The past couple of weeks,  my mom has been sneaking into my bed before I wake up in the morning.  She lies next to me, her tiny 90-pound frame holding me while I sleep.  I hear her laboured breathing  from asthma as she strokes my bald head.   We savour this time together as we quietly contemplate the fragility of life and the gift of being together in spite of her age and my condition.

One of my favorite memories of my mom is when my son, Shayne, was about  6 years old and we would come home from work  only to find my mom playing goalie in the living room, and Shayne shooting balls at her.   Fast forward to today.  My mom and Shayne watch the Pittsburgh Penguins and the Tennessee Titans games.  And they do this in style.  My mom will wear the Penguins or the Titans jersey and sit with Shayne while he explains the finer features of the game.  When there is a Leaf-Penguins game, we cheer for the Leafs and know full well what side my mom will take!

In her youth, my mom was a member of the Aga Khan Council for Moshi and Arusha.  As part of this role, she headed the Ladies Committee, the Safai Committee (weekly cleaning of mosque) and the Gusal committee where she attended to people who had died within the community.  She was also Chairman of the Ismaili Association for Moshi looking after Tariqah matters (matters  of the Faith).  I remember being so proud of her as she managed a full-time job and attended countless meetings to deal  with issues and manage complex situations.  And she did this with grace, diplomacy  and quiet leadership.

The quality I like most about my mom is her curiosity.  Everything is an opportunity for her to learn.  She spends about an hour on the computer everyday – - sending messages, reading emails, opening up links.  When she recently traveled back to East Africa to visit sisters she hadn’t seen in decades, she was known as ‘Nani Sport’ – horseback riding, jet-skiing and  long walks on the beach that even tired the askari (or security guard) out were commonplace for her.

My mom needs very little in life.  She is content with who she is and has inner peace.  Her joy comes from going to Jamatkhana everyday, mornings and evenings.

I can only imagine how tough my cancer diagnoses has been on my mom.  She is over 80 years old and should not have to worry about things like this.  I wish I could spare her the worry and anxiety.  She is strong and has reacted remarkably well.  She gives me a lot of courage and reminds  me everyday about the importance of faith and prayers.  And when I am sad, she says with a sense of certainty, “Don’t worry Muni.  Everything will be okay.”  And somehow when she says it, I believe it with all my heart.  I take my cue from my mom and credit her for who I am.

Wishing my mom and all the other mothers out there a very Happy Mother’s Day!

It’s midnight and I’m thinking of you on your special day.  I smile as I remember you being a tomboy for most of your life.  You wore big, oversized, hand-me-down clothes from Shayne for the longest time.  You could play ice hockey and baseball with the best of them.   You focused your energies on all kinds of interesting hobbies — building dream catchers,  developing black and white photographs, being President of the JA club, spending hours painting and doing pottery, playing basketball for your high school team.  As a kid, do you remember how you used to hold classes for the family in the basement every Friday night and send us formal invitations?  You  would teach us to draw cartoons, paint with chalk, etc, and we would flock to your class with anticipation.  When you were 13, I suggested  that you stop wearing socks to JK everyday – and you were devastated.  You loved your socks!   And do you remember how happy you were when the referee sent you to the penalty box for the first and only time while playing hockey?  You could not stop smiling the whole time!  One of my favourite memories is when we used to create a “tent” from bedsheets and read books, including “The Witches” by Roal Dahl.  You were fearless as a kid – - acting first, thinking after.   

And then, when you were 21, you declared that you wanted a princess party – and did we ever throw you a party!  We should have known that things would change after that.  You blossomed into  a striking, radiant young lady.  You discovered your purpose in life and you grew into your own.  You cultivated a unique look and style.   You wrote a book.  You made travel and helping people an integral part of your life.  And you came home to look after me when I got sick.  When did you grow up?

Last week you shared with us incredible news that you were accepted at Harvard University for the Master of Science in Global Health and Population program.  Then you get accepted by Columbia University for the Master of Public Administration in Development Practice program, something you have been aiming for.  As if that was not enough, Columbia has accepted you for two other programs.  So many choices!  We are so excited for you and the opportunities that lie ahead for you.  We can’t wait to hear your decision about what program you will accept.  The question is:  How do you say no to Harvard?  But then how do you say no to living in New York and attending Columbia’s School of International and Public Affairs (SIPA)? This is a good problem to have!

