Saturday, September 12, 2015

I'm still here.

It's Saturday, September 12, 2015, at 7:47pm in Charleston, SC.

On Wednesday, I had my first IB infusion, with two gooey liquid medicines flowing into my body--into a hard, round port, the hard, weird creation that I had inserted two weeks ago.  I could tell you about that process, but it's probably not that interesting.

The IB infusion is the next step in this whole brain tumor stuff.  The other treatments only got me so far, so we're trying something more dramatic.

People have wanted to know what's going on, and I respect that. So, things going on:

  • Day 1 (Wednesday), I cried through a lot of the pre-preparation for the infusion. Thank you, Cindi.
  • That day took 7.5 hours to get my body used to these changes. Thank you, Cindi.
  • After the infusion day, I slept for about two days.  Not an exaggeration.  
  • Friday and Saturday, I've been trying to wake up, feel functional, and that's working for one or two events during the day.  After that, I'm wiped out.
  • The doctors have assured me that this will stop, that I'll be able to do all the things I'm used to, that I'll be back to my energized person next week.
  • Is that true?
You know about my love for Princess Leia (like here, here, and here).  I'm sort of surprised to discover that a person adding to the support for me is Chewbacca.  He's powerful, fierce, but also has real sympathy, even fear.  He's here, hanging out with Princess Leia.
Hello, Chewie.  I'm glad we're here together.
That's where I am right now.  I'm exhausted because I've been writing for 26 minutes.  I'll share more with you, though.  I'll wake up eventually and say more.


  1. Replies
    1. xoxox to you, too. At some point I'll tell you how much my students love your brilliance!

  2. I'm glad Chewie is giving you some comfort! Love you, sweetie!

  3. Oh, Alison. I'm sorry to hear that you're having to go through all of this. I wish I could come visit and just sit next to you and stroke the hair off your face. Or just hold your hand. Instead, I'll send my love.

  4. I'm reading your updates and thinking of you with love and admiration and your tumor with distain.

  5. Thank you. I accept both the love and the disdain.