4/26/11 - Scan Results

When faced with adversity there comes a defining moment when you are forced to make a decision. Whether to fold or refuse to give in. Adversity can occur in all different forms, but perhaps the worst is when you don’t see it coming and it absolutely blindsides you. This is what happened to me on Friday. I wasn’t feeling well last week because I had come down with a virus and had a low fever, cough, headache, and sore throat for pretty much the whole week. I still went into the city and had my CT scan done as scheduled because I was very curious to see how these new drugs were working. I was very eager to hear the doctor tell me that the scans looked good and things were continuing to move in the right direction. For this reason, I was upset I was sick because I knew I would not be able to go into the city to meet with my doctor. Treatment would definitely be postponed until I felt better because I needed to recover first before my white blood cell count took the hit from chemo. I called my doctor’s office and made it known my main concern was to somehow get the results from my scan and luckily my doctor agreed to call me the next day to let me know how things were looking. I figured this was a good sign because if it were any sort of bad news she would probably want to talk to me in person. I’ll admit I was able to sleep a bit easier Thursday night knowing I was looking at another week of feeling great before having treatment and then most likely receiving some good news in the morning regarding my scan results.

I answered my cell phone around 5pm on Friday and it was a strange number so I knew this was finally the call I had been waiting for all day. My excitement faded, fast. This is not what I was expecting. How could this be? I could barely wrap my head around what I was being told. I took notes on my laptop and none of them seemed to make any sense. My doctor said she would call back again at 7pm when both of my parents were home so we could discuss what just happened. I put the phone down and didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to cry? Be mad? I sat there and stared into space. I could feel my heart pounding and decided to take a shower to pass the time. As I stood there and the water poured over me I realized I couldn’t cry. I realized it was no time to be sad, days like this were to be expected. I’ve always known something like this would happen, but nothing ever prepares you for it.

My parents got home and I tried to explain what was happening as best I could. They weren’t devastated, but they were upset. This long journey has taken a toll on all of us and it has weighed quite heavily upon all of our shoulders, not just mine. There were some tears, but we quickly pulled it together. I reminded them that whatever comes next is just the next step and that this is a bump in the road. My doctor called back promptly at 7pm and the conversation was a repeat of what I already knew. The chemo that I was receiving for the last three months of avastin and irinotekan did not work. While my colon and lungs remained stable, the tumors that engulf my liver grew, one even doubled in size. While they are still smaller than what they were when I was first diagnosed, this growth is a step in the wrong direction. Even worse, it means we can’t buy any more time on these drugs. The ones I had previously been on bought me almost two years of progress and stability. These haven’t done anything.

So what’s next? There’s a lot that’s up in the air. I’m meeting with a doctor on Monday at Sloan’s main facility to discuss the possibility of doing a procedure called SIRT which involved SIR-Spheres. If it’s determined this type of procedure could benefit me then it is done as an outpatient procedure. A small incision will be made in my leg and a small tube is then inserted into the main artery that feeds my liver. The tube is snaked through the artery and placed very close to the liver where it can direct microscopic beads (spheres) of radioactive matter that can potentially help. Side effects are minimal ranging from flu-like symptoms to nausea, but I most likely wouldn’t be allowed around people since I’d be radioactive. That, of course, is the simple version of what the procedure really is. Other options include another type of chemo which is given in pill form, but my doctor didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it. Another option is to try reintroducing oxaliplatin again. That drug sucked. Since I had such a bad reaction to it last time, my doctor said we’d have to turn treatment into a two or three day process and I’d have to be heavily medicated throughout. I’ll obviously do what I have to do, but I’d rather not go that route. Either way, none of these are cures and the list is starting to dwindle which is a very real and scary thing. I’ve begun the search of alternative treatments and have found one doctor that comes highly recommended by some people I trust. Right now my army is in intelligence mode, everyone is scouring the internet for information on procedures that could help, even if it’s a long shot. We’re not desperate yet, but if something could help then why the hell not?