We wish that you could see yourself through our eyes.  You are one talented woman — smart, competent, compassionate, funny and strong.  May your 25^th birthday bring you much success and happiness.  I had an epiphany today while speaking to my cousin, Zara, from Vancouver:  success is defined by what makes you happy.  So think about what makes you happy, and you will be successful. 

Sabrina, today is your day.  Burst into it.  Follow your footsteps where your heart takes you.  Believe in your dreams and let your spirit soar.   We love you to the moon and back…

Friday marked one month since I had my stem cell transplant and it is not what I had expected.   I figured that once I came home, I would be able to reclaim my life with vigour and energy. Instead, I take two long naps a day and then look forward to sleeping again at night. Getting a glass of water makes me tired. Taking a walk around the block guarantees that I will need to sleep for two hours. Eating is exhausting so I eat in small portions.

On the plus side, my oncologist, Dr. Tiedemann, is happy with my progress. His orders are for me to rest and let my body — and bone marrow — heal for two months.   He will conduct tests in May to determine the success of the transplant. Since there is no cure currently for Multiple Myeloma, the stem cell transplant, if successful, will keep the cancer at bay for an average of 2.5 years.  It is expected that the cancer will come back at some point and I will require a second transplant.  In spite of these numbers, I am pretty optimistic. I plan to defy the odds! At the hospital, I met people in the ward who did not require a second transplant for 5 years and longer, so I know it is possible. I also know that God is the ultimate healer and is in charge so I leave my worries to Him. Sometimes I tell Him that I would really like a cure for Myeloma during my lifetime. I visualize him smiling as I put my request somewhat repeatedly to him!

The biggest challenge for me right now is learning to be patient while the recovery is much slower than I would choose, and finding the opportunity in that space between where I am now and where I expect to be. I have found this difficult. My emotions have been all over the place and I have been teary-eyed and sad as I deal with this “new normal”.  Part of this is that I am still feeling the effects of the intense chemo that was given to me as part of the transplant.  Slowly, things are improving and everyday I am a little bit stronger.  I am re-learning that it is okay not to accomplish projects and do something I consider of value every day (I am such a high achiever!).  I am learning that napping and sleeping is okay and the best thing for me right now.  I am also finding it helpful to connect with individuals who’ve been through the transplant process and to talk about shared experiences, concerns and fears; and to learn from each other.

In the meantime, life goes on. Nagib and I are planning to go to New York in six weeks to celebrate our 31st wedding anniversary and watch the Blue Jays at the new Yankee Stadium! (Remember the bucket list?). I am delivering a workshop on teamwork in April. I hope to start working out once my Hickman Line is removed on March 27th.   And, I’m emceeing a wedding in May!  These are all baby steps on the road to recovery.

Today, I went to Shoppers Drug Mart and bought a gorgeous purple eyeshadow and beautiful lipsticks to herald the beginning of spring next week.   I declare that life is to be lived – no matter what the circumstances!

- Munira.

With my friend, Joanne.

After the very high dose of chemotherapy (Melphalan) on Valentine’s Day and the Stem Cell Transplant on Day 0 (the birth of Munira, Version 2.0), the rest of the time in the hospital has been waiting for the stem cells to engraft, and for me to manage the devastating effects of the chemo.

And what a process it’s been!  Day +1 through Day +4 were relatively easy.  I entertained visitors in the beautiful Rebecca’s Hope Lounge on the 14th floor, ate Indian snacks (thank you, Shamim!) and hot dogs, danced the hokey pokey, read a couple of books, and took the time to rest.  During this time, as my hemoglobin and platelet levels dived, I repeatedly needed blood and platelet transfusions.  But I was doing okay.

You put your right foot in,
You put your right foot out…
…and you shake it all about.

You do the hokey pokey…
And you turn yourself around.
That’s what it’s all about!

