Scan on Monday

I wanted to give you all a quick update. After I wrote a rather distraught e-mail to George about my concerns, he called me back and said the following:

1. No need to jump off a bridge. He told me to stop panicking until we know what we're dealing with. He said that the CEA is just a number and is used to determine when to do a CT scan. He does believe that the heightened CEA means that the cancer is active, but we still don't know what it's doing.

2. Get a CT scan. Before determining treatment, he said that we need to get a CT scan to see what's going on inside of me. He said that we're not going to start shooting until we see "the whites of their eyes..." He doesn't want to unnecessarily use up weapons in our arsenal if we can save them until later.

3. We always expected the number to go up, we just were hoping that it I would have more time before it went up. But, it is what it is and soon we'll know what it means.

So - on Monday, I head to Stanford to get the scan. I will be meeting with George on March 5 to discuss treatment options. I am also in the process of determining if I should get second opinions from other major cancer centers (Block Center, MD Anderson, Dana Farber or Sloan Kettering). Unfortunately, none of my chemo options are very appealing.

Last Tuesday, when I got the call from Garrett, I was devastated. Pat told me that while I could be sad on Tuesday, on Wednesday, I had to get my game face on and get back up ready to fight. While it took me a couple more days than he had hoped, I'm feeling centered once again and ready to jump back into cancer destroying mode.

My CEA Has Jumped

I have just received the call that I have been dreading. My oncologist, Dr. Garrett Smith has informed me that my CEA (cancer indicator) number has jumped from 5.0-5.6. This is a fairly significant increase. Most likely it means that my cancer is active and is growing.

I have an e-mail into George to determine what he thinks we should do. Most likely, I'll begin a more aggressive chemotherapy treatment.

Please keep me in your prayers. I really need them right now.

Launch of My Fundraiser for the California Cancer Research Act!!!

Approximately one week ago, I was honored to join former Senate Pro Tempore Don Perata and my phenomenal oncologists, Dr. George Fisher and Dr. Gil Chu (who I just learned is the brother of Secretary of Energy Steve Chu) at a fundraiser for the California Cancer Research Act, otherwise known as Prop 29.

For me, this is personal. With NIH lessening the amount of money going into cancer research, California could help save the cancer research effort and maybe, even, find the cures for various cancers (my fingers are crossed for colon cancer breakthroughs).

If passed, Proposition 29, which will be on the California ballot on June 4, 2012, will generate $585 million dollars annually to find cures for cancers and other tobacco-related diseases through a $1 increase on cigarettes.

Not only is Prop 29 a game-changer in the battle against cancers, but it will drive down smoking rates and protect kids from ever taking up the habit. You can click here to see exactly how revenues will be spent.

There’s only one obstacle: Big Tobacco. They’ve held California in a headlock for 14 years, blocking every attempt to raise cigarette tax with their lobbyists and deceptive campaigns.

So – today I am launching my own fundraising effort to help convince the voters of California to support this effort. Whether you live in California or anyplace else in the country, the money that will be raised for cancer research will benefit all cancer patients nationwide.

To donate, just go to the following site: http://CaliforniansForACure.org/action/donate and where it says “advocate” please put down my name, Eve Bukowski, and your wonderful donation will be credited to my personal fundraiser. I want so desperately to get this proposition passed – and I truly hope that I will be able to be one of the biggest fundraisers for the effort.

When you’re deciding how much to give (I’m just going to go ahead and assume that you will give!), please give until it hurts a little. When this was suggested to the crowd during last week’s fundraiser, it reminded me of something that Ellie had done just days before….

I came home from a long day of work and as I walked in the door, Ellie came running up to me with a ziploc bag full of coins and small bills (mainly $1 bills). She told me that the 6^th grade was raising money to give to cancer research to save lives. When I pointed out that she was giving an awful lot of her personal funds (there was $34 in the bag and she only gets $1.50/week and she absolutely loves money), I asked her if she was sure that she wanted to give so much. She responded that when I had cancer, people gave to charity to help me and now it was her turn to give. Talk about understanding giving until it hurts a little. She is the poster child for giving until it hurts. I couldn’t be more proud.

The following is the speech that I gave at the recent fundraiser for the CCRA:

Good evening. I am delighted to join you tonight to talk from a cancer survivor’s perspective. I am incredibly honored to be here with 3 people who I deeply admire and whom I am depending on to save my life. Dr. George Fisher – my oncologist extraordinaire, Dr. Gil Chu – the oncologist who is trying to help me with the side effects of chemo and, of course, former Pro Tempore Don Perata who is going to raise the money to fund the research that will hopefully end my cancer journey and put me back on the road to full health.