So we’ll see what happens. I’m meeting with this doctor on May 2^nd and hopefully I’ll get some answers. Hopefully I’ll get some good news. Either way, this is adversity. This was totally unexpected. I could have felt sorry for myself. I couldn’t cry in the shower because my decision was already made…I am faced with a problem, there is a solution somewhere and it will present itself when the time is right. For now I just have to remind myself that no matter what happens next week, this battle is very far from over.

4/12/11

This past weekend I was lucky enough to be asked to speak at two Relay for Life events. I learned a very valuable lesson though about agreeing to things very far in advance: I need to realize that despite how my mind feels about doing these events, I must also remember my body might not be as enthusiastic about it two days after treatment. Well you live you learn, right? I definitely learned this weekend. I don’t mind speaking in public and I like to think I put together some coherent thoughts once in a while and the audience could take something away from it. I didn’t feel that great after treatment on Thursday and I promptly went to bed right when I got home. Friday never really happened since I didn’t venture out of my bed until after 5pm. I wasn’t feeling that well and I knew that if I stood up to walk around I’d immediately have to run to the bathroom to puke. Only problem was I had no interest in running anywhere and I couldn’t stand the thought of what my mom’s face would look like if I told her I threw up on the new carpet. So the solution was to remain in bed. Usually I’d begin feeling a lot better on Saturdays so I kept my fingers crossed because I knew it was too late to cancel on the Relays. Saturday came around and I was really hating myself for saying I’d be feeling well enough to speak later that night. I didn’t eat much of anything except for some toast and stayed on the couch watching golf until I absolutely needed to get ready. After a car ride of constant mental reminders to focus on objects in the distance and having my finger on the window control just in case, we made it to Fairleigh Dickinson University in Madison (Hey I go there!). Yes, I was speaking at my school and I wasn’t too sure how I felt about it, but knew it was something I needed to do. I transferred up here because of my illness and it follows and affects me in every facet of my life, school has been somewhere I can blend in and pretend to be normal if only for a few hours a day. My professors are aware I have a medical condition and I don’t go into any detail unless I miss some classes and feel I owe an explanation. Either way we were there and it was showtime. I wasn’t schedule to speak for a few minutes so I wandered around to a few of the buildings trying to find a vending machine that was working because I figured some carbonation might help settle my stomach. I got my drink and came back to declare to my parents that “I would consider this a moral victory if I don’t puke on the stage.” My dad laughed and my mom shook her head but they both knew I was serious. I spoke for only a minute to the crowd of about 120 because I didn’t want to bore them and we were in a gym so the terrible acoustics meant I could only hear my own voice which got very annoying. I was able to get my point across and had I been feeling a little better I might have made more sense. We made our way to the next Relay at Blair Academy, a small boarding school about 30 minutes from my house. The students there raised over $30k in a short period of time and the energy and enthusiasm they brought to the event was truly amazing. I spoke a little longer because I was starting to feel a little better, but it was still an abbreviated version of my usual spiel. I can only hope they were able to take something away from what I said. Anything at all and I’d have done my job. It was an inspiring evening for me because it was great to see young people getting involved in such a great cause. For me, it’s not about trying to tell these young people a story that’s supposed to make them feel sad, it’s a story that’s supposed to make them realize that anything can happen. I want them to realize that the only way your generation can become the one that cures cancer is to be proactive in the fight.

But thank you to those Relays for having me and I’d love to come back and speak again hopefully on a day I’m feeling better so I can do a better job. I have a scan next Tuesday and we’ll get the results on Thursday so fingers crossed that this stuff is doing its job.

