She is the Leia to my Luke.

Physicians refer to the day Multiple Myeloma patients get their stem cell transplant as a second birthday. In many ways, this is true because you do start out with the immune system of a newborn baby and the transplant is the "rescue" to the lethal dose of chemo that not only cleans out your body's resident cancer cells, but it also flushes out your body's entire supply of bone marrow, which is good, because that's where the cancer hides. I share a second birthday with a special someone. She is my "twin"--the Leia to my Luke.

Whenever I start a new adventure, I always anticipate that I will make some new friends along the way. This experience was no different. My friendship with Gina began when the two of us shared a tiny waiting area in the transplant consultation unit at Cleveland Clinic with two of her family members and my dad. We struck up a conversation and I discovered that she had traveled from Toledo for the procedure. It seemed like we would be admitted on the same day, so I liked that I had a friend who would be sharing the experience with me and that made things a little less daunting. 

We both went into our respective pre-procedure consultations and didn't see each other again until a couple weeks later when we arrived at the apheresis lab (that's the place where they take our blood, run it through a machine and filter our own stem cells out for the transplant). We were in that room, which I affectionately referred to as "Camp Frigiwanda" (due to the balmy 62 degree temperature of the room and that it felt like we were all spending the days at some sort of fucked up summer camp) for two days. I would've been there for one day if it hadn't been for the fact that I broke the machine with my blood, which sprayed out into the cabinet of the machine. The staff wasn't sure if the draw was contaminated, so they wanted to do a second draw as a safety. In the end, they did manage to get more than enough cells to do the transplant on the first one, but the second one would be kept in reserve. Go me! Still, two days in Camp Frigiwanda allowed Gina and I to roll our eyes and make assorted faces at each other from our beds across the room and deepen our friendship. 

The magic day arrived and the two of us headed up to the blood cancer unit on 3 August 2015 and received the "killer chemo" in our respective rooms. I didn't see much of Gina on that first week as I wandered the halls and hit the treadmill to keep active because she kept her door closed quite a bit. She had a few more issues than I did when it came to dealing with the after-effects of the chemo, and that really sucked. 

Eventually, she did emerge from her self-imposed chemo exile and we caught up. When her hair started to fall out, I cheerfully offered to bring my electric trimmer down to her room and just buzz the uncooperative coif off her head. She looked adorable with her little buzzed head and dimples. Gina was, in my mind, my twin and this would bind us forever on this journey. Our discharge orders were more or less sprung on us that morning, so Lou and I invited her to stay with us if her family in Toledo couldn't come to get her. She is my family and we take care of our family. Always. 

I heard from Gina last week. She told me she'd had some trouble breathing and that she'd initially thought it was because of a lingering cold. Unfortunately, a series of tests revealed that the Myeloma was back and that saddened me as much as it pissed me off. I was hoping that one of us would be able to hold onto that precious remission for more than just a couple years. I sent her a couple of messages on Facebook towards the end of the week, but hadn't heard back from her. On Sunday, I received a call from her sister, Debbie. She told me that Gina had been admitted to a hospital near home and that she was doing poorly. Debbie was upset and shaken by this turn and so was I. How could I not be? 

My phone rang again on Sunday night and it was Debbie. Gina was being moved to ICU. Debbie said they thought Gina's liver was failing and the doctors on staff were unsuccessful in waking her up. She was also restrained because her body was convulsing as all these things were happening. I felt lost. I wanted to drive to Toledo, but I knew that I could do just as much for her in Cleveland as I could if I were there. I'm not a doctor, and she had those attending to her needs and issues.

So, today I wait for news. Debbie and her husband said they were on their way to the hospital and would let me know if there was any news to report.

And the waiting continues...   

UPDATE (Tuesday, 30 January-1:38pm):
I received a message from Debbie... "Gina's liver and kidney levels are a tad better. She is still unresponsive. Her temperature goes down with the cooling blanket, but it is on the rise again. There is some kind of infection someplace, but they're giving her antibiotics. Blood pressure is 120/55. Please keep those prayers coming."