While the treatments have been going on for a while, so have my preparations for a story about my illness. WGAL is a wonderful forum for sharing stories and I was privileged enough to share mine on the air last night. It wasn't an easy decision to share what is going on. I was a little nervous, Chris was a lot nervous, but now, a day after it aired I'm feeling it was a good choice. I feel proud of what my News Director and my photographer, friend and funny man Andy helped me put together.
I received about 45 e-mails since yesterday and many of them refer to me "coming out" with my story. I just think that sounds funny. The only time I say coming out is when someone is gay. So to be clear, my story had nothing to do with me announcing I'm suddenly a lesbian. Nope, strictly a heterosexual still. The other time people refer to "coming out" is for a debutant party, big social affairs where 16 years olds are formally introduced into society. The craziest thing is this tradition still happens in Lancaster. My wonderful sister-in-law Hilary had a fabulous Deb party. But, alas, there's no country club fete full of surf and turf and escorts for me. Instead my "coming out" was simply me and my bald head in a bright yellow zip up that made me look like I just stepped out of Saturday Night Fever. At least it was a bright color so I didn't look too depressing telling my cancer sob story.
So here's the link to the story on WGAL. I hope our web guys are excited I'm linking to it so we get a lot of hits on the web page. These are the things that make the "Web Boys" happy.
Meredith's WGAL Story
This will be the first in a series of four stories. This one is "all about Meredith." Typical. It's the MoJo Show. While this one focuses on why I've been missing, my diagnosis and prognosis, the other stories are about the friends I've made along the way. The Chemo Lounge which is really a party room. My friend Agnes, who is like the Ambassador of Hope at the office and then the final story is about the Wig Lady, a breast cancer survivor who now sells wigs to women suffering hair loss. They are all such amazing women and have meant so much to me. It's time to tell their stories too!
So I knew I would post this today and all my family and friends who don't live in the WGAL coverage area would be able to see it. Well, I'm like 12 hours too late because my sister Ashley is a WGAL stalker. She googles WGAL and finds stories of mine that are posted online. She got a hold of this one before I even told her it was on and she's forwarded it to everyone. I talked to Grandma today and she said she loved the story. Gram is great at e-mail but finding that story on her own is pushing her technological limits. When she said Ash sent it, it all made sense. Not only does Ash stalk me online, but she stalks her own West Palm Beach TV station personalities. She has a serious crush on the weather guy and knows he whole life story. She's contemplated going to events that he was hosting just so she can see him. A little creepy, Ash. But she's a perfect example of the people in Lancaster who thought my story was good. They said they missed me being in their living room each night and now they're happy they know why and I missing and that I will soon be back. Gotta love devoted viewers.
I hope you like the clip as much as the crazies like Ashley!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
BINGO!
Today was a big day!
My wonderful mother-in-law Marcia has been my special guest, taxi cab and shoulder to cry on during this roller coaster since the beginning. Today it all seemed worth it. She picks me up early, we head to the lab for blood work, talk with our friends there, go to Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and breakfast while we wait for the results, then go to the Oncology office and keep our fingers crossed. It's become our Wednesday routine and the two of us have grown quite fond of it.
Marsh and I can usually tell by Beverly's face if it's good news or bad news. She's the first smiling face you see when you walk into Cancer Care for Women. Well, usually smiling unless she's received a "critical" phone call. That's when the lab doesn't wait to fax or e-mail critically low results. They want the patient and the caregiver to know what's up ASAP. Sometimes we walk in and Beverly shakes her head - that's when we know it's critical.
Today, on this bright, sunny 80 degree day ... nothing but sunshine and smiles from Beverly. I could feel it was going to be a good day. All the blood levels came back first: no problems ... platelets are back up, red and white blood cells are cooperating. That's what happens when you are chemo-free for a week. The only thing we were waiting on was the hCG number.
Kristen starts the chemo. Marcia and I start socializing with all our chemo friends. My newest friend, Kerri, is a 20-something cancer patient so I feel like we've instantly bonded on the "this sucks at any age, but especially at our ages. Losing your hair sucks too. And wouldn't it be more fun to be at the bar on the weekends instead of managing side effects." It's that kind of "I get what you're going through" thing.
