Hi everyone,

      Janet asked me to write a blog entry for her today, so if you notice a lack of eloquent writing, that’s just me. Don’t worry though! Janet says that today has been one of the good days. It’s her second day of chemotherapy on this round. Her main two drugs are cytarabine (she calls it “so terrible”) and etoposide; both these drugs are very potent but very effective for her Mr. Luke. They both work by inhibiting different parts of DNA replication in cells, thereby arresting the cells in the middle of the division process (high school biology, anyone?). The side effects are severe though. Janet’s been nauseous all day and etoposide is so potent that she can actually smell/taste it as it goes into her body. So she’s been taking multiple showers a day to clear that out. Despite all that, Janet has had enough energy to watch some TV, though talking on the phone or spending too much time on facebook makes her tired quickly.

       Also, some of you must have heard from Janet or from her facebook updates that doctors have recently found a few nodules in her liver.  They did a full checkup of other organs and thankfully everything else is doing well. Doctors did a fine needle aspiration of her liver but the results haven’t come in yet (cough cough, pathologist who leaves Friday night without looking through time-sensitive aspiration work…whoops, did I say that out loud?). Because the chemotherapy is so important in treating Mr. Luke, it must proceed without much delay. So that is why Janet is back on chemo before getting the liver results. One theory to explain the liver nodules is that macrophages (immune cells that eat foreign material) have built walled off toxic substances in her liver. So these nodules that we’re all worried about may actually be the body’s wonderful way of protecting Janet’s liver from further harm. The liver results will tell us for sure though.

      Well, it has been a privilege talking to all of you. One last thing…Janet is entirely thankful to all of you, thankful for your prayers, for your kind words of comfort and wishes of strength. Rest assured, she has received all your messages and is reading through them as fast as she possibly can. She cannot respond right away because of the nausea and tiredness. But a response will arrive! Thank you once again for being with Janet in every step of her fight.

Lots of love,

Lavanya

Dear God,

I want to ask if You can be with me always. Allow me to feel Your love and warmth pouring into my soul, like melting gold filling the depths of my heart. Can I hold Your hand when I am nervous and scared? Can I ask You to help me get through the loneliness of the night? My room is too small to ask my parents to stay; they won’t get any rest anyway with nurses coming in for vital signs and blood draws.

I’m not quite sure what is going on with my liver. I am whispering to my body to protect it during chemotherapy – build some type of protective glass-case shield around it, but who are we kidding? Blood naturally passes through. Makes sense that it’s getting messed up a little. Brain is excellent. Kidneys are excellent. Just the poor liver getting out of hand, an innocent bystander taking all the gunfire shots in this war. All organs and tissues need to toughen up and remain resilient. Can we do that?

23-years old. No smoking. No recreational drugs. Social drinking the equivalency of one strawberry margarita every four months during my time in college if you average them all out evenly. You can probably tell I’m trying to reason this out, because I thought I kept a relatively healthy lifestyle. Ah, but the absence of sleep. And working overtime on a lot of things. That could have been it.

I am not angry at You. I think I’m just starting to realize that it takes events like these to put into perspective how precious life can be. And how I desire it so much now. But it is hard to live it to the fullest within the confining walls and restraints of a hospital. My idea of living it to the fullest was traveling, becoming a teacher, being passionate about the work I do … all I can do now is simply dream about these things in a bed. So for now, I live vicariously through movies and books in my cocoon, hoping to emerge as a butterfly one day from all this. I begin planning for my life after cancer, because I assume I will survive. Moving ahead and forward is better than pausing forever.

I know everyone has their time to go, but I don’t think now is my time. I am quite certain of this. As much as I want to be up in Heaven with You someday, feeling endless joy and who knows – eating all you-can-buffets all the time — I’d like to feel the rhythm of the Earth for as long as I can – even through all the chaos that we go through on land that pales in comparison to the perfection of Heaven. Why? Because my loved ones and friends are here, and I don’t want to part with them anytime soon. Because there is still so much left to be done. I want to be playing checkers or chess with other elderly folk someday, cranking our necks to watch meteor showers … becoming an old cat lady with her grey, “salt and pepper hair” wrapped up in a bun.

I spent my 23rd birthday in the hospital. I wished for one thing, and though it’s bad luck to reveal what the wish is …. You probably knew exactly what I desired.