Out for a walk in the hallways of 14C

And then from Day +4 to Day +9,  I felt like I was hit by a truck – literally.  I was so sick that I just wanted to curl up and die.  All the effects of the chemo from the week before hit me with full force.  And even though Dr. Franke had prepared me for it, I could not imagine how sick I would get.  Lifting my head from the pillow was a big deal.  Taking a shower exhausted me for the rest of the day.  Thinking about getting out of bed to take a walk was unfathomable to me.  I could watch TV for a few minutes before my eyes would close.  My meals trays went untouched — I couldn’t eat anything.  I survived on Gatorade, Ginger Ale and Ensure.  The reason for all this is that all my white blood cell counts were at zero from the chemo (as expected).  During this time, the stem cells were seeding and multiplying.  This is a process that takes time and not something you can rush.  I needed to have several more blood and platelet transfusions, and neupogen injections to bring the counts up.  Every day I wondered if I could do this. 

On the night of the Oscars, I had a nose bleed — because of low platelets, and the nose bleed would not stop.  It was impressive to watch Nagib and Shayne take turns applying pressure, hands bloodied, blood on the bed, focused on stopping the damage.  After one hour of doing this, the bleeding resumed again, and we had to start all over again.  Shayne was a real trooper and just took charge.  The next morning, I noticed that the shape of my nose had changed from the constant application of pressure!  Oh, and my face showed the effects of water retention (from all the I.V. fluids I was being given) and I looked like Marlon Brando from The Godfather - – not a pretty sight.

My daughter’s friend, Aliya Sunderji, a medical student, left me a note that offered me hope and perspective: “Regenerating a new body full of cells can’t be easy. Remember, you’re allowed to be tired, fed-up and selfish. These weeks will allow you space for that. Even mother nature feels gross and looks terrible during these gray, slushy days, in order to look radiant in the summer – as will you in the spring.”

And then Day +10 arrived, and things started to shift, exactly as Dr. Franke had predicted.  He had drawn a smiley face on Day +12 of my calendar, and told me that it would be my “Happy Day” and, miraculously, on that day, I felt like I finally came out of the land of the living dead.  Today is Day +14, and the Doctors are thrilled with my recovery!  They are weaning me off all antibiotics today and  plan to release me in the next couple of days.  When I go home, I am expected to rest for 3 to 6 months and let my body heal.

Tough as the past two weeks have been, I must say that the quality of care in the Stem Cell unit, 14C, has been exceptional.  I think it starts with the leadership of Dr. Norman Franke, who heads up the autologous stem cell transplant unit.  He believes in empowering and developing his staff, and it is apparent in the way the nurses speak about him.  He has created a culture where nurses are comfortable being who they are, and yet live by a shared vision of looking after their patients with single-minded dedication.  The culture is one of competence and compassion.  The nurses are like Mary Poppins.  Regardless of the issue you have – diarrhea, sore throat, cough, fever, pneumonia, nose bleed, nausea, mouth sores, trouble sleeping, dizziness,  – - they just reach into their bags and find the right remedy.   Their goal is to get you through the dark side.  At one point, I was lamenting that my hair was falling out.  Voila!  My nurse, Joanne C, set up a make-shift barber shop in the washroom and promptly shaved my head. 

To Tasha – the motivator,  to Linda, the vein-finder, to Denise for your warmth, to Joanne – for your competence and conversations, to the interesting Yifang and Dolma, to the refreshing Laryssa, to the caring and compassionate Alisha, to Glenna and to Fatima, to Karen – for your love, to Munno and Lauren, to Marlene, to the incredible Aylene, to the irreverent Evelyn, to Arlene, to Johanna for friendliness, to Angela for nursing excellence, to Leigh – for the feistiness factor.  I cannot begin to thank you all for your care and your love.  I did not think that I was going to make it through the dark days.  But you refused to give up and made me believe that I could do it!  What is remarkable is that you do this day and night for each of the 17 patients in the unit!

