative means. I realize that I might have to do radiation (eventually - if there is no other option, and it starts completely growing like an even nastier weed), but right now I'm enjoying the ability to take this into my own hands.

Yesterday, my parents, Danny and I met with the other brain tumor fighter that has been taking the artemisinin. We met with her and her husband and we shared notes. We talked all about the different protocols, the different research out there, and we reviewed both of our pathology reports and all of our MRIs. It was fantastic and incredibly inspiring. Our friends have managed to completely shrink her brain tumor through alternative means. It's unbelievable. Although we had never met, there had been email after email for the past year or so. We combined heads and together, I feel like we can conquer this.

At first I was very concerned because there are so many different types of stage 2 astrocytomas (which we both share), I wasn't sure if we were matching apples to apples. But after sharing our pathology reports, our friend has the same type, along with the "negative for loss codeletion of chromosomes 1p/q 19p/q (can't remember off the top of my head which one has which letter). Anyway, my point is that I have those two chromosomes, as does my friend, which means that our tumors are more aggressive and signify a shorter lifespan. Anyway, after watching her scans, and seeing her brain tumor shrink and shrink, scan after scan, I knew that things were looking up!

Maybe surviving a brain tumor isn't just about luck, or fate, or genetics. Maybe, just as I was hoping all along, it might be treatable or even curable by using healthy choices, and by following herbal research. There just might be a way to treat a brain tumor with diet and supplements. Sometimes the supplements are in massive doses, but who cares! It could slow, halt, or kill the tumor. Wow. This is so big. I just have to keep positive about this process. I'm taking the safe side, unlike my friend who took some pretty substantial amounts (with no serious side effects), but I figure I can still up the ante at my next MRI if things aren't up to my liking.

I'm just so grateful to have this opportunity to squish this with healthy means. I'm forever indebted to our dear friends.

It is going to be so hard to wait for my next MRI in January. I want to start seeing results now! I keep telling my overzealous soul, "Patience little friend, there is no rush. Enjoy each moment, each day, each kiss, each hug, each laugh, each smile, each apple, each salad, each green smoothie, each new smell. The time will come." Each time I have to tell myself that little mantra, my core warms, my cheeks get rosy, I start smiling, and I feel lighter than air. It's the best. It's my favorite problem to have :)

Truly, how wonderful is it that I am not headed for week two of radiation in the morning. HOW WONDERFUL!!! ! ! I know my oncologist probably thinks I'm stupid, but I don't care. This is my body and my life. I will not give up on it, or take the easy, less effective solution. I will fight, I will laugh, I will live, I will not give up.