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.

My Rock

This posting is about my husband, Pat. Yesterday, I was telling my friend, Keith about how important it has been for me throughout this journey to have Pat’s strength and complete faith that everything is going to be ok. Keith then said, as gently as he could, that he thought that I should actually post about Pat. He had noticed that I blog about the girls frequently, but rarely mention my rock of a husband.

I thought about that for a moment. I realized that I blog about the girls because I know that if the worst comes to pass that Pat would be fine (although sad), however it is the girls who would suffer the most. It is this knowledge that keeps me fighting every day to live.

I didn’t mean to neglect my amazing husband. I can’t imagine tackling this disease without him. Throughout my many surgeries, chemo infusions and doctors appointments he has been at my side. He has emptied drains sticking out of my body, changed my bag, facilitated the use of my penguin cold caps, rubbed my back and held my hand. He supported my efforts when I decided to fly around the country to get additional opinions. When I said that I wanted to look into alternative ways to heal, he didn’t laugh or dismiss me, he supported me.

But, most importantly, when I am in my darkest hours, dealing with my sadness, anger or fear, he remains a constant source of strength. He has no doubts that I am going to live to see our children grow up. He believes in my body’s ability to fight this disease. While I have seen fear in the eyes of so many people that I love throughout the years, I have never witnessed that fear in Pat. When I see his confidence, it puts me back in the right frame of mind and renews my faith in my ability to win this battle. I am so deeply grateful to have Pat by my side.

And – for the news that you’ve all been waiting for - during my chemo appointment yesterday, Dr. Smith gave me the great news that my MRI was normal and that there was no evidence of cancer in my spine. I was thrilled and so relieved. But, of course, Pat already knew that it would be clear.

A Surreal Day - A Look Back at Iowa

The Iowa Caucus. It has been 4 long years since the last Caucus. As you all know, that was the beginning of my cancer journey. I remember those days like they were yesterday. Marianne and I spent the week before the Caucus braving the Iowan winter campaigning for Hillary and going back and forth to Mercy Hospital in Des Moines begging them to please figure out the source of my incredible pain.

On the night of the Caucus, rather than witnessing how Iowans vote, I checked in to Mercy, thinking that they’d quickly figure out my pain and I’d be going home soon. It never occurred to me that they’d discover the unthinkable – cancer.

But they did. These last four years have not been easy. Since that day, I’ve had my colon re-sected twice, a radical hysterectomy, a vaginal resection, an ileostomy, reversal of my ileostomy, poisoned my body with far too much chemo (xeloda, oxiliplatin, FUDR, Irinotecan, Avastin…), botoxed my sphincter muscle, had more than 20 CT scans, visited countless doctors all over the country, cut meat out of my diet (for the most part), opened my eyes to eastern medicine (acupuncture, Chinese herbs, qi gong, yoga, Tibetan healing, ayurvedic healing….) and had more than my share of needles.

Four years ago, I would have never guessed that this would be my life – or that I would have to fight so hard to still be alive.

Interestingly enough, Iowa is not just a sad memory for me. I met so many warm and amazing people. Just this morning, I received an e-mail from a wonderful friend that I met while in Iowa. Cyril and her husband John, after only meeting me that fateful week, were there for Pat and me when we were in need. My Iowan oncologist, Rocky Morton, e-mailed just recently just to check in on me and told me that he’d been keeping up to date on me through the years.

It is with mixed emotion that I sit here watching the Iowa Caucus tonight. I am grateful to be alive watching the Caucus unfold (crazy as it is). And, I just made a vow to myself, that in four years, I’m going back to Iowa – to finally see the Caucus in person.

Name Change (AGAIN) and an MRI

So – as many of you know, approximately 2 years ago, I changed my Hebrew name from Chava Rivka to Chava Raphaela. This was done in an attempt to trick the evil spirits so that any bad fate that was slated for Chava Rivka, would not happen to Chava Raphaela. Well – as you now are very aware, those darn evil spirits keep finding me regardless of the name change.

Thus, I’ve decided to step it up a notch – this past week I changed my last name. So – as of last Friday, I have dropped “Grossman” and have officially become a “Bukowski.” I know that many of you thought that this was my name or that my name was Grossman-Bukowski. Legally, my name was always “Grossman” and I just added the Bukowski to Grossman with the thought that if I ever decided to change my name that people would know who I was. When we moved to Davis and I changed industries I decided that if I was going to change my name, this was the time to do it, so I’ve been running around Sacramento just claiming that my name was Bukowski (although it really wasn’t). But now it is. The girls are thrilled to have the same last name as me and I’m really hoping that this will trick those spirits once and for all!

On another fun cancer related note – I’m heading down to Stanford at 7:00 am tomorrow for an MRI of my spine. Please put me in your prayers that they don’t find any cancer in there. Dr. Fisher thinks that my back pain is most likely just aging and the problems associated with that, but we’re getting the MRI just to make sure.