Two hours later, the number is in. Drum roll please .... 2.0! The lab doesn't count anything below two - so 2.0 = 0! Woo hoo! It's been a success. Now we keep on doing chemo for three more courses, just to kick it in the ass for good. That's six more weeks of chemo if I can do them all back to back. Either way, remember that light at the end of the tunnel? It's getting really bright.
Thank you God for taking me in your hands. Thank you to every soul who has prayed for me and sent me good vibes. I will survive because of all of you.
What a wonderful day.
My wonderful mother-in-law Marcia has been my special guest, taxi cab and shoulder to cry on during this roller coaster since the beginning. Today it all seemed worth it. She picks me up early, we head to the lab for blood work, talk with our friends there, go to Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and breakfast while we wait for the results, then go to the Oncology office and keep our fingers crossed. It's become our Wednesday routine and the two of us have grown quite fond of it.
Marsh and I can usually tell by Beverly's face if it's good news or bad news. She's the first smiling face you see when you walk into Cancer Care for Women. Well, usually smiling unless she's received a "critical" phone call. That's when the lab doesn't wait to fax or e-mail critically low results. They want the patient and the caregiver to know what's up ASAP. Sometimes we walk in and Beverly shakes her head - that's when we know it's critical.
Today, on this bright, sunny 80 degree day ... nothing but sunshine and smiles from Beverly. I could feel it was going to be a good day. All the blood levels came back first: no problems ... platelets are back up, red and white blood cells are cooperating. That's what happens when you are chemo-free for a week. The only thing we were waiting on was the hCG number.
Kristen starts the chemo. Marcia and I start socializing with all our chemo friends. My newest friend, Kerri, is a 20-something cancer patient so I feel like we've instantly bonded on the "this sucks at any age, but especially at our ages. Losing your hair sucks too. And wouldn't it be more fun to be at the bar on the weekends instead of managing side effects." It's that kind of "I get what you're going through" thing.
Two hours later, the number is in. Drum roll please .... 2.0! The lab doesn't count anything below two - so 2.0 = 0! Woo hoo! It's been a success. Now we keep on doing chemo for three more courses, just to kick it in the ass for good. That's six more weeks of chemo if I can do them all back to back. Either way, remember that light at the end of the tunnel? It's getting really bright.
Thank you God for taking me in your hands. Thank you to every soul who has prayed for me and sent me good vibes. I will survive because of all of you.
What a wonderful day.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
And The Number Is ....
Well, which one? The good one or the bad one? It's always something.
This Wednesday the hCG was the GOOD NUMBER, dropping from 4.0 to 2.2! I am so happy it dropped. This is the part where I get bitchy: I'm so frustrated that it is painfully slow. It's like creeping it's way down to zero. Ugh, I want it over with so badly.
My progress is really so positive - I know that. I just had a bad taste in my mouth because of the BAD NUMBER. The damn platelets again. Why won't they just cooperate? Your platelets need to be 90 to get chemo. I came in at a resounding 26. Thanks for playing, but that's not high enough to receive treatment.
(When I get to the doctor's office each week, I like to work the room. Say hello to everyone, all the women patients and their cute husbands who are doting on them. I talked to this one women Wednesday. Asked how her numbers were. She said, "Oh gosh, not good. My platelets are so low. They are the lowest they have ever been. I'm nervous." I asked what's her number. She replied, "Ninety-two!" I could tell she was exasperated and I didn't want to pop her drama bubble. So I said nothing. But she asked, "What are yours?" I said, "Today they are 26 but last month they were 6." She shut up pretty quickly. See ... it's all about perspective.)
So while I was thrilled with the 2.2 hCG, I was disappointed in no chemo. I feel like every week I miss now is a week I have to tack on in August. A No Chemo Day is like a Snow Day when you are a kid in school, except without the fun of sledding. And then, when it's nice out at the end of the school year, they sock on these extra days. By that point you can't remember the fun of sledding. All you know is you're sweating to death and want to be in the pool. I want to be in the pool, damn it! We don't even have a pool, but I want in it.