Despite being in the hospital for 2+ weeks, I have found ”Silver Linings” in my “Playbook”.  Some of my favourite times in the hospital have been spending dedicated time with Shayne.  Some days, he comes to see me for a couple of hours at night and then goes right back to work.  Yesterday, I threatened to hide under the covers so he could not find me.  He still showed up and the nurse said he sat with me for a couple of hours, put me to sleep, held me close and then snuck out. 

What price do you put to all this love, care and compassion?

The transplant process was really cool!  Two very professional individuals in white coats ( “the stem cell technicians”), brought a rolling vault, that looked like a beer keg, which contained 6 bags of my stem cells.  The stem cells were in a flat bag, frozen and encased in a metal case (kinda looked like a metal book).  Each “book” was removed from the keg and checked and re-checked against my records to ensure that the stem cells were indeed my own.  Then, the case was opened, and voila, what looked like a package of frozen lean veal lay before the technician.  He then removed the package and put it into a steaming pot of 37 degrees Celsius water.  To speed up the process, he even “stirred the pot” to help liquify the cells faster.  A few minutes later, a warm bag of red-coloured liquid (containing mainly white blood cells and the core stem cells) was delivered to my nurse, Aylene, under strict chain of custody rules.  Aylene took each thawed bag, checked and rechecked it to my arm band, and hung it on the pole and hooked it up to my Hickman line. 

The process of infusing 6 bags took about one hour, within the comfort of my room.  It was a nice interplay of science and art, with a little bit of espionage and drama!  As we expected, the transplant had me smelling like corn (because of the preservative used to store the stem cells), with a touch of garlic!  I have been told that the smell will go away in a couple of days.

Here are a few pictures of the process:

The “Keg”

The stem cell transplant team

The steaming pot of boiling water

Checking the metallic book containing the stem cells against my records

The thawed bag containing white blood cells and core stem cells

Incredible mom-to-be, Aylene, following the protocol.

I have been waiting for this day for a long time, and now that it is here, I don’t know what to think or say.  I spent the entire night in prayers thanking God for not leaving my side, and for making the transplant possible. 

According to my attending physician this weekend, Dr. Donna Reece, the director of the Molly and David Bloom Chair for Multiple Myeloma Research at The Princess Margaret Cancer Centre, the stem cells are like puzzle pieces.  When transplanted, they spread around my blood stream looking for matching recepticles to attach themselves to.  The recepticles are mainly found in the big bones of the body, such as the neck, upper and lower back, the pelvis and the upper thighs.  Once attached, they start reproducing and generating new, hopefully cancer-free, cells.

So, since my transplant, I have been talking to my stem cells, welcoming them back to my body, asking them to make themselves at home, motivating them to attach to my bones, and regenerate and produce healthy cells.  Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I feel like I have been re-born today….as Munira, version 2.0.

“I’m off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz.”

That’s how I felt when I got the call from the Princess Margaret Cancer Centre on the morning of Wednesday, February 13th, that a bed was available and I needed to get to the hospital immediately for my stem cell transplant.  What’s funny is that I was already at the hospital getting my blood drawn for the requisite markers before I saw Dr. Tiedemann that afternoon.  But, I hadn’t packed yet, and Dr. Tiedemann hadn’t given the go-ahead yet!  (The stem cell folks have a way of pre-empting Dr. Tiedemann). 

It’s a good thing that we met Dr. Tiedemann, since he informed us that the bone marrow biopsy taken two weeks ago came back negative for Lymphoma and, wait for this… the plasma cells in my bone marrow had been reduced by 90% !  The Multiple Myeloma has been significantly knocked down.  I was so happy that I gave Dr. Tiedemann a big hug!

As you know, I have been waiting for the transplant since October of last year.  But due to a series of speed bumps and humps – the most significant of which was not being able to collect enough stem cells for the transplant – we had to postpone the transplant process and, instead continue weekly chemotherapy treatments.  And then, with the help of an incredible drug called Mozibil, we were able to collect enough, good looking, robust stem cells for two potential transplants.

So, we rushed home and we packed my bags and found it interesting that, in addition to the normal stuff one would take to the hospital, I took with me two wigs and 5 lipsticks.  Such vanity!   