As I write this, I hear the girls playing “The Game of Life” in the next room. Listening to them makes me realize how crazy and unpredictable life can be. I am just looking forward to having my biggest worry be whether my "house floods" (the square that Ellie just landed on).

Thank you all again for your love and strength. It means more to me than I can possibly express.

Happy New Year!

End of 2011 Update

So much has happened since my last post. I have so many partial posts saved up in my computer – started but never finished.

Rather than continue to put off posting – I’m going to give you all a quick update on what’s going on with me and this cancer journey of mine.

On Birthdays and Botox: About a month ago I celebrated my 44th birthday. Statistically, I shouldn’t have celebrated that birthday – but I did – and in style! The family, along with our dear friends, the Ellicott-Pesics, hit Disneyland to celebrate. It was pouring rain, but we had a glorious time! All day long I realized how lucky I was to be there running around and enjoying every minute. Heck – the rain kept the crowds away so although we were a little wet, we weren’t standing in line for hours!

Botox? While many 44 year olds put botox in their faces to retain their youthful looks, I am using botox in another part of my body – my sphincter muscle. As many of you know, after the take down of my ileostomy (that lovely bag I was sporting), I have been experiencing a lot of pain and pressure in my nether regions. I now have an appreciation for the debilitating impacts of chronic pain. It’s exhausting. We have tried many things to address the pain, which I’m going to spare you from reading. Our latest is to give a couple of shots of botox into the sphincter muscle. Let’s just say that I don’t think there is a more painful place to get a shot. I have dealt with a ton of needles over the past 4 years – but this tops the charts on the pain scale. However, it seems to have helped a little. I will need to go back every 3 months to get more injections. If we can’t relieve the pain this way, we may have to look at cutting my sphincter muscle (which would most likely result in incontinence – how fun) or putting the bag back on. So please, keep your fingers crossed that this works!

As for the cancer - I have mixed news. My latest scan was terrific. In fact, the top line on the radiologist’s remarks was “no evidence of recurrence or progression of metastatic disease.” The cancer that they thought was in my rectum no longer seems to be there and they’re not even sure that the spot in my spleen is even cancer. Pretty darn exciting. However, my cancer indicator number (CEA) 3 weeks ago jumped up fairly dramatically – from a 3.6 to a 5. When I had it retaken again on Tuesday, it was still at 5. This is high for me and troubling.

So – what does that mean? Quite frankly, nobody knows. I’ve talked to both of my top notch oncologists and they don’t have an explanation for it. Dr. Fisher told me that of course there’s cancer in my body (or they wouldn’t keep giving me chemo) but it may just not be large enough to show up in a scan. Therefore, he has ordered an MRI to see if they can find anything that wouldn’t pop up in a CT scan. I’ll get the MRI done in January. We’ll also keep checking the CEA and if it jumps up, then we will change my chemo regimen – either upping my current doses (I’m on both xeloda and avastin) or changing to a different type of chemo.

I continue to do all of my alternative stuff – acupuncture, Chinese herbs, qi gong, meditation (ok – so I’m not so great at this). I am doing remarkably well. My body is very strong and is fighting hard. But, this cancer is relentless and seems not to want to leave my body. But I’ll keep poisoning it and trying to boost my immune system and hopefully eventually it will just give up.

Unfortunately, I still have a lot of fear about the future. Every night, when I am singing Chanukah songs and dancing the hora with my children after lighting the Chanukah candles, I look at them and wonder if I’ll see them grow up. It breaks my heart to think that I may not be there for the major milestones in their lives. But then I stop and remind myself that I am here now and that I need to focus on this moment - on this joyous day. I tell myself that I will be there to suffer through their teenage years - and I will love every moment of it. This cancer is no match for my determination.

Please keep me in your prayers during this holiday season. Hold your families close. And may 2012 be a year of much health, love and laughter for all of you.

The California Cancer Research Act - It's So Darn Important

As many of you may be aware, I strongly support the California Cancer Research Act. This was placed on the ballot by the American Cancer Society, former Ca President Pro Tem Don Perata and a lot of other folks that care about figuring out the cure to this terrible disease. My fabulous oncologist, Dr. George Fisher is a huge advocate for the effort (which inspires me even more).

I've decided to use this blog posting to give everyone a little feel for what this is about and why you should care. Before I do so, however, I'll tell you what happened on Thursday at the colorectal surgeon's office. In a word - nothing. He saw my hernia and said that he wasn't going to do anything about it. The area is too fragile and the hernia has no impact on anything. He told me that if it bothers me that I should just wear spanx. So - for now, no surgery is being scheduled.

Now - back to the California Cancer Research Act....

Nearly one out of two Californians will develop cancer in their lifetimes and one out of five will die from the disease. This year alone, 140,000 Californians will die from the disease. Cancer has impacted all of us and the way to beat this disease is through more funding for research. Next year, we will have the opportunity to take a tremendous leap forward in the fight against cancer.

