The Boxer

This is Patty Maloney, blogging for our warrior princess DonnaLee again.

DonnaLee hopes you all had a happy Thanksgiving. She said she doesn’t need to let you all know the importance of friends and family, as we are feeling it more than ever this season. She wanted me to convey that she can feel the love and prayers everyone is sending her way, and that she loves you all SO much.

DonnaLee had a wonderful Thanksgiving surprise, for which she is grateful - she got to go home from the hospital!

Though I don’t have a full report on DonnaLee’s health status, I do know her doctors are still fighting for her, trying to find out the cause of why the hemoglobin and platelets are breaking down instead of just treating the symptoms. In the hospital, she had felt scared and anxious the longer she was there. But DonnaLee is all in to keep fighting, especially since her doctors and friends and family are willing to continue to fight (and boy does she have a family of fighters on her side!). Does this surprise any of us who know DonnaLee so well and have seen her beat back cancer time and again?

Once at home on Thanksgiving, the “A team” - her daughter Taryn, and Taryn’s boyfriend Cody and dad Chris - got DonnaLee set up with a bed and nightstand on the ground floor, so she can navigate easier. Then DonnaLee’s cousin Lisa and Josh arrived from the west coast later that day. DonnaLee has had lots of company, which has made her a bit more tired than usual. So she asked you to please excuse any radio silences.

Coming up: lots of doctor appointments. DonnaLee’s a little anxious to find out how she’s been doing without the constant monitoring she had in the hospital. There may be decisions ahead that she doesn’t feel ready to make. Such as would she need to go back to the hospital (certainly hope not!)? Or does she need home care services?

Finally, a shout out to all the fellow warriors keeping her in the fight. DonnaLee says you know who you are and you have the battle scars to prove it.

Love and blessings to all!

Don’t Stop Believin’

This is DonnaLee’s friend Patty Maloney guest blogging for our warrior princess.

As you know, DonnaLee’s cancer has been progressing, and in the last week, she’s been facing new challenges. DonnaLee is in the hospital right now, dealing with multiple health issues, including a low platelet count that had caused uncontrolled bleeding in her mouth. Luckily, that is under control at the moment.

I visited DonnaLee earlier today, along with Mary Cox, and as usual, DonnaLee had a roomful of company - we joined her family in celebrating DonnaLee’s half birthday today! Her children Taryn, Emily and Ian were there, along with Ian’s wife Chelsea, Taryn’s boyfriend Cody and her dad Chris, and DonnaLee’s granddaughter Addison.

Despite being weaker, DonnaLee was in good spirits overall and at times optimistic. Does that surprise anyone who knows and loves our warrior princess? That quick wit and brilliant smile are still in full force.

Still, DonnaLee is also realistic. She is uncertain what the immediate future holds for her, or if she will even make it home from the hospital.

Now the hard part: DonnaLee wanted me to let each and everyone of you know how much she has appreciated your love and friendship over the years, and that she wishes she had more time to spend with us.

Most important, DonnaLee would like you to keep her family in your thoughts. As hard as this is for her, DonnaLee says it is even harder for them. I could see that myself today. Our warrior princess has never let cancer stand in the way of her commitment to living life to its fullest and being totally present for her family - and that has not changed.

I may be sharing more updates if DonnaLee asks me to. I know you all share in my hope that DonnaLee will be able to be in the comfort of her own home again soon.

And, please share your thoughts and messages of love and hope for her! DonnaLee isn’t up to the task right now of responding to all messages. But I know she will read each and every message, and the support will help to buoy her spirits.

Bitter Tears

It's been just about 3 weeks since I dropped the bombshell news about my disease and its difficult prognosis.  Has it been enough time for those I love and care about to process this news in a healthy way?  Has it been enough time for me?  What, really, comes next?

Initially, as expected, there was a flurry of calls, texts, emails, prayers, visits, assistance, travel plans, sharing the news (as I had asked), thoughts, opinions, and a wide range of emotions.  Some folks reaching out that I didn't expect to; others that have not reached out that I would have thought I'd hear from.  Most surprising of all to me?  How some of you were immediately pessimistic with respect to my unknown time left on this Earth, believing it to be days or at best, weeks.  How some seemed to feel that I was giving up the fight, that I wasn't doing everything possible to prolong my own life.  How some, upon seeing me, seemed surprised that I looked relatively normal (well, except for the obvious weight loss).  I was left wondering, 3 weeks later, if I'd made a mistake in not keeping this to myself.

Let's face it - the longer I stay alive, the more we all will revert back to our "regular" lives.  And while there is a part of me that welcomes that to a certain degree (it is hard to think of the disruptions to many of your lives already experienced in these past 3 weeks), there is another part of me that is bitter about it.  Because the little things that tell me I'm not going to be OK, that a miracle is not in the offing, that confirm my time here is truly quite limited continue to make themselves known.  The decreasing ability to walk, climb stairs, move without pain.  The swelling of my ankles.  The need for blood transfusions to address low hemoglobin results.  An inability to eat enough to gain desperately needed weight.  Episodes of shortness of breath.  Some of these issues are visible; others are not.  All are evidence that the march of the tumors continues. 

