Despite my initial aversion to being treated at a children's hospital, my transfer to the Janeway ended up lifting my spirits (to the extent one's spirits can be lifted after a cancer diagnosis). My new lodgings were in stark contrast to the gloominess of the adult's side. I was now in a much larger room, with a full corner of large widows, and painted in bright red, blues, and yellows. The cartoon characters on the walls were a little off putting, but anything that provided some visual stimulation was a welcome sight compared to the drab room I was coming from. 

    This has often caused me to wonder why all hospitals aren't designed with a little more cosmetic appeal. Yes it may cost a little more to build them this way, but shouldn't the comfort of the patients be one of the first goal of a hospital? Especially those who have to reside there longterm. 

    When I first started my treatment I was stuck in that room for a month, unable to even go down the hall for a walk. I'm still not sure how I never came unraveled at times (maybe that's why they give you Ativan). I don't even want to think about what it would've been like to spend the same amount of time in my old room at the Health Science; there are people who do have to spend that amount of time there, and for much, much longer.

    People were often surprised at how little I complained about being ill. It partially had to do with a distaste that I've always possessed of pushing my own troubles on others. However I also kept myself in the frame of mind that there would always be someone worse off than me, and therefore I had little right to complain. Besides complaining doesn't ever make anything better; it just makes you more aware of the complaint. I'm not saying you should forgo seeking help for pain at risk of sounding like a complainer (that's just being foolish), or even that you should never complain. All I'm getting at is that I bet if you try complaining a little less your day will turn out a little better. 

That's my thoughts for the day! Thanks for reading!

Jordan.

    

    

    I woke up to the sound of my breakfast tray being delivered. As my senses came to me, I was disappointed to find I wasn't in my own bed, and that the past week hadn't been some vivid dream. Unenthusiastically I picked at my toast, but the rest of the tray's contents had no appeal. This wasn't entirely unusual for me, I had never been one to eat much in the morning. However I did notice my appetite had started to wane, wether it was from illness or nerves (probably a combination of both). Looking around, the room seemed to mimic the way I was feeling. A dull and dated print was hung, as a frail attempt to brighten things up; the dreary beige paint was cracked and sloughing off the walls in places, as if it wanted to escape as badly as I did. It was worn out and tired, and so was I.
     
    I was scheduled to have a Hickman catheter put in later that day. Which is a semi-permanent alternative to being jabbed with a needle every time you need to be hooked up to an I.V. (when you're doing chemo that's a lot). Essentially they surgically insert a tube into one of your veins. Most commonly they put it in your chest and route it into a vein in your neck. It might not sound very pleasant, but it's a minor procedure; those things are a godsend when you think about the alternative. One small surgery that leaves a minor scar when they remove it.; compared to literally being stabbed with an I.V. needle hundreds of times, leaving an equal amount of scars all over your arms and hands.
    
    While I was waiting the doctor came to visit me, but not to explain the procedure to me like I had expected. Instead she told me that the oncologists from the Health Science Centre and the Janeway Children's Hospital had met and discussed my case. They had decided that since A.L.L. is primarily a childhood cancer and the Janeway team were more experienced in treating it, I would be transferred into their care. This news caught me off guard, I wasn't sure what to think. I would be going form being surrounded by mainly elderly people, to a place where most patients weren't even in high school. It didn't really seem like either place was a fit for me, and for the first time I started to feel alone.

    It's not uncommon for cancer patients to feel isolated. Unless they've gone through it themselves, it's difficult for friends and family to be able to relate to what you're dealing with. I think this is an issue that young adults with cancer deal with especially, because so few of their peers will go through the same thing. I can count on one hand the number of people I know who were within a few years of my age, and went through treatments the same time as I did; None of them  were from my group of friends in high school, so at times I did feel like a bit of an outcast. 

    However, there are programs out there geared towards helping young adult cancer patients deal with these feelings. I failed to take advantage of them until recently (mostly because I couldn't get up the courage to go), but now that I have it's actually helped me more than you can imagine. One example of an organization doing a lot to help out people like myself is Young Adult Cancer Canada, or YACC for short. It was started up by a guy right here in Newfoundland, Geoff Eaton in 2000. They have a number of programs that help connect young adults who've been afflicted by cancer with others like them. I recently attended one of these programs, and it was great to be surrounded by a group of people who really get it. So if you get the chance to take part in one of their programs or something similar, take the leap. You won't regret it, I promise. 

Thanks for reading this weeks entry, have an awesome day!

Jordan.  

   

The day the "C-bomb" dropped...

    Looking back on those first few days at the Health Science, it seems ridiculous that cancer hadn't even entered my mind as the culprit behind my symptoms. Perhaps it was ignorance (I mean who really expects to get cancer at eighteen years old?), or maybe those kinds of thoughts were being suppressed by fear. Either way I was completely oblivious as to what was coming. 

