The Most Worstest Day

Yeah I suck at the whole blog thing. I was pretty strong there for a lil bit, but shit other things took priority. You know how that goes, right? Anyway, I kept meaning to do the transplant thing and yaddah yaddah yaddah but NOW THAT DOESNT SEEM SO FUCKING IMPORTANT ANYMORE!

Are you there, God? It’s me, Katie. AND I AM FUCKING SICK OF THIS BULL SHIT!


No, I’m not really angry. Not anymore at least. Or, maybe, just not all the time. Life isn’t fair, but sometimes it seems exceedingly unfair with only minute moments of relief.

The first week of February I went in for my monthly Clinic appointment. I’d gotten down to ONE visit a month! I was ahead of schedule, I feel, and was doing incredibly well. I had started getting my vaccines again, and was planning to have a bone marrow biopsy done in April. If that was clear, I wouldn’t have to do it again for at least a year, or if my counts went wonky.

Well, fuck me, right?

The nurse came into the little room where I was sitting with my parents, asked me the usual questions; what meds I was taking, what I’d been up to, how I’d been feeling. Then she left, which was still the normal routine of things. A couple minutes passed and she popped her head back in, and made a comment that they may have to redraw my CBC because my counts were “wonky”.

That’s a good thing to hear, right? You’re 10 months post STC , life is literally on the verge of returning to how it should be (MY HAIR WAS FUCKING LONG AS FUCK!!!!, I was applying to schools again, I was HAPPY. I was HEALTHY… or so I thought) and your counts are WONKY.

Is that a medical term? Do they teach people that at Doctor School?

Okay, okay. Moving on.

So then in comes the doctor, who I really truly respect and think very highly of… and she tells me that I relapsed. That the transplant failed and the cancer was back.


How do you deal with that? Like up until that point I had thought that hearing the words “you have cancer” were the worst words I could possibly hear… but I was so very wrong. Oh naïve me. Oh silly, silly me.

To be honest, part of me I think is still in denial. We found out on the 10th of February, and now here I am, day 13 of my induction, February 27th. But you know what? I think it’s shock, more than anything. Like I had put all my faith and hope and energy into this new life… and yet the transplant failed. I don’t think I once considered that that could happen. I mean, obviously it could happen, but I was so confident and so sure and so desperate to get back to normal that I didn’t seriously consider that as an option. My sight was set way off in the distance, in a place where my future was certain, where all of this bullshit didn’t exist.

One of the worst things about being diagnosed with AML, overcoming astounding odds, doing a transplant and then relapsing are the looks on the medical professional’s faces. I can’t imagine how they feel, but god DAMN they all just looked at me with their stupid, sorrowful eyes. I hadn’t been looked at like that since I had to do consolidation chemotherapy in January 2016. I hate those eyes. The pity.

Little tidbit from the day of diagnosis, I don’t think I’ve lost a smile so quickly in my entire life. Mom and Dad join me on my clinic visits, and we always have fun goofing around and what not in the exam room as we wait for docs and NPs to stop by. I had been a little nervous regarding the strange counts, but didn’t think too much of it. But when the door opened and the doctor walked in, her STUPID FUCKING SORROWFUL EYES OF PITY told me what I hoped would never be. I feel like the smile I had had slipped off my face and shattered into a thousand pieces on the cold floor.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the cancer’s back. Hahaha I thought of that like “It’s Britney, bitch!”

“It’s Cancer, Bitch.”

“It’s Katie, Bitch.”

Ok ok ok! SO. Really fuckin’ pissed about this whole thing. Kinda not super excited to do this whole rodeo again. But I’m going to, and this time I’m going in guns a-blazin’. I am a MOTHER FUCKIN BAD ASS BITCH WARRIOR!

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