4/1/11

The ride was long, about ten hours. I left during a slight drizzle in Charlotte and ended up in Jersey when it was dark outside. I left my key on the coffee table for my roommate. My room looked as if someone had lived there, but the closet and drawers were empty, only the furniture remained. I remembered only a few months back when we moved in and I didn’t have anything except for an air mattress because getting the big screen tv was more of a priority than buying a bed. It didn’t seem real. This wasn’t what I had planned. I wanted to cry but I had nothing left. I was exhausted from barely sleeping the last few nights and the rollercoaster had left me physically and emotionally drained. I’d made the drive back north plenty of times but none under circumstances like these. I made those trips knowing I’d be back pretty soon, but this one was made with so much uncertainty. I usually drive and listen to loud music to sing along to on long trips, but I kept it relatively quiet in hopes of slowing my thoughts down. I don’t remember any details from the drive because I suppose I was in a daze and just wanted to know what would happen next. It wasn’t the type of anticipation I was used to. Instead of hoping that things would get better and turn out to be alright in the next few days/weeks/months, the anticipation was blind. I knew something lay ahead of me but what? I’d passed exit 52 so many times while driving through New Jersey on my way up to Connecticut that I never took the time to read the sign. Turns out I was exiting into a town called Butler and onto Route 23. New Jersey didn’t make sense to me because I needed to take a left turn into the apartment complex my parents were staying at until we would be able to move into our new place, but I wasn’t allowed to. They make you go around a jug-handle on the right so I could cross the street and get to where I needed to go. Whatever, I wasn’t going to analyze the practicality of the roads tonight. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to lay down and let the last week catch up with me. I wanted it to hit me and I wanted to finally relax because things were about to change and I was finally home with my parents. It wasn’t the home I had grown up in for twenty years. We traded that for a crammed studio apartment with outdated everything. That didn’t matter though, I was there with Mom and Dad and I could finally rest. I only remember one song from the drive to New Jersey…O.A.R. told me that “Each day is a gift”. I’d taken a lot of things for granted up until that point in my life. Things always seemed to have a way of working out in my favor, maybe this would too…this can’t be happening to me…maybe this wasn’t really happening…maybe I’d wake up in my apartment and everything would be in its place…maybe it was all some sort of joke…after all, it was April 1, 2009.

Happy New Year!

Vacation in Florida was great. It was bittersweet. The whole week offered an escape from everything that is my life and I was able to enjoy some unforgettable memories with great friends. I know I’ll never be able to fully escape everything here, but just relaxing in the sunshine with nothing to do but play cards and listen to the sounds of people as they played in the pool next to us. I guess that’s why it’s been so hard coming back. Vacation offered me an escape and a way to lie to myself that the last two years have been just a dream. I was rudely reminded that they were in fact reality when we arrived back in Jersey and the temperature was in the 20’s with snow on the way. Awesome. This week marks the two year anniversary since all of this started and it’s hard to comprehend and put everything that’s happened in its place. But here we are…here I am. I was so sick in 2009 that I wasn’t even sure I was going to live this long. i’ve been through hell and I’m sure there is more to come, but as long as the sun rises tomorrow, I’ll be here ready to fight.

On April 1, 2009 I was driving to New Jersey from Carolina with my car packed with as much of my stuff as it could fit, and my life had been turned upside down. I had no idea I was in for a battle that could last this long. I honestly had myself fooled into thinking that I could get through this in a year and resume my life down in Charlotte. How ridiculous of me. I guess I was just being optimistic, but I was just lying to myself. Truth is I was scared and I would think and act in a confident way to make sure I didn’t worry anyone around me. I didn’t want to show them how scared I was or how unsure I was of what lay ahead of me.

I’m a bit scattered tonight, as I have been pretty much since vacation…I’m not sure what’s going on with me, I’ve been constantly tired and have little interest in anything other than the NCAA tournament. This last treatment hit me a bit harder than usual and I was actually throwing up for two days which is always fun. I can only hope that this isn’t a sign of things to come because I was actually getting used to feeling halfway decent after chemo. Oh well, it’s not supposed to be easy. So to end this clouded thought of mine I think I’ll do it with a sort of resolution. I always hate New Years and how the gym is always crowded with the “Heroes” who make it their resolution to start working out. Yeah that’s great, but they always last about a month and then it dies down. For me, being here another year and making it to another April 1^st is kind of like New Years for me. So I guess it’s time for a resolution…my goal this year is to tell my story. I know you think I have been telling it through this blog and everything, but this is just sort of my day to day thoughts and a way to vent. I want to write something that is completely honest, something that will give everyone a look at what really goes on inside my head (besides the hamster running on its wheel). I’ve always had an easy time writing, but this is going to be tough because I have to be more honest with myself than I have ever been. I have to really take a look at what I’m really all about. On April 1, 2012 I will have my story ready…