And while I think I'm doing a pretty good job of keeping it all together, focusing on each day as it comes, trying to remain optimistic about my chances for a bit of longevity, the fact of the matter is I am scared every day, and there are many, many moments of bitter tears when I not only ponder my inevitable fate, but also reflect on all the momentous events I will surely be missing out on.  I know I need to balance my desires for more time with beloved family and friends with everyone's need to get back to a normal life that understandably doesn't always include me.  But I admit - it is hard sometimes to put aside those selfish feelings, hard to fight back the frustrating tears when something doesn't go my way, hard to acknowledge that it isn't - it can't be - all about me.

Bitter tears aside - I recognize how fortunate I am to have all of you bearing the burden with me when I know it's not easy.  I see how so many of you have stepped up in unique ways to support me.  I appreciate that many of you have indulged my wants and needs, both large and small.  And most of all, I'm grateful for those of you who've had my back when I do get the occasional questioning of my decisions related to treatment and quality of life.  Yes - there's some bitter. But for sure plenty of sweet as well.

Blessings and Love to All.

Reelin' In The Years

You will not like this.  But you must read and you must know.

Chemotherapy is no longer working - it only creates potentially life-threatening side effects at this point.  Hormone therapies are no longer working - the tumors have figured out how to outsmart anything thrown at them to stop or slow the progression of my cancer.  I am not eligible for any clinical trials since my cancer remains in my bones only.  Other options (immunotherapies, etc.) have been considered and rejected as not likely to produce enough of a result to warrant the probable debilitating effects on my body, already besieged and glaringly deteriorated.  I am fighting with the few tools left available to me but I will soon lose this fight.

I don't know for sure, of course, what "soon" means but I do know that I no longer have years left and in all likelihood it comes down to months.  The doctors, they don't give you definitive prognoses, but they also do not dispute when I lay it out as above.

I've had a good run since initial diagnosis, reeling in more years than I ever would have expected and enjoying a quality of life (barring a few hiccups) many would envy.  I have no bucket list; I have no regrets; I have no last minute "wish list" items.  I don't want to talk about it; I've done enough of that over the past several weeks.  What I want, what I plan to do, is to wake up each day here on out thankful for the chance to breathe it all in until my chances run out.

I'm scared, not so much of the dying as I am of the leaving.  I am sad that I had to bring this burden onto my children, my family, my friends and yet I am comforted by their unwavering support as well as their commitment to enfold me in their arms, both figuratively and literally, and let me know "I've got you."

Is this my last post?  I don't know.  I kind of hope not.  But if it is...know that at least as of this writing I am happy and blessed and hoping that I have given you the best of me over the years.

Blessings and Love to All.

Alive

I am alive.  But am I living?

The challenges of the past six months, the ongoing difficulties of managing my pain, the uncertainty of the progression of my disease, the constant attention that must be paid to every aspect of my health, the multitude of adjustments and lifestyle changes I've had to make over the last 24 years (and the last 8 months in particular), it all makes me ask the obvious question:  When is it time to stop fighting so damn hard and to start really enjoying what time I have left?

Two ends of the spectrum here:  You fight until you have absolutely nothing left, embracing every medication/cancer trial/experimental drug/alternative treatment, gritting your teeth to capture every last second of life, a one-time-only gift you've been blessed with.  Or:  You focus on making sure that the time you have left is spent on that which is pleasurable and precious and enjoyable and important to you, even if it means giving up some months (or years) of that blessed life.

Quantity vs. quality - how do you know when it's time to trade the one for the other (assuming that you have, as I do, the longevity to actually be able to contemplate that trade off)? What's the tipping point?  What are the signs?  Where's the roadmap that tells you it's time to turn left?  When do you decide to stop believing in miracles?

Although the incidence of this happening has subsided as I've slowly gotten past some of the obstacles of the past 8 months, there are many times recently that I've walked around my house crying to God or I've called one of my loving and supportive friends or family members to ask why I'm being tortured like this; to demand to know why I'm not shown compassion by taking me now before pain and immobility and emaciation and joylessness overtake my body and my mind.  Is this my reward for fighting so hard to stay alive all these years - the dying, the downward spiral is made patently unbearable?  My family is made to watch me deteriorate, saddening them, forcing them to feel helpless to save me?  How is this considered to be living (or living well if you will)?  How is this (dare I say it) fair?

Fortunately, things do seem to be on the upswing for me - my arm has healed with good range of motion and no pain once radiation was completed; medications have been changed to address some ongoing pain issues in my hips and upper legs; weight loss has stabilized and hopefully I will put back on some needed pounds;  and restarted my chemotherapy regimen today to get some systemic relief from the tumors.  So confronting the questions posed above gets back-burnered, they lose a bit of urgency, they fade into the background.  Plans are made for the future and they include a steak dinner with favorite folks, a Mets game (yes, this Yankees fan is trading loyalties for the evening in order to spend time with family), a girls' trip to Savannah and an 80th birthday party in Seattle.

But they will come up again.  Someday.  So I ask you, faithful readers (and this is not a rhetorical question) - What do I do?  Do I stay alive?  Or do I live?  Don't disappoint - I'm counting on your feedback.

Blessings and Love to All.