The first day of my hospital stay was rather uneventful.  Then, Thursday, Valentine’s Day, was a mega day.  I was woken up at 5 am in the morning for blood work, had an ECG and a chest x-ray.  My next door neighbour, Judy, had a similar routine and remarked, “with all this activity, the day will be over by 9 am!”  I was seen by Dr. Franke in the stem cell transplant unit.  Dr. Franke’s reputation precedes him — he is a very beloved doctor for those who have gone through the transplant process.  He struck me as very human, highly approachable, and funny.  He gave me a calendar for the approximately 3 weeks I am expected to be in the hospital and painted an honest picture of what to expect.  It will be a roller-coaster!

 Then, Nagib showed up with a bouquet of roses for Valentine’s Day and had to keep telling anyone who stopped him that they were artificial.  (Live plants, flowers, fruits and vegetables are not permitted in the stem cell transplant unit).

“CTRL-ALT-DEL”

At 11 am, I was given melphalan, a high-dose chemotherapy drug to kill the remaining myeloma cells in my bone marrow.  In layman terms, this chemo is like a “control-alt-delete” function on the computer.  It reboots the system and kills all cells – good and bad. 

I was told to chew on ice chips the entire time the chemo was administered to prevent horrible and painful mouth sores, which is one of the many side effects of this particular chemo.  But the pre-meds included, among other things, Benadryl, an antihistamine which puts you to sleep.  So, here I am, trying to keep awake through the chemo from the Benadryl, with a tall glass of ice chips in one hand, and grape and orange popsicles in the other hand.  For the full hour, my focus was to stay awake and earnestly chew on ice, starting 15 minutes before chemo, through the chemo, and 15 minutes after the chemo.  At the time, I was cold and fidgety and focused.  As soon as I was done, I covered my head with blankets, fell asleep and snored soundly for a couple of hours.  Now that I think about it, it was actually quite funny!

And then, I had some unexpected visitors!  The Mukhisaheb and Mukhianima of our Jamatkhana, with their daughter, Liyana, stopped by to see me.  They happened to be at the Princess Margaret and ran into Nagib in the lobby.  It was a coincidence that they came to see me today – after the massive chemo, in the moment, offering so many prayers (ending with, “May the force be with you!!!“).  My heart feels full and I feel the full force with me. 

Last year, Nagib and I went to see the Harry Potter play to celebrate Valentine’s Day.  Today we spent the day together in the hospital and I remembered again and again why I fell in love with him some 30 years ago.  My day ended with Shayne coming to visit after a long day at work.  I love my time and conversations with Shayne. He energizes me!   With Shayne, I can be me – with impunity and no judgement.

Friday, February 15th, is the actual stem cell transplant day, starting at 11 am.  It will be Day O, the first day of the rest of my life.  Or, as we like to say:  The birth of Munira, version 2.0.

Stay tuned for details!

 - Munira

I am brilliant on Dexa and can solve “Wheel of Fortune” puzzles with only 2 or 3 letters on the Board.  I also can’t sleep all night while on Dexa and use this time to solve the world’s problems.  Dexa reminds me of who I was before the cancer – fearless, confident, loud, feisty, spontaneous, resourceful and larger than life.  Pre-cancer, I did not need much sleep to function well.  And yes, perhaps I talked too much and was too much over the top.  But I kind of liked who I was – and Dexa gives me a glimpse of the old me.  Dexa is a critical part of my current chemo treatment because it has been shown to kill cancer cells. And it does have other redeeming qualities, like reducing swelling and inflammation.

The problem is that the feeling with Dexa lasts for about 3 days, and then comes the crash.  And the crash is not pretty – mood swings, tiredness, sadness, preferring to sit in a corner like little Jack Horner.   And then I crave for Fridays, when I get my next dose of Dexa.  It is truly a love/hate relationship and probably not very healthy.  Not healthy because Dexa has long-term side effects that include bone loss, heart and eyesight problems, etc.