I shed my fears away tonight, and ask for calm and peace. Bravery in the morning for procedures. Courage when my doctors reveal more information with results. Luck so that chemotherapy is not further delayed by complications.

And so, my heart is longing for You. As Mother Teresa once said, the final analysis is between You and me. Will You be there for me so that one day I may be a living testimony to all the cancer patients of tomorrow?

Love,
Janet

Hey all,

Just an update from Janet. She’s done with another round of chemo now. Just a couple more to go. Though she did this last one as an outpatient, it was probably tougher than any of the rounds before as each shot just put her more and more in pain. She’s resting now, recovering, and holding strong.

-James

My throbbing, painful headache is temporarily gone! So is the nausea! So is the vomiting! I can eat now without feeling like I hate food! I can eat more now! This is incredible! I want to do a somersault in the pouring rain outside! I better not jinx this though. I’ll just be grateful and quietly relish the hours that my body isn’t under extreme duress from my moody, chemotherapy soldiers.

GOODBYE INTRATHECAL CHEMOTHERAPY! (a.k.a. spinal taps/lumbar injection)! I finished my last 6th one this week. Since my type of acute leukemia is notorious for spreading to the brain, I was assigned a regimen of 6 separate doses to PREVENT this fatal event from occurring. According to UCSF, this is called CNS Prophylaxis:

“ALL frequently can recur in the spinal fluid (the fluid that bathes the spinal column and brain). To prevent relapse at this location, chemotherapy must be infused directly into the fluid that bathes the spinal column. This is done by inserting a needle between the vertebrae of the lower back and infusing chemotherapy directly into the clear spinal fluid, which is called intrathecal chemotherapy. Patients are routinely given 6 to 12 injections of intrathecal chemotherapy to prevent recurrence of ALL. More injections may be necessary if leukemia cells are detected in the spinal fluid. Most people complete intrathecal therapy within two to four months of starting their treatment. Headaches and nausea are the most common side effects.”

That’s right, I am done with that forever. I hope. A note to other cancer patients undergoing this: if you get a headache after lying down for 30 minutes, try giving it an hour. I know, it sounds kind of long to be laying in bed, but you can grab an ipod and listen to some music or read a magazine. Sip some apple juice. Take a nap. Before you know it, you have already decreased the chances of a severe headache that could potentially last for days, weeks… also, caffeine might help so try drinking a Mountain Dew or Coke. Make sure you’re hydrated with fluids. I am simply regurgitating tricks and advice from my doctors.

GOODBYE SERGEANT ASPARIGINASE! You have been relieved of your duties and I will be presenting you the Purple Heart of Honor. What did he do that was so great?

“All cells need a chemical called asparagine to stay alive. Normal cells can make this chemical for themselves, while cancer cells cannot. Asparaginase breaks down asparagine in the body. Since the cancer cells cannot make more asparagine, they die.

When asparaginase breaks down asparagine it is broken down into 2 chemicals, aspartic acid and ammonia.  The neurologic side effects seen with asparaginase (such as, confusion, excessive sleepiness, agitation, disorientation, or coma) are related to increased levels of these chemicals circulating in the body.” (Chemocare.com)

I was quite fearful every time I received the injection. I would ask my nurses if they could stay with me for a little longer after the injection was given, because it’s known to cause immediate reactions within 20 minutes – like a sudden difficulty in breathing normally. I was spared through nearly 10 trials, because even though you didn’t have a reaction with the first trial, you could still get a reaction later. You have been really kind to me Sergeant, and I hope you’ll be kind to other patients as well by reducing the accompanying side effects to their bodies.

I still have a long road ahead of me. In fact, as I’m reaching the halfway mark, I just went through the “easy” rounds. The remaining chemotherapy drugs will continue to demand more of me physically. I’m not sure how I will turn out, but I am truly grateful for family and friends who understand me and are willing to put up with this journey.