But before I talk about the importance of cancer research, since I was asked to speak as a patient, let me give you some background on this cancer experience of mine….

I have been battling Stage 4 colon cancer for the last 4 years. My cancer journey began in January of 2008, when I was traveling in Iowa for the famous Iowa caucus. As a political junkie I had always wondered what the Caucus was all about.

Unfortunately, I never got to experience the Caucus – on that fateful Thursday night I was at Mercy Hospital in downtown Des Moines, in excruciating pain. I had no idea what a difficult road lie ahead. They found a blockage, and told me they needed to operate immediately. Two days later, I woke up to a prognosis of colon cancer – and it had spread.

So began my fight. Since then I was diverted from campaigning for Hillary Clinton to campaigning for my life.

I have had my colon re-sected twice, a vaginal re-section, a radical hysterectomy, an ostomy bag, a reversal of my ileostomy, and more radiation and chemo than any human body should have running through it. Heck - I have even frozen my head to save my hair!

If you look at the statistics, I should probably be dead by now.

Of course, when I first met George, he told me not to look at the statistics. He convinced me that I was not a statistic. I learned that each body reacts differently to cancer and the drugs used to treat it. Others chose to tell me that advanced cancer patients have a slim chance of living very long.

As you can plainly see – I am far from dead. I am vibrant and very much alive.

Unfortunately, my journey is not yet over. I have had 3 recurrences in the last 3 years. Each time that I’ve finished chemo, I’ve wanted desperately to believe that I would return to complete health—that I would get to see my children and my grandchildren grow up. But that has not been my experience..

At the end of last June my cancer reappeared in both my spleen and my rectum. George has me on a chemo regimen that includes my taking oral chemo twice a day with an infusion every 3 weeks. And I’m delighted to say that the cancer doesn’t appear to be growing. However, because of my history, the likelihood that cancer is floating around in my body waiting to reemerge is very high. So now we are in a holding pattern – continuing to poison my body and watch and wait.

As I was thinking about speaking with you tonight, I was reflecting about what it’s like to live every day as a cancer patient. It is devastating to tell people that I have cancer. I am fighting this disease every day and the last thing I want to do is label myself with it. Telling another person is reliving the diagnosis and helping them come to accept it. Every. Single. Time.

And living with cancer means living my life in 3 week and 3 month increments. Every 3 weeks, we check my blood to see if it’s showing that cancer is growing. Every 3 months, I get a CT scan to see what is inside me. And each time I get a scan, I hold my breath – for days.

Days that take me away from enjoying time with my eight year old twin daughters. It is hard to not know if I will be around to see them grow up. While my friends speak nonchalantly about the future and their plans 5, 10, 20 or even 30 years from now, I am worried about whether I’ll be around to see my daughters’ 10th birthday.

And that is why I’m here today. The California Cancer Research Act, now with its new name, Prop 29, is my best hope that I will be there for my girls. I have a responsibility to do everything in my power to stay alive. I have two little girls who are counting on me to be there when they graduate from high school, when they walk down the aisle and when they bear their own children. Failure is simply not an option.

Not for me, and not for thousands of Californians who go to bed at night with the same fears. I am fortunate. I have access to today’s best research, expert medical advice and chemotherapy drugs. Not every cancer patient does. But every cancer patient would benefit from medical break-throughs and an eventual cure to cancer.

That is why I am so hopeful that California will step up and provide the huge infusion of research dollars to try to solve this devastating disease. California has lead the way for the world many times before—the gold rush, the semi-conductor, personal computers, smart phones, the cyberknife —why not a cure for cancer?!

I know that there may not be a cure right away, but with George and Gil by my side, I can hang on for a little while. But, without the passage of this significant funding, the likelihood that they’ll discover a cure in time for me goes down dramatically.

Edward Everett Hale once said “I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do.”

So, I want to thank Don, George and Gil and everyone involved in this effort for doing what you “can do.” I pledge that I will do everything I can to help the cause.

People say very cavalierly that “every day is a gift.” However, as I pop my chemo pills every night, I am struck daily with how true that sentiment is.

Thank you for inviting me to be here this evening with all of you. I am humbled by my fellow speakers and so very hopeful that through their efforts, we will soon see an end to this devastating disease.