Day + 15

Day + 15 and I'm feeling pretty good. Still have some slight nausea and everything tastes like metal. I guess the metallic taste will stick around for the next six weeks. But I force down anything I can anyways. I have a new appreciation for the power of Ensures. Chocolate Ensures. Hopped back on the rower for the first time since August, at a light speed and a low drag. It kicked my ass. I'm a little more in atrophy than I thought. A few more weeks of light cardio and calisthenics, then maybe I can talk the doctors into letting me throw some weight around. Still tightening up my skills, trying to read as many books as possible on programing, power lifting, oly lifting, and speed training. They say to keep your mind sharp, and I hate f*#^ing sudoku and crossword puzzles.

The Rip it For Rup event is coming up on Saturday. I am so proud of everyone who is stepping up to do a little suffering on my behalf. I would give anything to be there, to go to war with all of you. Good luck to everybody! 110%!!

Brian

Day + 13

Finally got out of the hospital yesterday and am moved into my isolation apartment. Thank you so much to everyone who made this apartment possible. Everyone has been so generous, and have literally been working day and night for the past few weeks to get it ready for me to move in. Last night was my first full night of sleep in two weeks. I'm feeling great, and have high hopes for the next 87 days. The doctors say it's mandatory to:

1) Exercise 60 minutes a day (piece of cake, they obviously never did 7's)
2) Eat
3) Take medications (I have 12 different ones, chiropractor friends, don't be mad ;)

I have a long road ahead, but with the help of family, friends, and giving 110% all the time (and of course wearing my Grandpa's bolo tie nonstop), 100 days is definitely in my reach.

Brian

Day + 9

I was finally able to take the kids to visit Brian in the hospital today. He was extremely nervous about the visit. He didn't want them to be scared of the hospital and all the machines, but mostly he didn't want them to be scared of him. They haven't seen him, even on facetime, since the day after Thanksgiving. And he does look different. He's completely bald, and has lost quite a bit of weight. Even I did a double take today, and I just saw him yesterday. He had to wear a mask, gloves, a protective gown, and is connected to an IV. The kids weren't fazed at all, they were just overjoyed to see their Daddy. All they noticed was that his gown was white and that he was wearing socks ;). So many times during all of this we have underestimated the kids' ability to adapt to their new reality. But time and time again they surprise us and prove us wrong, and we couldn't be prouder.

Day + 4

Brian had pancakes for breakfast. This is actually a really big deal. The past week his meals have pretty much consisted of him forcing down Ensure shakes and the occasional Cup of Noodles. Brian is doing well, but 'well' is a relative term. Is he spiking fevers or hooked up to a ventilator like some of the other transplant patients on his floor? Thankfully, no. But his days are mostly spent sitting, yes sitting, because he is required to be sitting up in a chair for a minimum of 10 hours a day. He sits just trying to fight back extreme nausea, and with a dehabilitating headache where it is painful to even open his eyes. In the hour or so where the medicine eases the headache, he walks up and down the corridor. He has to walk an hour a day, each minute is logged by his nurses. It really is inspiring. Usually when someone feels like complete crap all they want to do is curl up in bed and sleep. Instead he is walking, sitting, and unable to sleep because he feels that bad. We celebrate these little victories, like having pancakes for breakfast. But have learned to celebrate with some reservation. We have and will continue to always remain positive. But things can change suddenly, and that fact is complelty terrifying.

Day + 3

Hey everyone,
I know everyone has been wondering how I'm doing. Lately I've been feeling like shit. But I'm well, and so far so good with the transplant. It's day by day, but we should know early next week how it's taking. First off I want to thank my family and friends for all their help, concerns, well wishes, and prayers. I am humbled by all the good in people. We haven't had to ask anyone for anything, they've just done it. This is definitely the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I know I've got heart, and heart's enough.