SIDE TANGENTAL THOUGHTS ABOUT HAITI (please don’t read if offended by some references to God)

While I was bed-ridden for the past week (like literally my younger brother came home for the long MLK holiday weekend, and I barely saw him much because I spent 17 hours in bed on average each day), I told God that I was in a LOT of pain. Simultaneously, I was also ashamed of whining about my side effects when I learned that a struggling government marred with corruption and ill weather (hurricanes) crumbled into pieces after a devastating quake. I wanted so badly to launch into a helicopter, use my International Development Studies background, go to the scene of action with sweatshirt arms rolled up ready to pull people out from being crushed, finding them shelter, oh HELL — bring my own Brita Filters from home or a boiling point to get some clean water, use my decent French to help language communication, distracting little kids with stuffed animals for them to hold … but there was nothing I could do except maybe pull out my red envelope money from last year’s Chinese New Year’s and cross my fingers hoping that non-governmental organizations like Oxfam and Doctors Without Borders would utilize the incoming U.S. aid with expediency and honestly.

And then I told God, it’s okay, go help them first. 200,000 dead. They need it more than ever now. It was funny, because a close friend called me up and while I was talking about this, she told me: “Um, you do know that He is Almighty, right? He can literally be at both places at one time.” And we laughed. I had forgotten about this, but in a way, I don’t think I would have minded if God was somewhat limited with His hands, his heavenly staff stacked with a bunch of prayer requests for Haiti, that he had to put my wishes on a secondary list. Aw heck, I even started to forget about my side effects. It’s been raining a lot on the West Coast, and there are times when I wonder if the sky is grieving for what happened in this fragile, but beautiful Caribbean country.

If you are poor like me (read: college student, unemployed, or has cancer) and can’t donate much money to Haiti, you CAN click-to-donate for free (everyday!) at http://www.care2.com/click-to-donate/haiti/

Viva Haiti! Viva Survivorship!

There have been a lot of entries formulating in my head that I’ve been meaning to pour on paper. But I’m so tired right now. This is going to be one of those “get-straight-to-the-point” posts. My sentences may not be complete or grammatically correct.

Some thoughts:

- Thank you so much for your birthday wishes. I live to see my 23rd birthday! I don’t think I need to say anything else.

- I am nostalgic for the days when I used to run around UCLA with a coffee mug in one hand, a backpack that weighed 25 pounds filled with my binders/textbooks/laptop, a blue teacher’s bag filled with tutoring lesson plans strapped on another shoulder, a couple more books in my hand, and a copy of the UCLA Daily Bruin newspaper under my arm to stay aware of campus events. I was a walking disaster, but that’s how busy I was …. running around like a little bird from building to building trying to pack everything I could do in one day. And when I mean nostalgia, I mean to say, I long for those college days when I felt as if I was being trained for the real world in an experimental setting … any mistakes were easily forgiven (not too big of a deal): i.e. not scoring high enough on tests, coordinating meetings, having good turnouts at events planned

- Today I broke down in my friend’s car out of nowhere after hearing someone received a bone marrow transplant successfully. I think these were tears of joy though and extreme happiness, though quite a weird reaction, you’d think? It was all very sudden too, like a switch in me just turned on, and I was completely overjoyed.

- Did I say I was exhausted? Fighting nausea non-stop. I’m loaded with anti-nausea medicine, but have been vomiting on the occasion, and that’s not suppose to happen with these powerful meds. This doesn’t usually happen with the current round I’m in — aspariginase and vinchristine. Round 4. I’m halfway there. At most, I felt fatigue, jaw pain, and muscle aches. A nurse practitioner reminded me that the rounds aren’t mutually exclusive; they build-up as I go along, so by the time May or June 2010 hits, you can bet that I will be pretty OUT OF IT.

- It SUCKS to be extroverted and sociable … with leukemia. The isolation KILLS. The cancellation on seeing friends at times I had made commitments to beforehand makes me feel so FLAKEY. I NEVER stand any one up, and feel like I have to apologize so much for having them to be flexible with whatever my body is feeling that day. Lots of guilt. Lots of it.

- I have been bed-ridden for the past few days. I sleep at odd hours, just whenever now. Doesn’t care if the sun is out, I can probably take a good nap and lead myself into REM sleep. I also stay bed-ridden sometimes because when my head is positioned horizontally along the bed, my headaches don’t hurt as much. It must be the 5th lumbar puncture I got during the hospital early in the year.

