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.