3/8/11

It's funny, but when I go longer than two weeks without treatment I sometimes forget about everything that's going on. Even if it's only for a minute, forgetting about all of this offers a nice break from reality. After my whole broken rib and flu incident, my treatment schedule got screwed up and I went about three weeks without having to go to the doctor which is an incredibly long time. I ended up getting back into the swing of things last Thursday and having my regular treatment. It's hard to believe, but by the time it hits mid-April, I'll have been undergoing chemotherapy for two full years. Two years...even I can't believe it. By the time the summer rolls around I'll have had fifty treatments...fifty times they've pumped me full of drugs...fifty times I've been hooked up to those machines...fifty times I've come home from the city knowing that I'll be feeling like shit...fifty times I've prayed that this would be the last time...
I look back and think about all of the crazy things that have happened throughout all of this and can't believe this is my life. It's been amazing to see how my body has broken down and then repaired itself, but it also makes me nervous knowing the hell it has been put through. While my mind remains strong and my determination has not wavered, I can't help but wonder how much more my body can take. I never thought my treatments or illness would last this long. I had no idea that there were people like me whose only hope is to endure the treatments for as long as we can until something that will cure us comes along. Sure, there are days I am tired, and there are days when I don't feel like myself, but just knowing that tomorrow could possibly be better makes things easier.
I'd never compare what I'm going through to a war, because there is no way I could possibly grasp the hell that soldiers must endure in battle. There is one song, however, that was written to describe the spirit of the warrior. "War Song" by O.A.R. has been one of my favorite songs since I discovered it, but since my diagnosis, it has taken on a new meaning with me. Here are the lyrics:
"War Song"

Oh my God, tell me this won't last forever
Tell me that I'm not alone
Tell me this will come together now

Packed my things up just the other day
Said my goodbyes to all these things I've saved
Out in the driveway, we laugh under the moon
Among my friends for now, but I'll be leaving soon

Many days from now, I'm sure
I'll be back among your graces
And with you I won't pretend
No, not at all

Crack the morning
Up and running quick
No sleep again last night but that's the way it is
Out in the open under broken skies
I feel every footstep
I see everybody's eyes
Oh and this is summer in another world
Far from the driveway and my baby girl
Soon comes the winter
With it quiet nights
And darker days and darker fights

But many days from now, I'm sure
I'll be back among your faces
And with you I won't pretend
No, not at all

Oh the fever is burning
Over at midnight but never like this
Hot under their fire
The stars are all falling but never like this
I hope you never see this

Wait, wait for my love
Don't forget me, never let me go
If you wait, wait for my love
I'll remember, never let you go
Until I'm fine, fine, fine
Until I'm fine, fine, fine

To be back in my room
I have the same dream every night
Just me among my things
No one else is there
There's no one left to fight
Just me among my things

Many nights from now, I know
I'll be back among your graces
Until then I'll just pretend
That I'm not cold

Oh my God, tell me this won't last forever
Tell me that I'm not alone
Tell me this will come together
Oh my God, you know

Wait, wait for my love
Don't forget me, never let me down
And just wait, wait for my love
I'll remember, every one of you
Just wait, wait for my love
Until I'm fine, fine, fine
Until I'm fine, fine, fine
I'll be fine, fine, fine
I'll be fine, fine, fine


When I was diagnosed, I had to put my life on hold, pack my things, say goodbye to my friends, and travel to my new home without knowing what the future would hold. I don't know how or when all of this will end, but I'll be fine, fine, fine...


Check out my interview with Dr. Ellen Matloff from Yale's Genetic Counseling Center on her program "Cancer Bytes"

Also, a little bit about our donation...