    This made it all the worse when the doctor came to deliver the news. She entered the room and said that the results of my bone marrow biopsy had come back. She asked if I was alright with my mom and girlfriend being in the room. I didn't see any reason why they should leave; I wanted them to know anything that she had to say anyways. She asked me to sit, and said, " Your bone marrow biopsy indicated that you have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia..." Her voice trailed off, it became a muffled mess of meaningless sound.That word "leukaemia" had taken me out of reality, and placed me in a distant fog. A soup of thoughts sloshed around in my head; chief among them "Did she really just tell me I have cancer?". It didn't seem real, I honestly questioned if I was really awake or not.

    When I finally gained clarity again the doctor had left. My mom and girlfriend were hugging me, crying; tears were flowing down my face as well. I had no recollection of what the doctor had said after that first sentence. All my senses were numbed, it was if I had taken a solid blow to the head. Thinking about it now, I actually find it kind of fascinating. All it takes is a few simple words to have such a profound effect on someone; not even a few words really, just one... One little word can flip your world on its head.

    Once the initial shock had worn off a little (with the help of some Ativan), I learned that I would be starting treatment in a couple days. The thought of having to go through chemotherapy scared me nearly as much as learning I had cancer. Even if you haven't witnessed someone have to do treatments first hand, I think it's pretty well universally known that the methods of treating cancer do some pretty nasty things to the body.

    Despite the torrent of emotions that were now gripping me, I never let my fears show much after receiving my diagnosis. It wasn't because of ego, or pride; sharing how I feel is just something I've never excelled at. The thought of burdening others has always made me extremely uncomfortable, and over the next few years I felt that way a lot.

    Now I realize that it was silly to ever feel that way. It's one thing to not want to bother someone, it's completely another to put yourself through mental or physical pain because of it. When you're going through something as tough as fighting cancer, you have enough to deal with already. You're feeling shitty on a daily basis as it is, bottling everything you're feeling up inside is putting yourself through one more thing that you don't need in your life. The same goes for anyone that's struggling with the mental aspects of their life. Even if you don't feel comfortable talking with a friend or family member about it, there are people out there who's job it is to help you. Don't ever feel like you have to suffer alone.

Thanks for reading, don't be afraid to let me know how you feel! 

Jordan.

Uncertainty, the name of the game...

    It's funny. Time goes along at its constant pace, never changing. While the way we experience it depends on our circumstance at that given point. When things are good, years can fly by before we know it; When they're not, minutes can seem like hours. My time in the Health Science Emergency mimicked the latter.

    Sleep would have killed the monotony of my wait. However the nature of the emergency room would not allow it. With the hospital staff bustling back and forth, the medical equipment making "beeps" and "whirrs", and the big noise contributors were of course, the patients (people tend to be noisy when in discomfort). Although, even if it had been quite I doubt I would have slept. Faced with the unknown, my mind was racing and time seemed  to stand still.     
    
    Around 4am they came and told me that I would be admitted to hospital. It was close to six when my bed on the Medicine Unit was ready. This was a welcomed change, not only for myself, but my parents as well. It was hospital policy that you could only have one person in emerg. with you at a time. They had been taking turns sitting with me, while the other stayed out in the waiting room.
    
    Once I was in a slightly more comfortable bed, and the relative quiet of the Medicine Unit exhaustion overcame my restless mind, and sleep came quickly. However I didn't get much of a chance to rest before a doctor came to my room. She informed my parents and I that the blood tests had come up empty. The only thing they had found was now not only were my neutrophils low, but my rest of my counts had started to follow.     
    
    That was June 3rd, I spent the next few days confined to that room by my failing immune system. Which in itself wasn't a pleasant experience; the rooms and halls of the Medicine Unit seemed dank and gloomy (they should really work on that. Impending doom isn't the best vibe to be giving off, considering the function of the place). Although where I was didn't concern me much at the time. I was preoccupied with "Why am I here?". Being poked and prodded with all manner of needles, and swabs, peeing in jars, and other things I'd rather not mention. All the while feeling more and more ill.   
    
    Four days passed, and there was still no indication as to what was wrong with me. The doctors decided that the next step was a bone marrow biopsy. I made the mistake of looking at the apparatus they perform it with (NEVER LOOK!). I won't go into details, but if you're really that curious look it up on Google or Youtube (don't say i didn't warn you!). In  preparation for the procedure I was given a dose of morphine and local anesthetic; the morphine never really had a chance to do it's thing, and let's just say it's an experience I'd rather forget. When the resident doctor who was observing went as limp and white as a bag of milk, I decided it'd be best if I close my eyes until the doctor was done. It was yet another instance of time moving slower than you would hope. Though once the morphine started doing it's job I was just fine. Now all there was left to do was wait, wonder, and worry until the results came back. 

