Polar Bear Plunge

Good morning everyone. I posted yesterday about the fundraiser that Dan and I are doing to support  new cancer patients into First Descents cancer adventure camps. What I forgot to mention is that a donation as little as $5 is greatly appreciated. Every single dollar counts. Dan and I are going to climb 50 - count them fifty, five zero - routes in three hours. It is going to be challenging, but it's going to be amazing! I will be taking photos, maybe even video, and posting it to the fundraising page.

And if we don't meet our goal of fifty climbs in three hours next Saturday, we have pledged to do a polar bear plunge. 

Brrrrrr! You can give us suggestions, perhaps I can put a poll on the blog and you can vote on where we leap into the frigid waters.

I am so excited for this challenge, and I really hope we escape the icy Puget Sound. Most of all, I really want to give others a chance to gain lifelong friends, comrades, a true loving understanding peer group that understands them. It's just like new moms tend to reach out to other new moms, we do better, learn more, have better support when we band together. It just makes things better all around. We're here on Earth to help each other, and it's a lot of fun. Let's fundraise to envelope more cancer patients under the FD wing. Let's spread the joy, and the love. Navigating and enduring cancer is one of the hardest trials a person can endure. Let's make it easier for them.

Thank you for reading this, and thank you for the support. I wish you could see the laughter, and the healing tears, the hugs, and the accomplishment that occurs throughout these amazing adventure.

DONATE

Please, please, please be so kind as to help spread the word about our page. It would mean so much to both Dan and I.

Thank you again,

Jess

Climb-A-Thon FD Fundraiser

Dan and I found a way to fundraise for other cancer patients to join First Descents on an adventure camp retreat - by fundraising we make the camp free to the cancer patients! Here is my story from the fundraising page. I'm so excited at the idea of more cancer patients getting to enjoy the experience that is FD. It may be crazy but we're hoping to raise $3,000. In 10 days. Yep, we're crazy. PS All donations are tax deductible! (click to donate)

Hi Guys, 

Welcome to our First Descents Climbathon fundraising page! Very soon, on April 18th, Dan and I will rock climb to raise money so that more cancer patients/survivors can enjoy the life changing experience of a First Descents camp. We signed up a little late, so we only have about 10 days to raise money before we climb our hearts out. Our goal, in the three hour time slot, is to do 50 climbs between the two of us. Is that insane? Yes it is. But, if we divide it by two, that's 25 climbs apiece, then divide it into three hours and it's less than 10 climbs per hour per person. Is it possible? I don't know! But good gopher we're going to give it our all. 

My lovely blog readers, friends, and family, have heard me sing the praises of what a First Descents adventure camp did for my morale, my confidence, my soul, my spirit. It was epic. I also gained profound friendships, soul siblings. They're family. Please help us support First Descents and its mission to provide amazing outdoor adventure programs for young adults impacted by cancer. Please consider making a donation. I can't emphasize enough how excited I am to be raising money so that others can enjoy what I've already been able to experience.

As many of you know I was diagnosed with a brain tumor on April 13th, 2010 at the age of 29. I had my first brain surgery on the 27th of that same month. It was an awake crainiotomy. They literally put me under, sawed open my skull, woke me back up and dug around in my brain with electrodes, and tools, to determine what was tumor tissue, and what was healthy brain tissue. During the process I was joking with the doctors and answering their questions - it was wild! They awake craniotomies in cases where the tumors grow dangerously within important areas of the functiong brain. For me that area was speech, language, and movement. I was at risk of being paralyzed on my right side, of being unable to process or use language.

Not long after the eight hour brain surgery, my body created a blood clot in my brain along with hemorrhaging in the tumor cavity. It required a second, emergent brain surgery. When I came out of the second brain surgery, I was paralyzed on my right side. I couldn't say more than a one syllable word. I didn't know the months of the year, or the days of the week for that matter. I couldn't recognize everyday items. I couldn't walk. I couldn't feed myself, or even wipe my own bum. The doctors and nurses said I would not get better. And they were almost right. It took shy of a full year to learn how to read  again, and run the way that I used to, the way I loved. I still get better every single day. 

I have since had a second brain tumor grow, and it was resected. I have been doing active treatment ever since (two and a half years). My treatment protocol is intense and dedicated. I've flown to other countries for immunotherapies, I swollow hundreds of pills a day. One of my main treatments must be refrigerated, and it requires applications of medicine every four hours. (This is how I have to insert the medicine up my nose every four hours.)

When I went to my First Descents camp I was nervous because of my treatments. I thought  I wouldn't be able to enjoy all of the activities. But the First Descents crew, especially "Honeybucket", made sure that I had my medicine, going as far as strapping the cooler of my treatments to her back as we climbed. (My medicine is in a cooler in that gigantic backpack.)

For the first time since my diagnosis I wasn't the weirdo doing treatments, or the girl who had to stay home because of seizures. I was free. I was supported. I was normal in a sea of my peers. Just writing those words, remembering the freedom, has caused me to start crying happy tears. This is what I want to share with others. I want to pay it forward so that no other cancer patient ever feels alone, or weird, or isolated. We are not meant to be alone, solitary. It puts a damp cloth on the fire of our soul.

There is no pressure here, but if you can't make a donation at this point, please help me reach my goal by sharing this page on Facebook and Twitter. Or, even better, send an e-mail to friends you think might be interested in contributing and include a link to my page!

Thank you for loving me, for supporting me, and for helping me pay it forward.

With love,

"Coconuts" (and "Huckleberry" too!)

Want to donate? CLICK HERE

Another Seizure

Still waiting for the UCLA MRI results. Haven't been posting much, but wanted to make sure you all know I'm fine. Had another seizure yesterday. A legitimate one, not just an aura. I had forgotten how bad seizures hurt. And today, the day after the seizure, my head feels like it's exploding. Especially if I lower my head down toward my heart (is that normal?). Freaking seizures. I'm exhausted and can't retain much since wires are all fried. It's a nap day. 

Dan took this after I fell asleep. He had rushed home to help me.

It's good that Dan could come home and help me. He found the house in a mess, water everywhere (counter and floor) - I had tried to get ice water to cool me down and stop the seizure's progression. He found my packet of lorazepam (my seizure pills) on the ground crumbled by my fist as I couldn't get the pills out. I was half in and out of my clothes because I was overheating, then freezing, but couldn't get dressed again since my entire right side was paralyzed. My lips were blue and my skin purplish, from chill. It all always happens so fast. I imagine it's similar to a stroke. (Although, perhaps a little less damaging.)

My right side was paralyzed, then numb, the entire rest of the night. It's starting to get better, but shockingly this seizure has had very long-lasting side effects. It's one of the most intense seizure situations yet, without losing conciousness. 

Hope you all are well. I'm off to rest some more. Just thinking hurts.