The silver lining (and there's always one) is that without chemo I should be a rock star for Memorial Day Weekend! My mouth is so sore all I'm eating is pastina, apple sauce and ice pops. But you can bet I'm going to party it up for the holiday weekend. We're going to the shore. I might try to gum a hamburger and french fries. I can't wait to sit on the beach (under a hat, a muumuu and a tent because the sun is like kryptonite for me right now). But the soothing sounds of the ocean and the warm sea air is enough to cure anything.
Let's kick off the summer in style and with some positive vibes. And maybe, just maybe, we can end the season with a Cancer-Free Barbecue and a cold cosmopolitan! Cheers!
This Wednesday the hCG was the GOOD NUMBER, dropping from 4.0 to 2.2! I am so happy it dropped. This is the part where I get bitchy: I'm so frustrated that it is painfully slow. It's like creeping it's way down to zero. Ugh, I want it over with so badly.
My progress is really so positive - I know that. I just had a bad taste in my mouth because of the BAD NUMBER. The damn platelets again. Why won't they just cooperate? Your platelets need to be 90 to get chemo. I came in at a resounding 26. Thanks for playing, but that's not high enough to receive treatment.
(When I get to the doctor's office each week, I like to work the room. Say hello to everyone, all the women patients and their cute husbands who are doting on them. I talked to this one women Wednesday. Asked how her numbers were. She said, "Oh gosh, not good. My platelets are so low. They are the lowest they have ever been. I'm nervous." I asked what's her number. She replied, "Ninety-two!" I could tell she was exasperated and I didn't want to pop her drama bubble. So I said nothing. But she asked, "What are yours?" I said, "Today they are 26 but last month they were 6." She shut up pretty quickly. See ... it's all about perspective.)
So while I was thrilled with the 2.2 hCG, I was disappointed in no chemo. I feel like every week I miss now is a week I have to tack on in August. A No Chemo Day is like a Snow Day when you are a kid in school, except without the fun of sledding. And then, when it's nice out at the end of the school year, they sock on these extra days. By that point you can't remember the fun of sledding. All you know is you're sweating to death and want to be in the pool. I want to be in the pool, damn it! We don't even have a pool, but I want in it.
The silver lining (and there's always one) is that without chemo I should be a rock star for Memorial Day Weekend! My mouth is so sore all I'm eating is pastina, apple sauce and ice pops. But you can bet I'm going to party it up for the holiday weekend. We're going to the shore. I might try to gum a hamburger and french fries. I can't wait to sit on the beach (under a hat, a muumuu and a tent because the sun is like kryptonite for me right now). But the soothing sounds of the ocean and the warm sea air is enough to cure anything.
Let's kick off the summer in style and with some positive vibes. And maybe, just maybe, we can end the season with a Cancer-Free Barbecue and a cold cosmopolitan! Cheers!
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Can I Wear A Cancer Sign?
This has been one of my biggest lessons during this illness. You have no idea what other people might be going through.
I'm learning everyone has something. Each family knows a sick person, or has lost someone, or struggles with an ongoing issue. Many people have had a life tragedy and just keep on plugging. While the pain of those struggles might be easing over time, some are raw and painful and you can't just wear it on your sleeve.
Though sometimes I'd like to. There have been a few times I wanted a tattoo on my forehead that read something like this:
"I HAVE CANCER BITCH, SO BACK OFF!"
It wouldn't be kind or prudent (and it would be really painful lasering that tattoo off once I'm better) but at least it would get my message across.
I feel it in the supermarket. By the time I've walked up and down the aisles and filled the cart I'm at my physical limit. I'm tired and now the cart is 400 pounds (yes, I need three boxes of Entenmann's nubby donuts) and of course I have the cart with one bum wheel.
Tangent: have you noticed the cart area at the supermarket lately? They have a camera pointed right at you as you come in as if to say "We're watching you. You steal those Entenmann's donuts, we're gonna getcha!), then they have four containers of antibacterial wipes. "For your safety." As if someone has ever actually contracted Hepatitis from pushing the cart. Can we - for five minutes - focus on fixing the shitty wheels on the shopping carts instead of resupplying the sani-wipes all day long? Germ-a-phobes would probably welcome a little staph infection if the carts just worked properly.