I subscribe to the Myeloma Beacon (http://www.myelomabeacon.com/blog-posts/), and have come across some fascinating stories about the effect of Dexa on some patients.  One gentleman, Gary from Manhattan, speaks about getting into a fight with a cyclist and ending up with 3 broken ribs. Not something he would likely do minus-Dexa.  Another gentleman, Sean, talks about his Dexa state on Thursdays when he tidies up his apartment at 3 am in the morning, or engages his wife in long-winded boring conversations.  His family calls these days, “tumultuous Thursdays Tyrannosaurus Dex Day; a day when the other creatures in [their] household steer clear of confronting the semi-ferocious dinosaur roaming the premises.”

I guess, when I am on Dexa, I don’t notice my over-enthusiastic behavior and the impact of it on my family.  So I found it interesting when I listened to Nagib complain to Dr. Tiedemann at our clinic appointment two weeks ago about how tough it was to live with me when I was high on Dexa, and when I had the eventual crash.  He has a video proving that I was belting out Jersey Boys songs while having chemo treatment a couple of weeks ago. There were patients all around and it was a busy floor.  Nagib was trying hard to contain me, and I was having none of it — I was having way too much fun!  He was getting way too agitated in my estimation.  The good doctor obviously listened to Nagib, and when I went for my next chemo, he had split my Dexa over two days so that I would not have the full effect of Dexa right away. I’ve noticed the difference over the past two weeks.  I still had some energy, but was more contained and could sleep a few hours at night.  The crash still happened, but it was more bearable.

In the past week, I finally experienced another side effect of chemotherapy known as “Chemo Brain”.  It’s not so good – frightening, really.  I had read about how chemotherapy results in a feeling that the brain is in a fog, and patients experience difficulties with memory loss and lack of concentration.  Over the last year, I had noticed that it took me a little bit longer to process information, something I was gifted at doing pre-cancer.  Last week, I made several mistakes driving to and from places I was familiar with.  And then, when I went for chemo, I had trouble remembering whether to get off the elevator on the third or fourth floor.  I’ve been pretty sad about this and hope to leave Chemo Brain behind me once I am cured of cancer. 

In the meantime, I have taken up crossword puzzles, and Nagib and I play Hangman on our Blackberrys.  I even beat him last week! So, if I don’t remember your name next time I run into you, blame it on Chemo Brain!

- Munira

Volunteer drivers who drive patients to and from appointments are an integral service provided by the Canadian Cancer Society.  I call it the “Cancer Cab”.  These individuals are a lifeline for the many cancer patients that rely on them: individuals who don’t have a car, who cannot afford to take a cab or who are not able to make it to appointments for a variety of other reasons – not well, can’t drive on the day of the appointment, etc.

I took a cancer cab for the very first time a couple of weeks ago.  And that’s when I met Laurette. Laurette has been volunteering with the Canadian Cancer Society for 31 years, and has been a volunteer driver for about 10 years.  She is competent and articulate, and has a 100-watt smile.  She’s also a great driver.  She had checked out the traffic news and knew what roads to take to get me to my appointment on time!  Laurette is retired now, and worked previously as an industrial nurse, and as a nurse in an operating room. She decided to volunteer as a driver because she was exposed to a number of people who were battling cancer themselves or in their families.

Laurette – A volunteer driver for the Canadian Cancer Society

Generally, Laurette works one day a week. A typical volunteer day for her would be going to a patient’s home at a designated time and taking them to the hospital. She would then wait for the patient to complete their treatment and bring them home.  For Laurette, this means waiting at the hospital for 2 or 4 hours.  She uses this time to speak to patients, to read, to walk down University Avenue and, one time, even to go to the Royal Ontario Museum to see an exhibit.  Laurette is one resourceful lady!

What struck me about Laurette is her compassion and her positive view of volunteering.  She sees volunteering as her way to give back to the community.  In addition to her weekly driving responsibilities, she also volunteers for events like Daffodil Days, where she will work for a full week delivering daffodils to different sellers for cancer fundraising purposes.  Volunteer drivers do not get paid and use their own cars for transportation.  However, they are given 30 cents for each kilometre for gas and other out of pocket expenses.  So really, they do this not for the money but out of the goodness of their hearts.

