Could you imagine saving your own life? Like actually knowing you are about to endure something so dangerous you could die. That your very own cells will be what saves you, allows your body to recover, to beat this obstacle in your journey.
In August 2013, three months after B's first relapse, we harvested her stem cells. We had discussed a stem cell transplant at this time, so we were taking all steps necessary to prepare for this. One major step was the process of collecting the cells.
First, she would take a series of shots. Most patients receive shots for 7 days, then they do a CBC and see if they're ready for extraction. B wasn't, she's never fallen into any "normal" category. I know this about her. She ended up taking them for almost 2 weeks.
Filgrastim, or g-shots, were given every night by me. They were stored in the fridge and had to be removed 30 minutes before injection. There were nights that we missed the 30 minute head start. Those nights were more painful. She would cry. So would I, but never shed a tear.
G-shots stimulate the production of white blood cells in the marrow. B experienced horrible body aches and pain in her lower back. Her marrow was working over time, producing an unnecessary amount of cells. In the long run it was worth it, but in those moments, not so much.
When she was ready, they would place a femoral line in a vein by her groin. As far as procedures go, this is a relatively simple one.
B doesn't do well with anesthesia. She's a monster. Upon waking up, she screamed for hours. At least 2 for sure. She yelled at me, told me how mean I was, that she didn't love me. She couldn't believe I was doing this to her. She started to punch me repeatedly. I just sat there, not saying a word. I knew this wasn't her. This was all the drugs taking over her precious body. When she threatened to pull the line, the nurse stepped in and asked me to leave the room. She knew I couldn't take much more and maybe B needed someone else. They say we hurt the ones we love the most. I know she loves me big.
I walked the quiet, sterile, white halls for a few minutes. With each lap I would stop and peek in on her. See if she had cried herself to sleep, almost like a baby. She was still a baby though, just 6 years old. She had spent the better part of the year in the hospital, sick, bald and missing her family.
Once they started the collection, B had to lay flat on her back with her leg turned out and flat. I asked that they order some Benadryl and anxiety medicine. She needed her rest and it was going to be a long day. The collection takes about 6 hours. They count the cells, if there's enough they remove the line bedside, if not, you stay the night and start all over the next day. Guess what we got to do.
{Our angel baby}
The 2nd day wasn't near as bad. B had a good night sleep, she had mail, donuts and the sweet blood donor nurse was so sweet. Could you imagine sitting for 6 hours straight watching blood go in and out of a machine? She didn't even use the restroom or eat the entire time. She never left B's side.
So after that rockin' good time, they managed to collected a couple million cells. I realize that cells are small, but when you think of millions, it really blows your mind.
Her cells would be frozen and stored for up to 5 years.
In December, when transplant time rolled around, we decided against it. There wasn't enough research to support going through with it. Statistics were not on our side and at the time all I could do was read the numbers. Nothing we read promised us anything and nothing showed a survival rate over 35%. We discussed this with B's oncologist and he was completely supportive. He knew there just wasn't enough literature to ease our fears. That we could either go through with the transplant or try radiation.
Since her treatment changed, she was restricted to isolation. I was thankful.
She was able to spend the holidays with her family. Stay on an out-patient schedule and even meet some amazing St Jude supporters. I like to think she touched their lives and because of her they live life differently now.
{B with Lucy Hale, she was the sweetest.}
{Jana Kramer autographed her Disney princess guitar. She was sold.}
{Parker Young and Geoff Stults (let's be honest, this visit was for me #momshame) played hop scotch and basketball with B.}
In April 2014, a week before we embarked on a Disney cruise, B had post therapy scans. They were clear. Our hearts were happy. She would return every 3 months for the next year.
I know I sort of veered off track, but I wanted to explain how and when we collected her cells.
July 2014 she returned for scans, her cancer had returned again. Transplant was necessary now. And at the time, was the most aggressive treatment available for her.
In September she was scheduled to have surgery to remove the tumors from her liver. A week before we found out there weren't enough cells collected from the previous summer.
We would have to start the g-shots all over, have a femoral line placed and have her lay in bed flat all day. While she didn't have to spend the night this time, she did spend 15 hours in a hospital bed. Only to spike a fever at discharge, causing her to be held for antibiotics and a blood culture.
Sweet B of mine. What would I do if things were simple. I'd be bored.
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