....And we're back

Sorry for the two weeks I took off of writing...things have been quite chaotic for me the last two weeks and I'm not finally able to have a few minutes to myself to get all of my thoughts caught up with everything. In a nutshell my last two weeks have been comprised of one case of the flu, two emergency room visits, one treatment, and one broken bone. I wasn't joking when I said things have been crazy...
So I ended up getting a flu-like virus because I pretty much have that sort of luck lately and it was not fun at all. The worst part about getting sick is that I have to worry about how I'll be able to recover. Undergoing chemo means that my immune system is working overtime constantly to try to regenerate itself after taking the punch each treatment gives. Of course there is always that one worry that tops everything...what if this is the sickness that I can't come back from? That's very scary to think about because the flu can easy turn into pneumonia which could easily turn into organ failure and death. For many cancer patients this is how their battles end. Our bodies take a beating from the treatments and catching a cold or the flu could be the tipping point for any of us no matter how healthy we may seem. So it's easy to understand why I'd have to go into the city to the Urgent Care center at Sloan. I had a fever of about 102.5 that lasted a few days and I knew my doctor would yell at me if I didn't call to report it to her. That of course would mean a field trip into the city to visit Sloan's version of an emergency room. It's meant for current patients only and some are in much worse shape than others. It's always a long wait, but as I sat there in the lobby I got to observe many different people. Some seemed to have similar ailments as mine, some didn't look like they were doing too well, one woman was visiting her husband and tripped and broke her ankle, but there were also those who might not make it out of that hospital this time. It's always a sobering trip to the main hospital because I am not always exposed to the true perils of cancer at the outpatient facility where I receive my treatments. Here is where some people come in with what starts off as a simple case of the flu but never make it out because they are outmatched this time by the illness. I had some bloodwork done and other cultures to ensure I didn't have any sort of infection. I was also sent for a chest x-ray to make sure there were no signs of pneumonia (the x-ray tech was gorgeous so this helped cheer me up even though I felt like crap). All in all my trip to Urgent Care wasn't very eventful and I began feeling better the very next day thanks to some miracle flu drugs they gave me. Little did I know things were just starting to get exciting...
My flu-like virus left me with a lingering cough that was simply annoying more than anything. It was all annoying until I woke up during the night and twisted my body awkwardly only to let out a very violent series of coughs. I took a swig of gatorade and rolled over. The next day I was a little sore right underneath my left pectoral muscle and figured that I might have pulled it a bit during my awkward twisting motion the previous night. I continued on in my day and the pain started to grow worse and worse. The next day I was a bit cranky because I had not slept well thanks to that same pain and to make matters worse I had to go to class. I couldn't sit still in class from the pain and I almost had to leave my second one because the pain was so intense that every breath I took made me wince in agony. I had a few errands I needed to run after school, but I decided to put them off and flew home to seek the relief of some pain killers. I felt a little better once the medicine kicked in and I was able to make up for some of the sleep I lost. When I awoke, however, I was reminded that something was definitely wrong...The worst pain I've ever felt in my life was from my knee surgery in high school where the doctors removed much of the cartilage in my right knee and inserted plastic anchors. When those pain meds wore off I was in absolute agony. When i awoke from the nap I turned to get out of bed and felt immediately as if someone had stabbed me and was twisting the rusty blade in the wound. I let out a not so nice series of French words (had no idea I knew any) and took a second to get myself oriented for another attempt. I gathered my strength and forced myself out of bed even though I almost passed out from how painful it was. I really didn't feel like passing out while no one else was home because I could only imagine how shocking that sight would be for my parents to find me face down on the floor. I shuffled my way down the stairs and sat on the couch while the minutes until my dad got home slowly passed by. When he came in he knew I was not joking around because every breath I took and every small movement resulted in pain so bad I was close to tears. I assured him I was not having a heart attack and we decided it was still best to head to the local emergency room to get it checked out. Luckily we picked a good time and date when no one else was getting hurt so there wasn't a wait when we got to the hospital. I waited for what seemed like hours, but in reality it turned out to be about 35 minutes for the x-ray tech to be ready for me. They took yet another chest x-ray and finally the oxycodone I took at home was starting to kick in. This made moving and breathing much easier...of course the feeling of being on drugs was welcomed at this point after I spent the entire day angry that I wouldn't be able to begin working out and getting in shape for my spring break trip to Florida in March. The doctor saw nothing wrong on the x-ray and simply sent me home telling me to take the pain meds as I needed. I knew there was no way nothing was broken so I got my clothes back on and started walking out of the hospital before the nurses even discharged me. I was not a happy camper to say the least because I knew that with no conclusions being reached locally, my doctor would want me to head into the city for more tests at Urgent Care. I was not in the mood for this so we decided to go back home and regulate the pain until tomorrow. The night and following day were agonizing when the pain meds wore off and I hadn't moved from my position on the couch. That night when my parents came home they said I had a message from the emergency room we were at last night and they wanted me to call back. I talked to the radiologist who had the chance to take a closer look at my x-ray that morning and indeed it showed that one of my ribs was broken. I KNEW IT WAS THE WHOLE TIME!!!!! It was nice having some sort of confirmation because there is no way a person should be in agonizing pain like I was in for absolutely no reason. Plus, it's nice to know that whatever was ailing me was not really related to my underlying condition. I rested the next few days because there isn't anything you can do for a broken rib except try not to sneeze or cough because they both hurt like hell. Go figure, I've played sports my whole life and have never broken a bone, but I coughed and broke my damn rib. One day I'm going to look back on all of this and laugh...for now I will simply try not to cough or sneeze too hard so I can be fully healthy to start playing golf again in the spring.

