Today my sister officially starts her workup to become my stem cell donor. 🥹❤️
She has several hours of testing to get through today, and next week she’ll start a series of injections to stimulate her bone marrow to produce and release more stem cells into her bloodstream. She’ll receive those injections for four days, and then they’ll collect her stem cells over two consecutive days.
From what we understand so far, the collection process is pretty fascinating. They’ll draw her blood and run it through a machine that separates and collects the stem cells, then return the rest of her blood back to her body. It’s called apheresis, and it’s actually much less invasive than most people probably imagine when they hear the words “bone marrow donor.”
Which brings me to something I really want to share.
You Could Save Someone’s Life ❤️
I encourage EVERYONE who is eligible to sign up to become a stem cell donor.
Having my sister as my donor means more to me than I could ever put into words. But knowing that there are complete strangers out there who have voluntarily signed up to potentially save the life of someone they’ve never met? That genuinely brings tears to my eyes.
It takes just a cheek swab to join the registry. The likelihood that you’ll actually be called upon to donate is relatively low, but if you are, the process is often much less invasive than you might think.
And you could literally save someone’s life.
Think about that. You could be the reason somebody gets to watch their children grow up. The reason somebody gets another birthday, another Christmas, another chance at life.
Please consider signing up at NMDP.org. ❤️
Two Halves of the Same Whole
Here’s the funny thing about my sister being my match. I knew she would be. I can’t really explain it, but I just knew.
We’ve been incredibly close our entire lives. She’s always been my other half. Even when we’ve lived hundreds of miles apart, we’ve always been inseparable.
When I was first being evaluated for transplant at VCU, they weren’t planning to test my sister as a donor. They told us that women who have had multiple pregnancies can develop antibodies that may complicate donation, especially in certain donor-recipient combinations.
But when I got to MD Anderson, they approached things differently. They explained that a history of pregnancy doesn’t automatically exclude someone from being a donor, and that some of the concerns are really only relevant when a female donor is donating to a male recipient. So they tested her. And I just knew. Of course she was going to be my match. How could she not be?
We’ve been two halves of the same whole for our entire lives.
And now, in the most extraordinary way, she’s literally going to become part of me.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately explain what that means to me. My sister isn’t just helping me through this battle. She’s giving me a chance to beat this.
And I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have by my side, or apparently, inside my bloodstream. 😂❤️
So What’s Next?
Once my sister’s stem cells have been collected, it’s my turn.
I’ll begin what’s called conditioning, which involves chemotherapy and medications designed to eliminate as many remaining leukemia cells as possible and to suppress my immune system so that my body can accept her stem cells and allow them to establish a new, healthy blood-forming and immune system.
Of course, I’m pretty sure my cells would recognize hers immediately because we’re soulmates, but apparently the doctors aren’t willing to take my word for it. 😂
One of the major complications of stem cell transplantation is something called graft-versus-host disease, where the donor or hosts immune cells recognize parts of the the others as foreign and attack them. So there’s a lot of careful planning and medication involved in helping our two immune systems get along.
Once the conditioning is complete, I’ll receive her stem cells through an IV, much like a blood transfusion.
That day is called Day 0.
Everything in the transplant world revolves around Day 0. The days leading up to it are numbered backward, and the days afterward are numbered forward.
Right now, my Day 0 is scheduled for November 3rd, although that date could still change.
It’s strange to think that one single day on the calendar could represent such an enormous turning point in my life.
The Squeaky Wheel
In the meantime, my sister and I have spent the past week living our best little Houston city girl lives.
We’ve been scootering back and forth to appointments, picking up food orders, navigating the medical district, and generally trying to make the best of a pretty surreal situation.
And we’ve also been doing something else.
Advocating. Hard.
One thing I’ve learned throughout this process is just how easy it can be to become a number in a massive hospital system.
And MD Anderson is MASSIVE.
There are so many departments, teams, coordinators, nurses, physicians, tests, approvals, and moving parts involved in getting someone to transplant. Everyone has a job to do, and everyone is managing an enormous number of patients.
But my leukemia doesn’t care about hospital scheduling.
I have a particularly aggressive TP53 mutation, and even though I’ve achieved remission, the risk of relapse is very real. My oncologist has emphasized the importance of moving to transplant as quickly as possible while my disease is under control.
So sitting back and waiting for things to happen just wasn’t going to work for us. We’ve asked questions. Lots of questions. We’ve followed up on appointments, test results, scheduling, insurance approvals, donor evaluations, and anything else that might slow this process down. We’ve asked what we can do to help move things forward.
And I’m sure we’ve been a little annoying at times. 😂 But as they say, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
There’s definitely a fine line between being your own advocate and becoming the patient everyone dreads hearing from. We’re trying very hard to walk that line.
We are always polite, always appreciative, and super grateful for the incredible people who are working to save my life. There are so many wonderful nurses, doctors, and staff members who have gone out of their way to help us.
But we’re also not afraid to speak up. Because this is my life we’re talking about. And I have three little people at home who need their mom.
The result is that a process that we were initially told could take approximately eight weeks is now on track to take closer to four. I know there are many factors involved in making that happen, including having my sister available as a fully matched donor and an incredible medical team working behind the scenes.
But I also know that staying engaged, asking questions, and following up has helped us identify opportunities to keep things moving.
And I can pretty much guarantee that everyone on my transplant team knows who I am by now. 😂
When I call, I’m not just another number. I’m Ann. The one with the sister. The one with the questions. The one who’s probably calling again. And I’m okay with that.