- It’s not depression I’m fighting. And I’m not in denial either. I actively seek out help when I need it. But there are days when I wake up with a dim blue sadness, because the days seem longer than I had expected. I feel very lonely and am finding it hard to readjust to more introverted activities or hobbies. I crave and seek human contact from my personal world. To remedy this, I already made lists of ways to get myself out of these blue moments: calling a friend at least once a day, visiting a park for fresh air, indulging myself in popsicle sticks and chocolate without a care in the world (except that I’ll brush my teeth afterward)…

The key to fighting what you may think could be an onset of depression or just the plain blues from time to time is to allow yourself to feel sadness when it hits you, but not to let it dip so low to the point of no return. I think that’s what gets people in trouble often. Feel it, cry, vomit all those emotions out, then move on. Pick yourself back up.

All right, another wave of nausea hits. So tired that it seems like a truck hit me. Or a small car. Very dizzy, headache, nausea, jaw pain, wah, grumble, complain, complain. I can’t spend more than 15 to 20 minutes on my computer without the desire to purge. Will write again soon. Should try to use my time wisely when I have peak moments of energy.

Conversation #1

Me: Mom, I wrote down 20 things on my to-do list today. It’s nearly midnight and I’ve only accomplished three. I feel so UNPRODUCTIVE AND USELESS. Plus I feel so lazy all the time and tired. *wah, wah, grumble, grumble*

Mom’s response (translated from Chinese): “You know, if you had been able to accomplish all 20 in one day with ease, people would really question whether or not you had leukemia in the first place. Also, please, go to sleep. You have a compromised body now doing insane things and it’s not normal anymore like before.

Conversation #2:

Dad (translated from Chinese): “You know, Janet, if only you concentrated on your health and recovery 150%  just like the way you took 24 units at UCLA in a quarter over the unit maximum.

Me: *rolls eyes like a 16-year old tween, but secretly inside I’m thinking: “Ugh, crap, he’s right.”*

The scoreboard of witticism and wisdom when you hate to admit that your parents are right sometimes: –

Me: zero. Parents: two.

I treasure my relationship with them, even though we reach tensions nearly every day. My mother and I are like cross between Lorelai and Rory Gilmore from “The Gilmore Girls” (in which I am Rory and she is Lorelai. She has a youthful optimisn and energy about her, while there are days when I’m just kind of bland…) and a chapter that comes out of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club. My father and I are pretty relaxed together and think very similarly, but he’s very disciplined in his lifestyle and expects or hopes that I will learn from him. Little arguments run quite often with them. There are days when they will drive me INSANE. Things have to be completely negotiated quite thoroughly. I struggle to use my limited Chinese language to convey or express how I feel, and it feels shameful for me to do it better in English. This sounds stereotypical, but it’s true: our tensions are often manifested from the “East meets the West” collision. I’ve also reached the cusp of an age where I truly desire complete independence as many young adults. What I’ve found most helpful though was to maintain all channels of communication open. All families, no matter how neat they seem or well-poised they appear, are dysfunctional in their truest form (maybe in various ways). And this isn’t nearly a bad thing — we’re all just one big crazy family. And even though they drive me crazy, my parents are my mentors – my best friends, the loves of my life, and I will buy them a big-fat-nice condo somewhere when I have a decent job. Or an environmentally efficient car. Whatever the hell they want. I will shower them with plenty of materialistic things to make their retirement a complete vacation. I don’t want them to ever have to work again.

At the end of the day, what brings us back together and keeps us tied (and perhaps even sane) is that there’s a reciprocal, unconditional love that will never burn out like many other different types of loves. Especially when it comes to fighting cancer, these bonds are magnified ten-fold, or if you want to talk nerdy, it’s love^infinity (yeah, exponents!)

I have to go: they are lecturing to me again. I have about 50 lectures a day with subtle life-lessons sprinkled in them. 143, Mom and Dad. You too, little brother.

Your typical dysfunctional family.

“Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.”
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley

I am struggling with writer’s block … the words are not coming out quite the way I want them to and it’s like squeezing toothpaste out of an empty toothpaste tube! To let the creativity flow easily, I decided to answer some questions I get asked a lot and integrate them in these entries. This is part one in a series … or whenever this “writer’s block” ends!

Q: How did you spend your Christmas?

After recovering from a variant of the cold virus in about 36-48 hours (which feels like a record time for having no defense white blood cells), I actually got re-admitted to emergency care for the onset of a sudden, moderately severe headache on Christmas Day. It’s the kind of headache you feel when someone pushes your head violently against a blank, white wall – you get a dizzying effect as well as a sharp sensation afterwards that never quite goes away. I called my doctor to actually get permission to take a small dose of Tylenol (less than 500 mg) to ward off the pain temporarily, but since I also had low platelets and fell neutropenic they suggested that it would be safer if I get evaluated and cleared for potential internal bleeding in the brain right away.