Back to the supermarket: I'm so tired by the end. I try to unload my cart as fast as possible. I try not to hold up the line by digging in my wallet for the Giant Preferred Shopper Club Card. I attempt to help bag the shit up. But I'm so tired. I look up at the people behind me and dodge the glares. This is when I want a sign that says, "BEAR WITH ME, I HAVE CANCER."
If nothing else, it would give people pause. I might be able to elicit some of those "Ah, poor girl" sighs from some old ladies. Mostly it would be an explanation for why I'm not in tip top shape, moving at warp speed.
That's when I realize it's not a lesson for everyone else. It's a lesson for me. I'm the bitch whose complaining behind someone in the supermarket line. I have no idea what might be going on with that person when they are not out shopping for nubby donuts. I'm going to take a breath, take a pause, and realize everyone has something. Maybe that someone wishes they had a sign too.
I'm learning everyone has something. Each family knows a sick person, or has lost someone, or struggles with an ongoing issue. Many people have had a life tragedy and just keep on plugging. While the pain of those struggles might be easing over time, some are raw and painful and you can't just wear it on your sleeve.
Though sometimes I'd like to. There have been a few times I wanted a tattoo on my forehead that read something like this:
"I HAVE CANCER BITCH, SO BACK OFF!"
It wouldn't be kind or prudent (and it would be really painful lasering that tattoo off once I'm better) but at least it would get my message across.
I feel it in the supermarket. By the time I've walked up and down the aisles and filled the cart I'm at my physical limit. I'm tired and now the cart is 400 pounds (yes, I need three boxes of Entenmann's nubby donuts) and of course I have the cart with one bum wheel.
Tangent: have you noticed the cart area at the supermarket lately? They have a camera pointed right at you as you come in as if to say "We're watching you. You steal those Entenmann's donuts, we're gonna getcha!), then they have four containers of antibacterial wipes. "For your safety." As if someone has ever actually contracted Hepatitis from pushing the cart. Can we - for five minutes - focus on fixing the shitty wheels on the shopping carts instead of resupplying the sani-wipes all day long? Germ-a-phobes would probably welcome a little staph infection if the carts just worked properly.
Back to the supermarket: I'm so tired by the end. I try to unload my cart as fast as possible. I try not to hold up the line by digging in my wallet for the Giant Preferred Shopper Club Card. I attempt to help bag the shit up. But I'm so tired. I look up at the people behind me and dodge the glares. This is when I want a sign that says, "BEAR WITH ME, I HAVE CANCER."
If nothing else, it would give people pause. I might be able to elicit some of those "Ah, poor girl" sighs from some old ladies. Mostly it would be an explanation for why I'm not in tip top shape, moving at warp speed.
That's when I realize it's not a lesson for everyone else. It's a lesson for me. I'm the bitch whose complaining behind someone in the supermarket line. I have no idea what might be going on with that person when they are not out shopping for nubby donuts. I'm going to take a breath, take a pause, and realize everyone has something. Maybe that someone wishes they had a sign too.
Monday, May 21, 2012
The Unstoppable Umsteads
There are so so so many people whose help and generosity is just overwhelming. I'm lucky to be surrounded by such a support system. It would be unfair to single out one particular person or persons.
That being said: Todd Umstead and his family are hysterical! And they have kept me smiling this whole time. When I said "funny cards" - they found funny cards. The Easter VaJayJay card was from the Umsteads. I don't know that Jesus meant for the Easter celebration of his Resurrection and VaJayJay's to appear on the same card - but Todd and Dawn found it. And I loved it.
This is the latest well wish:
Hysterical! Where do you find a card like this? And if I found it, I would be buy all of them because I can think of about a dozen people who would bust a gut if they opened this up!
On top of the dog cards, the Umstead's rock a menagerie of dogs and other animals at home. And the best part is ... they put them on the return address label with those little cartoon faces! When I get a card from them, at first glance, I'm thinking it's the Rodgers (who also send the funniest cards!). With five children and the same type of return address label, there are seven smiling cartoon faces on the Rodgers sticker. Those represent actual human beings. Todd and Dawn, plus daughter Olivia, are on the label along with 37 animals! I swear between dogs, cats, a hamster, plus an elephant I think - it's the Umstead Zoo! Makes me laugh every time.