Swim

Not a whole lot going on here lately...this whole school thing is getting in the way of developing profound thoughts then blogging about them. But no, to say that nothing has gone on lately would be a lie. Last weekend I had the amazing opportunity to speak at a health day at a synagogue as well as a Relay for Life kickoff event with over 100 people in attendance. Going into that day I was very nervous because giving a presentation in business class is one thing, but talking about something that could get pretty personal and sharing feelings/emotions is sort of scary for me. Tell me to give the class a presentation on a company and it's no problem, as long as I know the information I'll be fine because I have a knack for talking in circles while I'm searching for what I'm really trying to get across in my head. It's always easier to write about what's going on with this illness than it is to actually sit down and talk about it. Strange, i know, but hey I'm human and some things do scare me...like talking about very personal stuff....or riding horses....but we'll leave the whole horse thing for another time. The Relay for Life is an amazing event that the American Cancer Society holds in thousands of communities across the globe over the course of the summer and it raises a ton of money for our goal of eliminating cancer. I went to one way back in high school when I just thought it would be a fun event to attend with some friends. Little did I know the impact it would have on my life or how much the event would eventually mean to me.

I don't remember all of the details from that Relay, but I do remember that I made a luminaria (a paper bag filled with sand and a candle with a person's name who has or is currently battling cancer) for my grandfather who had died of colon cancer when he was just 39. I was named after him. It was a strange feeling writing the name we share on that luminaria because I thought I knew just how serious it was. Little did I know that a few years later I'd be walking at a Relay for Life in New Jersey and see several bags alongside the path with my name on it again, although this time those bags were meant for me. The Relay begins with a survivor lap that honors those who are currently battling cancer as well as those who have given the disease hell and have come out victorious. My mother and aunt walked in that lap and I just remember feeling so thankful to see so many people taking that lap and smiling because they had beaten the odds and are still here to make an impact on all of our lives. Why didn't I walk in the lap if it is meant for those who are still dealing with cancer? I'm just not ready to. I tell people that I am in the process of surviving...I want to watch that lap because I want it to be a goal. I will someday walk in that lap once my battle is over. I learned as an athlete that the game is never over until that last out is recorded, and I'm not going to celebrate an early victory just yet. I will eventually when this weight is lifted, but until then, I will watch my mom and aunt take that lap and eventually take my place beside them when the time is right. As night falls, the most powerful and emotional part of the Relay takes place...the silent lap. This lap is in memory of those who have lost their battles and in their memories, we walk quietly with candles as the luminaria glow in the darkness. Even though I had over 50 friends and family there I walked alone. I reflected on the rollercoaster of a year that had passed since my diagnosis when my mom caught up with me. "Well this wasn't part of the plan" she said to me as she fought back the tears. No it wasn't...but this was the road we were now on and I couldn't respond...I gave her a hug and tried not to cry because I knew that I needed to keep it together not just for myself, but for everyone there. The night went on and we continued our commitment of having someone from our team walking at all hours. A terrible storm came and dumped a ton of rain on the Relay...some teams huddled in their tents, some packed up and called it a night, but not ours. We made a commitment and there was no way in hell we would pack it in. We are supposed to be RELENTLESS and a little rain wasn't going