I WAS SCARED. There are many vital organs in our bodies, but damn, I thought — not my brain. And on Christmas Day? Shucks. As one of my dear friends said to me with utmost honesty, “You have been dealt an extraordinarily [bad] hand”. However, I would like to think that there is some balance in the universe, and quite luckily, I passed all the exhaustive tests with flying colors. Results came negative. I was ready to go by the end of the 4th hour. For courage and to pass the time, I read a “cliff-notes” version of Nelson Mandela’s biography on Wikipedia.

Q: When do you start chemotherapy again? How many rounds left?

Pretty soon actually. I’m a little delayed on my schedule, because my body took quite the hit from the small cold and it’s struggling to produce the next set of white blood defensive troops! My predictions land somewhere near the first to second week of January. I will begin Round 4 by this time, and consequently I will have 3 left.

Q: What’s it like exposing yourself to the public about having a life-threatening disease? Shouldn’t it be something kept privately?

Leukemia is a very unique type of blood cancer … in the sense that it involves a community of supporters to proactively help save a patient from the illness by searching for a matching, registered donor. I come from a Chinese-American family and we’re traditionally very private about these matters. Then again, who isn’t? How many people will you go up to and say, “Hi, I’m so and so, and I have leukemia.” It kind of leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Before all of this began, it took me a while to convince my parents (while I was hospitalized) that this type of search for a non-related donor requires public exposure, no matter how much we treasured and valued privacy.

Q: Do we gain a full understanding of your situation through your blog? All the ups and downs?

I would say not entirely, because I only reveal 5% of myself to the public. I save the other 95% for my family and friends who do know me. I still hold steadfast to the tenets of privacy and protect them aggressively.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve kept a journal. I used to maintain a public blog throughout high school joining the ranks of my friends as we disclosed and poured our thoughts, dreams, and aspirations into these websites, following the xanga trend back in the heyday when its popularity was comparable to today’s social networks like mySpace and Facebook. After reading a friend’s blog, however, I was inspired to write again, but this time for all the right reasons and with outstanding purpose.

Maintaining a public blog breaks the sacred curtain of privacy. There were times when I’d read a couple and think, “Why would you make all of this known to the public eye? Isn’t that desecrating?” One of my favorite explanations for the importance of maintaining your privacy comes from Czech writer Milan Kundera’s Testaments Betrayed:

“…that we act different in private than in public is everyone’s most conspicuous experience, it is the very ground of the individual; curiously, this obvious fact remains unconscious, unacknowledged, forever obscured by lyrical dreams of the transparent glass house, it is rarely understood to be the value one must defend beyond all others…Private and public are two essentially different worlds and that respect for that difference is the indispensable condition, the sine qua non, for a man to live free; that the curtain separating these two worlds is not to be tampered with…”

I created this blog as a personal outlet, but one in which it is safe enough to share certain experiences and perspectives to the public eye. It is a miniscule snapshot into my life, more of a collage or scrapbook really than anything else. Nothing is in chronological order. It’s not a reflection on what I did each day. It’s really more of a quick glimpse into certain, extraordinary moments in time that I’d like to remember.

As for the name, “Autumn in January,” it’s a combination of one of my favorite seasons of the year along with my birth month.  My mother named me “Janet” after the month of January and it has stuck with me ever since.

To truly understand the situation, you’d honestly have to step in my shoes and be diagnosed with acute leukemia. That’s the only way you’d get the full, complete picture. And I don’t want to necessarily lend these shoes out on a whim, even for a brisk walk that you’d like to take in them, because it’s a painful journey.

Q: Will this affect your employment prospects?

There’s a pretty good chance I will have a hard time finding a job if I gain full recovery, and not because I’m incapable of working. Future employers may have heard about this grassroots movement; it’s a little aggravating to find your name easily searched through Google and synonymously linked to leukemia. I may be discriminated informally by a health pre-condition, no matter what innate talent and skills I can offer to the table. But that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to take if it means this particular story can get more registered donors for other patients. I’m assured though by the fact that the adversity of finding a teaching job in this economy won’t be nearly as difficult as fighting against a blood cancer. You can call it stubborn, you can call it just plain stupid or heroic … I just feel as if it’s the right thing to do. Sometimes, it sucks to have your life guided by an unwavering moral compass

Q: What do you want to tell people that they didn’t know already?