Dawn keyed in on one of the biggest things when I first got sick: running errands. I - the Queen of Errand Running - simply could not get in and out of the car 53 times in an afternoon to get my stuff done. She was out running errands, she offered to run my errands. It's like a family of Visiting Angels.
Todd sent the last card, one of those talking ones, with an extra surprise inside: a print out from WikiAnswers.com.
Check this out:
http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_tall_is_meredith_jorgensen
The whole first post is crazy, CRAY-ZEE (except for the part where he says I'm prettier in person - that part is all true! Ha!)
So Todd finds this, prints it out, writes WTF on the top and sent it along. If this kind of stuff doesn't pass the cancer time, I don't know what will.
While it's all fun and games, my thanks and appreciation is serious. This man is bald for me. Todd's been a part of St. Baldrick's Day for years. It's an organization that urges people to raise money to shave their heads in support of children diagnosed with pediatric cancers. It's a fun and awe-inspiring event as dozens of people - a lot of local police officers and fire fighters - shave their heads. I was really hoping to go, see my friends and support the cause in April. Alas, I was having one of those "bad" cancer days and missed all the fun. But then Todd texted me this picture:
That being said: Todd Umstead and his family are hysterical! And they have kept me smiling this whole time. When I said "funny cards" - they found funny cards. The Easter VaJayJay card was from the Umsteads. I don't know that Jesus meant for the Easter celebration of his Resurrection and VaJayJay's to appear on the same card - but Todd and Dawn found it. And I loved it.
This is the latest well wish:
 |
| Old lady, furry dog: "Sorry my dog humped your leg... he feels really bad about it!" |
On top of the dog cards, the Umstead's rock a menagerie of dogs and other animals at home. And the best part is ... they put them on the return address label with those little cartoon faces! When I get a card from them, at first glance, I'm thinking it's the Rodgers (who also send the funniest cards!). With five children and the same type of return address label, there are seven smiling cartoon faces on the Rodgers sticker. Those represent actual human beings. Todd and Dawn, plus daughter Olivia, are on the label along with 37 animals! I swear between dogs, cats, a hamster, plus an elephant I think - it's the Umstead Zoo! Makes me laugh every time.
Dawn keyed in on one of the biggest things when I first got sick: running errands. I - the Queen of Errand Running - simply could not get in and out of the car 53 times in an afternoon to get my stuff done. She was out running errands, she offered to run my errands. It's like a family of Visiting Angels.
Todd sent the last card, one of those talking ones, with an extra surprise inside: a print out from WikiAnswers.com.
Check this out:
http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_tall_is_meredith_jorgensen
The whole first post is crazy, CRAY-ZEE (except for the part where he says I'm prettier in person - that part is all true! Ha!)
So Todd finds this, prints it out, writes WTF on the top and sent it along. If this kind of stuff doesn't pass the cancer time, I don't know what will.
While it's all fun and games, my thanks and appreciation is serious. This man is bald for me. Todd's been a part of St. Baldrick's Day for years. It's an organization that urges people to raise money to shave their heads in support of children diagnosed with pediatric cancers. It's a fun and awe-inspiring event as dozens of people - a lot of local police officers and fire fighters - shave their heads. I was really hoping to go, see my friends and support the cause in April. Alas, I was having one of those "bad" cancer days and missed all the fun. But then Todd texted me this picture:
 |
| Todd definitely rocks that look better than I do. Thank you for all your support and well wishes. You have no idea how much it means! |
Friday, May 18, 2012
4.0 ... We're getting there!
Ok, now we're on a roll. The hCG number dropped again from 5.6 to 4.0! We are really getting into the nitty gritty here. I was so happy with the number. As always, all the other fricken numbers dropped too. I guess that's what chemo will do to you. It's odd, I never thought I would look forward to chemotherapy, but I do. Two reasons: I'm anti-cancer and pro-Kristen. Any day that I can kill a little more cancer and gossip and laugh a little more with the Chemo nurse is a good day. So far I've had four straight weeks of chemo with no interruptions. The more I get done now the less I have to do in say, August.