Laurette is one of 40 volunteer drivers that service the North York area.  There are approximately 140 drivers for Toronto and 380 drivers who support cancer patients in Ontario.  Registering to use this service is painless.  I called the Canadian Cancer Society and spoke to an individual who took down some basic information from me.  Once I was registered, she gave me the phone number of another individual that I would need to call to set up the appointments. The caveat is that you have to book appointments at least 4 days in advance, otherwise you are out of luck.  The day before your appointment, you get a call from a volunteer driver confirming times, and then you’re set!  Depending on the numbers of people being picked up by a single driver (3 is the maximum), you may need to adjust your timing a bit so that the person with the earliest appointment gets there on time.

If you are interested in volunteering to become a driver in Canada, please go to the Canadian Cancer Society-Ontario Division website here or call 416-488-5400 in Toronto (1-888-939-3333 toll-free) for more information on this and other volunteer opportunities.

Like Laurette, you will become a beacon of hope for people who are at their most vulnerable.

- Munira.

The Princess Margaret Cancer Centre is celebrating World Cancer Day by sharing stories of courage.  Munira’s story is featured today:

Courage Lives Here website:
http://www.courageliveshere.ca/courage/

University Health Network’s public website:
http://www.uhn.ca/applications/iNews/ViewStory.aspx?s_id=2184

UHN’s Facebook page: 
Facebook.com/UniversityHealthNetwork: https://www.facebook.com/UniversityHealthNetwork

Twitter (UHN_News): https://twitter.com/UHN_News

Time is a relative concept.  Some days I feel like I have lived with cancer for a very long time; other times, it feels like I was only diagnosed yesterday. What I do know is that I have grown tremendously in the past year. At first, I reacted to the diagnosis with anger, shock and denial. I did not expect to live more than 6 months. It was a tough period that required every ounce of energy and resilience. It took me a good 3 – 4 months to come to a point where I not only accepted the cancer, but chose to embrace it.  In the process, I think I have become more human, more patient, even more loving.  It has been a transformational experience for my family as well who have gone through their own journey and learning.

Here is a snapshot of this past year, in numbers:

• Number of cancers diagnosed:  2: Multiple Myeloma(Feb 3) Lymphoma (Feb 9)
• Number of cancers in remission: 1 (Lymphoma)
• Number of bone marrow biopsies: 7 (ouch!)
• Number of visits to Emergency Dept.: 7
• Number of days in intensive care: 2
• Number of days spent overnight in hospital: 28
• Number of Chemo treatments for Lymphoma: 6 (every three weeks)
• Number of Chemo treatments for Myeloma: 12 and counting (weekly)
• Number of units of blood transfusions: Too many!
• Number of tests – CT scans, PET scans, Xrays, dental exams, pulmonary function test, MUGA scan, echocardiogram, etc.: More than enough.
• Number of stem cells collected for transplant: 2 million per Kg of weight (Enough for 2 transplants)
• Number of surgeries for Hickman Line, PICC Line and Quinton Line: 4
• Number of wigs purchased: 10 (and counting!)
• Number of hugs, good wishes, prayers & support from family, friends and community: Overwhelming.
• Feeling of being loved: Priceless!

So, Happy Anniversary Cancer!  It’s been good knowing you. You obviously had a purpose:  to infiltrate my bone marrow and turn my own blood/plasma cells against me.  But, we got you figured out. We have a solution: An Autologous Blood Stem Cell Transplant, happening on Valentine’s Day or thereabouts.  I look forward to parting ways with you soon.  So long!  Buh-bye!  Adieu!  Arrivederci!

I want to live a long, healthy and happy life.  So, I need you to leave my body willingly and allow me to live in vitality. Yes, I will take the lessons you’ve taught me and, hopefully, emerge a better person. You have been an exacting teacher. You have taught me the value of time and life. You’ve done your work, Mr. Cancer. Now it’s time to leave….

So…

“…now go, walk out the door, just turn around now ’cause you’re not welcome anymore…Weren’t you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye, you think I’d crumble, you think I’d lay down and die. Oh no, not I, I will survive, as long as I know how to love, I know I will stay alive. I’ve got all my life to live. I’ve got all my love to give and I’ll survive. I WILL SURVIVE!”

- Munira