I enjoy doing decent work without being recognized for it in any fashion or form. I don’t need accolades or awards to echo in my ear. If they can increase the legitimacy and credibility of a cause or the work that I do, then all right. If I have to show future employers what I am capable of accomplishing, then okay, that’s probably something I need to earn in due time. But singing praises wasn’t something I was raised to chase after for the pure purposes of stroking my ego; I usually like to do a lot of behind-the-scenes work and not get any acknowledgement from it because I don’t prefer the limelight. From a young age, my parents taught me humility and modesty to keep rising egos in check. I was more acclimated with receiving constructive criticism than anything else. And holding a nice second place in any type of competition I entered whether it was piano, choral, speech, business … the whole slew of high school trophies that have slowly collected dust. I liked hiding under second place and NOT getting the winning position. It felt comfortable, quite honestly. Perhaps this is why I can be very self-deprecating if you get to know me; friends use to ask why I would make fun of myself so much, and it’s really a way for me to feel grounded and not something rooted out of low self-confidence.

I tend to quote Nelson Mandela a lot, but what I need to say in the end can easily be summarized from one of the most well-respected leaders of our time:

“It is better to lead from behind and to put others in front, especially when you celebrate victory when nice things occur. You take the front line when there is danger. Then people will appreciate your leadership.”

I was discharged a few days ago. Then I was back just yesterday night in the ER for about 9 hours, because I contracted a variation of the cold virus; I voluntary checked myself in. Need to take precautionary measures. I’ve been cleared for all major flus.

But I have a fluctuating fever now. The only energy I have right now … well I will use it to express this:

Mr. “Variant of the Cold Virus” and Mr. Luke/Leuk, I know you have undoubtedly conspired to bring me down. Just because I’m immunosuppressed, it doesn’t mean I will let you little punks take over and ruin me. I banish you two!! Rawr. THIS IS WAR.

If Nelson Mandela could survive 27 years of prison for the sake of South Africa, I can sure as heck survive leukemia for my friends and family. This is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Watch out, Mr. Luke/Leuk, because no MATTER WHAT YOU DO, I WILL WIN IN THE END. I have no choice but to believe that.

And stay out of my liver.

Dear Lt. General Methotrexate and Sergeant 6-Mercaptapurine “G-unit 6 MP,”

I’m in an absurd amount of pain. You guys are just like Wolverine from X-Men — you usually have good intentions, but when you go off into a berserker rage killing spree, you have no mercy! While I am honestly thankful that you’re doing this round of blasts against leukemia, I finally understand why my doctors said that our soldiers needed to retreat for two weeks in order for my body to EVEN begin to FATHOM what you’ve done and begin to recover/catch up.

6-MP, you need to stop bringing my blood counts and platelets down on purpose. You must control your temper and the side effect, because I don’t want to be living on borrowed blood every week, and I don’t particularly like it when random big bruises show up on my body out of nowhere. Although most patients can’t handle you. I can ONLY MAYBE endure you for 3-4 weeks at a time before I want to question your loyalties to the brigade. So now we’re going to pull you out for a rest temporarily, because my body can’t handle it anymore and needs to catch a breather.

As for you, General Methotrexate … same deal. We did just fine last time. Now you’re plunging around killing everything you see in sight. Please – my liver, kidneys, and gallbladder are innocent bystanders/civilians. They never wanted this war in the first place so if you see them just standing around chilling in despair and muteness, it’s because they’re afraid that you’re going to think they’re on the wrong side of the battle. You need to try to kill leukemic cells without damaging my healthy ones with equal force. Don’t you dare take out your anger on my liver! Unfortunately, due to your temperamental nature (no offense) I woke up finding myself in a wheelchair on my way for another one of those CT/PET scans at 3:00 am in the morning, followed by an ultrasound of the stomach by 7 am. I couldn’t breathe without feeling like my rib cage was about to explode. What was that about?!

I know you two are crazy. I know you two are probably the most crucial soldiers to the army on the physical front. But enough killing with innocent civilians, a.k.a. my organs and tissues. Don’t let Mr. Luke (leukemia) think he’s smarter than us, because he’s not.

Sincerely,

Janet
Head General of the Army