The California Cancer Research Act (CCRA) will generate nearly $600 million every year for cancer research and triple funding for cancer research by increasing the price of cigarettes by $1. All of the money in this initiative goes to fight cancer and no more than 2% will be spent on administration. The California Cancer Research Act will go before voters in June 5, 2012.

The measure is expected to save more than 100,000 lives and prevent 200,000 youth from becoming life long smokers. More than two-thirds of Californians are in favor of the measure, but the tobacco companies are set to spend tens of millions of dollars to lie to voters to get them to vote no. Our best defense is you. By joining the campaign, you can help spread the word that Big Tobacco is funding the opposition. If an undecided voter goes into the booth knowing the American Cancer Society is behind CCRA and the tobacco companies are opposed, we are overwhelming likely to get their vote. Please go here to sign up to the campaign: http://www.californiansforacure.org/action/acs.

By joining the campaign, you will get updates on the campaign both in your community and across the state. You will also learn the latest deceitful tactics the tobacco companies are engaging in. There is no commitment to sign up, but you will certainly have the opportunity to volunteer for the campaign as the election gets closer.

Think about it. How many times in our lives do we have the opportunity to save 100,000 people from premature death? We have all been touched by cancer in some way (some more than others!) and most of us know how painful the experience is. We have the opportunity to prevent the next generation of Californians from experiencing that. Please join our campaign and help us win this fight.

So that's my plea for today. Please please please get involved in the campaign. Soon I will be announcing my online fundraiser for the campaign. (This will enable those of you those of you who don't live in California to support this important effort.) They need money desperately to help counteract the money that big tobacco is throwing at the opposition. Cancer sucks. Let's join together to wipe it out.

It's Been A Long Week

I have just left the urgent care center in Davis. Why was I there? I haven’t been able to breathe easily for the last few days. The good news is that after an x-ray, EKG and blood tests, the doctors can’t find anything physically wrong with me. They are blaming my shortness of breath to stress, potentially too much chemo and possibly some tomato spraying that’s going on in Davis. While I am relieved that the diagnosis wasn’t more serious, the whole experience forced me to relive that day after Thanksgiving almost 2 years ago in Palm Desert when I woke up not being able to breathe and was told hours later that the cancer had returned in my ovary. Needless to say, today’s results are a whole heck of a lot better than that day in 2009.

I’ve been trying to figure out what could possibly be making such a significant impact on me stress-wise. My job is stressful, but I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had a ton of stress at my job. Our home sale and purchase are complete, so that’s not causing stress. The girls are all settled at school, soccer, gymnastics and Brownies – so that’s not causing stress.

And then it hit me – Steve Jobs’ death. Each time I hear of a celebrity’s death due to cancer, it is like a knife in my chest. Fear grips me. But, Steve Jobs’ passing impacted me more than any other. Perhaps it’s because I’m in the tech sector now and his death is part of a continual conversation with my peers, or perhaps it was because he shared my oncologist and acupuncturist, the same people who I depend on to save my life couldn’t save his…

For whatever reason, his death upset me to my core. It made me question my ability to beat cancer and stay alive. Although I have had dark thoughts over the past few years, they have never lasted for days or even hours. This time, they had. But, now that I know that my shortness of breath does not signal a return of my cancer, I am reminding myself that each person has their own story…that pancreatic cancer is a hell of an adversary and it was miraculous that he remained alive as long as he did…that I am doing great and that I have to get my head back on straight if I’m going to continue to do great. And so, with a deep breath – that is what I’m doing.

Unfortunately, while I wish that I could announce that all is well (except the cancer in my spleen and rectum), as of last Friday, I was told that I am facing yet another hurdle – a hernia where the bag used to be on my stomach. Apparently, it’s not that uncommon. After all, I’ve had a lot of surgery in that area, so the muscles are weak. I am heading down to see my colorectal surgeon on Thursday, to see if anything can be done. My guess is that I’ll be told to do some basic exercises (my SF oncologist showed me some exercises to strengthen the muscle) and leave it alone. As one of my doc friends said to me this morning, “Eve, this is number 33 on your list of concerns. It’s really not a big deal.” I will keep you all posted if I need to return to surgery – but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this won’t be in the cards for the near future.

So – the cancer journey continues. I continue to look for the lessons. But – I gotta say, it’s hard. I know that some say that "cancer is a gift." Although I have learned a lot from the journey, I wouldn’t classify this as a "gift." Frankly, if it is a gift, I want to be standing in the "returns" line. But, for whatever reason, this is what I’ve been given and I’m going to do whatever I can to learn from it.

As we begin the Jewish New Year, I have faith that this upcoming year will be a good one. I have a new job, new home, am ostomy bag-free and have only marginal amounts of cancer. I’m starting off pretty darn ok. I pray that this year is filled with many wonderful moments and lots of health for all of you as well.

And please – come and visit us in Davis. This year, my goal is to fill my home with lots of love and laughter – which is, after all, the best way to heal…..