Day minus 1

Walks down the hallway corridor, amrap 30 minutes, Brian: 43. He was finally feeling up to getting up and walking around today so he took full advantage of it. Wouldn't expect anything less ;). The transplant is tomorrow at noon. Everything is looking good and he is just ready to get everything started. Thanks so much to everyone for your support and well wishes, it really means so much to us.

Day Minus 3

Brian officially checked into Loyola this morning. He began day one of two days of chemo, and has the actual transplant on Monday. He is in good spirits, and charming the nurses as usual ;). We have been so fortunate through all of this with the groups of nurses we have had. They have gone above and beyond to make sure that Brian is as comfortable as he can be, and even making sure that I'm okay. These men and women have an incredibly difficult job that they make look easy, which in turn puts us at ease, and I totally admire and am thankful for that.

Day minus 5

So people have been asking Brian and me to start a blog. I have thought about starting one before, maybe just random thoughts, maybe about being the mother of twins, but I've never been one to share my thoughts and feelings publicly, and neither has Brian. Today, however, I feel a little differently. In two days Brian will check into Loyola to begin the inpatient part of his bone marrow transplant. We've known this day was coming for a long time. When we first got his diagnosis, a transplant seemed like a possibility, but not a definite. Then even when it became a definite, we had no idea what it would entail. That's the thing about cancer, the second you let your guard down, something else comes up to throw you for a complete loop, something you didn't see coming. So here we are. Two rounds of chemo, three long hospital stays later, and countless shots, transfusions, dietary restrictions, and bottles of hand sanitizer later, we find ourselves in the final countdown. I have nothing but admiration and respect for my husband. I always knew he was strong. Not just physically of course, but mentally. He could overcome anything, and always had the strongest drive to succeed. He has exceeded anything I could have imagined through all of this. He never once has complained. In fact, he has been a cheerleader for others more than anything. Would anyone have thought less of him had he curled up in a ball and given into this disease, no, of course not. But he chose to do the complete opposite. He in fact, inspired people to do more, to be better, and in seeing that he was willing to fight, they were stronger too. But it's not always easy to be strong. I try all the time to take a page from his playbook. To look cancer in the face and say "F*ck, you, we're stronger than this!". But some days I just can't. I can't really explain to our three year olds why daddy is in the hospital, than out. They understand that he has cancer, but have absolutely no idea what cancer is. They understand that he has "owies" but don't understand why band aids can't fix it. I am thankful that they aren't scared, but at the same time wish they were old enough enough to understand why they can't hug and kiss and climb all over their daddy like they always have. Why he's too scared to play with them for fear of catching just the common cold. Our friends and family have been amazing through all this, and I truly know that we could not get through this without and each and every one of them. I have also come to accept help and charity, from people we know and love, and from strangers who we don't know, but are completely humbled by their generosity. Charity is a hard thing to accept. Brian and I have never been ones to accept charity. We borrow money, we pay you back. You fix our sink, we'll fix your cabinet. It is overwhelming the amount of kindness we have received, and I wish there was a way to give back personally to each and every person, because each and every person has made a difference to us. So again, here we are. Two days. Two days until your world is completely upside down. Cancer affects every family member differently, but I don''t think anyone can truly understand how it will directly affect them until they are in it. And at least for me, once you're in it, it's what you think about almost non stop. I'll tell you something, I will never again take things for granted. Do you know that your husband will be home tonight? I don't, depends on his fever and blood counts. Can you give your husband a hug? Nope, it's terrifying to think that just that little show of affection could be detrimental to his health. When your kids ask if daddy is home, you have to tell them no over and over, and can't tell them when the opposite will be true. These may seem like big things or little things, depends on how you look at it. Okay, I apologize, I'm rambling quite a bit and it's only my first entry. I guess at this point you're either intrigued or completely turned off. I guess the most important thing to know is hang in there. Sounds cliche but it has to be true. Brian is hanging in there the best that he can. He doesn't care what they do to him as long as the end result is he finally gets his life back. So hang in there with us, it will be worth it.