    Uncertainty is a something you become very familiar with when dealing with cancer; it's a constant throughout the entire journey. Leading up to diagnosis you're in the dark about what's going on with your body. Post diagnosis it seems as if uncertainty is the only certainty. Then when all is said and done you're left wondering "Am I really done with cancer?" and "Where do I go from here?". It can be a difficult reality to deal with. 

    I'm just learning how to deal with the aftermath myself (once I figure it out I'll be sure to pass the secret along). As for dealing with the chaos after diagnosis, all I can say is give yourself things to be sure of. You know that there are going to be friends and family who will be there for you, you know that your medical team will do everything they can to help you through. Find and focus on those constants, and it will help to stabilize the craziness of it all. When it comes to pre-diagnosis, just know your body, know when something doesn't feel right, make sure you receive all your checkups, and live as healthy a lifestyle as you can. Prevention and early detection are the key!!!

That's it for today, thanks for reading!

Jordan. 

     

      

How it all began...

    In order to accomplish my goals for this blog, I'm going to need to take a retrospective look at my entire experience with cancer. Therefore it would make sense to start at the very beginning. Something that for me seems like a lifetime ago; when in reality it's been less than four years. 

    It was early June 2010, and I was getting ready to write my final exams of high school. The year had started out amazingly. Canada had won gold in both men's and women's hockey, on home soil at the Olympics in Vancouver. That March I had spent my birthday on a school trip to Paris and Barcelona (One of the best experiences of my life to date). Finally, to cap it all off I was going to graduate high school, and start the biggest and most exciting journey of my life... Or so I thought. 

    I had missed a couple of days of school with a bit of a cough, and a slight fever. Being so close to finals my mom wanted me to see if I could get something to clear it up. So that day I went to the walk-in clinic to visit our family doctor. 

    Nothing out of the ordinary happened at the doctor's office, he did a routine check up and prescribed me something to help take care of my cold. When I was about to leave he suggested that I get some blood-work, just to update my chart. He wrote me a referral, and on my way home I stopped at the hospital and had some blood samples taken. 

    I might have been home an hour and a half when the phone rang; I was surprised to find it was my doctor calling. He told me that there were some "irregularities" that had been flagged in my blood-work, and that my neutrophils (Which I only vaguely knew anything about at the time.) were "extremely low" and that it was probably caused by some type of infection, like mono. He reassured me that it wasn't anything to be too worried about just yet. However he insisted that if my temperature started to rise I should go to the Health Science Emergency in St. John's as soon as possible, and that he would call ahead with the results of my blood test.

    It wasn't long after the doctor's call that my temp. not only started to rise, but shoot up. Likewise I started to feel miserable, with the chills, headache, and dizziness that often accompany a high fever. My mom got permission to come home from work, so she could rush with my step-father and I in over the highway to the Health Science.

    On arrival we explained to the triage nurse what was going on, and that my doctor had called ahead. He took me in right away, and took several more vials of blood (My first experience getting to skip the line due to being immunocompromised. Yippie!). Then I was placed in a bed in the emergency, where I spent several hours.

    The emergency was (as usual), quite a hectic place. That night was far from a quiet one, there were dozens of people that came through. Most notably some people who had been in a bad fender bender, and an older man who I didn't see, but from the groans he was making was in some kind of agony. Needless to say that sleep eluded me. Not only because of the noise, but also the thought of what might be going on with me. I have never been one to get overly worked up about anything. Perhaps compared to how others might react, I was fairly calm. However to say I wasn't scared that first night in hospital would be a lie.

    For similar reasons I still lose sleep at night from time to time. The feelings aren't as strong as they were back then, but it's hard not to wonder what's going on with your body. Especially when you have a flu you can't shake, an ache or pain, or a new spot that comes out on your skin. I know, fears like this are irrational. My chances of relapse decrease with each healthy day that passes. Unfortunately though cancer doesn't just affect you physically, it takes a huge tole on your mind as well. When treatment is done and the cancer is gone, it doesn't necessarily mean you're all better. In fact I believe now that it's the time when the real healing begins. These are just some of the thoughts I go through everyday, and each day I'm working on, and getting better at controlling them. 

Thanks for reading, Have a good one!

Jordan. 

     

The reasons behind this blog:

    The chief goal of this blog is to help me gain some perspective into how my experience with cancer has brought me to the place I am in my life. Communicating how I feel about something has always been a major struggle for me. It's been a tremendous source of anxiety for myself, and has acted as a stressor on all my relationships. So this acts as a method of stepping outside my comfort zone as well, hopefully helping me remove some of the barriers holding me back form living a better life. 

    

    For those who may read this, I hope that it will provide you with some insight into what it's like to go through cancer as a young adult. Perhaps, it could also help someone going through a similar situation; it's good to know you're not alone. It would make me very happy if it did, and would be a huge bonus of me doing this!

    I'm going to try to post on a weekly basis. Sometimes it may be more than once a week, some weeks I may not post at all. At any rate I hope you enjoy what you read!

Thanks, and have a great day!

Jordan.