to stop us. I knew I had the support of my friends and family, but I didn't realize they shared the will and determination as they refused to stop walking no matter how bad the storm got. My legs started to get tired and my knees were killing me so I was taking breaks in walking more frequently. When the rain was at its worst you could count the number of people walking on your fingers. Among them, with his hands in his pockets and his body drenched, was my best friend Ron. Every time he passed by our tent we offered him an umbrella or a towel or to even take his place. Every time he passed he refused and continued to walk when a lot of people had given up. If I were counting, I'd say that him and my father walked the most out of anyone at that Relay...and they did it for me. When I was tired and needed a break they were there to pick up the slack. That's how I get through each day...I know that the physical burden is mine and mine alone, but I have an entire army behind me to pick up the slack when I need them.

I've said it a million times, but there are many quotes and songs out there that have helped get me through the difficult days. There has been one song that I discovered along the way that perfectly describes how it is to deal with being sick. There are good days and bad days, but you must always stay positive and hold on until tomorrow because it's one day closer to all of this being over. There are many times throughout this ordeal when things have become overwhelming or it's hard to find any sort of positive thoughts. I could have packed it in numerous times and called it quits, but I had come so far and I had so many people believing in me that I couldn't let that happen. I am fighting for my life here which is the most important fight I'll ever take part in...how could I just give up? The decision to turn this whole thing into something positive took a lot of time and wasn't possible without facing those terrible days when I didn't want to get out of bed because I honestly didn't see any point. I realized that my life would never be normal again and it would never be close to the path I had always envisioned for myself, but why is that such a bad thing? My life could still be whatever I wanted and sitting around feeling sorry for myself was not going to improve anything. I didn't realize how lucky I was because I found the strength to get out of that hospital bed when I could barely make it a few feet without having to stop and catch my breath. People all around me in that hospital never made it out of there...I did because there is so much more I have to contribute and accomplish in this life. So here it is....the song that has probably gotten the most use in my whole library. It's another Jack's Mannequin song and it's called "Swim"...

You've gotta swim
Swim for your life
Swim for the music
That saves you
When you're not so sure you'll survive
You gotta swim
And swim when it hurts
The whole world is watching
You haven't come this far
To fall off the earth
The currents will pull you
Away from your love
Just keep your head above

I found a tidal wave
Begging to tear down the dawn
Memories like bullets
They fired at me from a gun
A crack in the armor
I swim to brighter days
Despite the absence of sun
Choking on salt water
I'm not giving in
I swim

You gotta swim
Through nights that won't end
Swim for your families
Your lovers your sisters
And brothers and friends
Yeah you've gotta swim
Through wars without cause
Swim for the lost politicians
Who don't see their greed as a flaw

The currents will pull us
Away from our love
Just keep your head above

I found a tidal wave
Begging to tear down the dawn
Memories like bullets
They fired at me from a gun
Cracking me open now
I swim for brighter days
Despite the absence of sun
Choking on salt water
I'm not giving in
Well I'm not giving in
I swim

You gotta swim
Swim in the dark
There's no shame in drifting
Feel the tide shifting and wait for the spark
Yeah you've gotta swim
Don't let yourself sink
Just find the horizon
I promise you it's not as far as you think
The currents will drag us away from our love
Just keep your head above
Just keep your head above
Swim
Just keep your head above
Swim, swim
Just keep your head above
Swim