The hemoglobin (I don't know if that's how you spell that - I think it always look like hemo- goblin - like a red ghost! ha!) was down to 5.2. Laymans terms: that's not good. It's supposed to be 12. I was short of breath and then (as Kristen kept reminding me) you could have a heart attack. I tried to convince her that I was a marathon runner at one time and my heart should be strong. (I leave out parts of that story like that marathon was 8 years ago and it took me half a day. Plus I load as much salt and butter on anything that takes salt and butter. Even stuff that doesn't: like adding salt to the already super salty Patio Pizza. So maybe my heart isn't that strong.) Either way, the blood work trumped my protests and they ordered a blood transfusion.
I've never had a blood transfusion before and Chris is pretty opposed unless it's absolutely necessary. He doesn't want me to come down with the hiv or hepatitis A-F. Chris remembers the days in Miami when they used pay homeless people for blood. Most of those donors were IV drug users so that blood wasn't always the best. I'm assured that the blood bank system is full of checks and balances, but why take the chance if you don't have to. But ... with red blood cells at 5.2 ... we had to. Taylor told me I looked like Powder the other day while we were on Oovoo (like Skype) on the computer. Remember Powder, old movie about a MAN (thanks Tayl) who was so pale. I got the point, I needed a little red in my cheeks and the blood transfusion would do that. Plus it would let some more oxygen get to my brain. Always a good thing.
Seven hours yesterday, me and an IV pole and three bags of blood. Again, I'm praying that the donors are all saints. Marcia and Hilary sat with me the whole day. We played cards (Hilary won - shocking. Go Fish is a game of chance. It's statistically impossible that that woman should win all the time - but she does. Plus, it makes her happy when she's victorious, so it makes me happy too!) Before you knew it, I was the color of a normal human being. And I can breathe when I walk up a flight of stairs. Modern medicine.
The hemoglobin (I don't know if that's how you spell that - I think it always look like hemo- goblin - like a red ghost! ha!) was down to 5.2. Laymans terms: that's not good. It's supposed to be 12. I was short of breath and then (as Kristen kept reminding me) you could have a heart attack. I tried to convince her that I was a marathon runner at one time and my heart should be strong. (I leave out parts of that story like that marathon was 8 years ago and it took me half a day. Plus I load as much salt and butter on anything that takes salt and butter. Even stuff that doesn't: like adding salt to the already super salty Patio Pizza. So maybe my heart isn't that strong.) Either way, the blood work trumped my protests and they ordered a blood transfusion.
I've never had a blood transfusion before and Chris is pretty opposed unless it's absolutely necessary. He doesn't want me to come down with the hiv or hepatitis A-F. Chris remembers the days in Miami when they used pay homeless people for blood. Most of those donors were IV drug users so that blood wasn't always the best. I'm assured that the blood bank system is full of checks and balances, but why take the chance if you don't have to. But ... with red blood cells at 5.2 ... we had to. Taylor told me I looked like Powder the other day while we were on Oovoo (like Skype) on the computer. Remember Powder, old movie about a MAN (thanks Tayl) who was so pale. I got the point, I needed a little red in my cheeks and the blood transfusion would do that. Plus it would let some more oxygen get to my brain. Always a good thing.
Seven hours yesterday, me and an IV pole and three bags of blood. Again, I'm praying that the donors are all saints. Marcia and Hilary sat with me the whole day. We played cards (Hilary won - shocking. Go Fish is a game of chance. It's statistically impossible that that woman should win all the time - but she does. Plus, it makes her happy when she's victorious, so it makes me happy too!) Before you knew it, I was the color of a normal human being. And I can breathe when I walk up a flight of stairs. Modern medicine.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
5.6!!!
Oh, thank you dear God. The number was 5.6 - down from 20.9! The doctors feel like we are back on track! I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.
Mom sent this to me at the begininng of the treatment and it's hanging on my fridge:
Joshua 1:9
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.
I get so weak sometimes that I was terrified and disouraged. But all your prayers and well wishes helped lift me up. We're going to be okay and I have you all and Chris and God to thank.
Mom sent this to me at the begininng of the treatment and it's hanging on my fridge:
Joshua 1:9
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.
I get so weak sometimes that I was terrified and disouraged. But all your prayers and well wishes helped lift me up. We're going to be okay and I have you all and Chris and God to thank.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)