Dear Family, Friends and Donators,

My name is Wendy and I'm starting this campaign for my dearest sister and best friend Karrie Ohail Spitzer.  Words can hardly describe what she and our family are going through right now.  After long, countless hours of converations I asked the dreaded question. How are you paying your bills and medical expenses when your husband can only work minimal hours at best? She really never wanted to talk about it. Karrie finally tolde me that they are not making ends meet period.  I asked her to send me a copy of her journal and I will share it with you.  

For quite some time last year I had been feeling run down and really fatigued.  Nothing I thought was out of the ordinary for a wife and mother of my age.  Then early October 2014, while waiting in the school parking lot for my daughter who was getting some extra study time after school, I began to feel what I believed to be a very severe flu bug.  As she approached my car, I crawled (on my hands and knees) from the driver's seat to the back, telling her that I hoped she had learner's permit; as I was unable to drive home.  As I am sure she was terrified, she got us both home safely.  Upon reaching our driveway, I was beyond dizzy, still unable walk, I could not focus; let alone see so I hobbled on all fours into our home. 

I went to the urgent care clinic the next day. They checked my vitals and took samples of blood.  No sooner than I could return home I received a phone call explaining the results from my lab work.  I was referred to the oncology department at Providence Hospital in Everett, Washington.  The oncologist I saw that next immediate day confirmed the diagnosis of Acute Lymphoblastic Luekemia after more blood tests and ordered a bone marrow biopsy to conclude the extent of my disease.

 The aspiration (biopsy and lumbar puncture) indicated I had 98% blasts and the philadephia mutation or chromosome.  I was I in denial or shock-maybe even disbelief.  I would try to explain this to husband as he returned home from work that night by asking, "How good is our insurance?"  My doctor soon followed up with a conversation to explain the situation to him.  The hardest thing I have done even to this date is telling my children. 

As it was explained and as I understood it from the beginning is that ALL PH+ is a progressive and rare form of blood cancer that is very difficult to treat and even harder to cure without undergoing a stem cell or bone marrow transplant. 
So began my admittance to the hospital for chemotherapy immediately.  I was told to go home and pack a bag and expect to be gone for several weeks to a month.  While at the hospital, the doctors discussed placing an Omaya port in my brain to administer chemo directly into my spinal fluid.  After a routine CAT scan to see where the port would be placed, I was rushed into emergency surgery for a subdural hematoma.  I felt like a monster, half of my head was shaved and I could feel 13-14 staples running along my scalp.  Chemo was put on hold as I also had a number of other complications including an infection in my hickman line (for fluids and chemo), staph, and an infection in my gut.  I can't remember how many transfusions, spinal taps (lumbar punctures), or biopsies I had.  This was during the first month.  I did finally get my first round of chemotherapy (HYPER-CVAD).  I was also given a targeted oral chemo drug at this time I was told I would need for the rest of my life.  Thank God there is so much I don't remember, but I do remember how much I hated being away from my family. 
After six rounds of chemo (a week inpatient each stay); eight intrathecal (chemo placed directly into the spine); I lost count of bone marrow biopsies and numerous red blood and platelet transfusions, my oncologist referred me to the SCCA or the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.  He stated the chemo was no longer working for me.  He was recommending me for a clinical trial that is very new, very experimental, very scary.  
The trial was not FDA approved, nor covered by insurance.  This meant more tests, more biopsies, lp's (lumbar punctures) transfusions;  I have had heart tests with radioactive, nuclear dyes; MRI's with contrasts, chest x-rays, and higher dose chemo.  All to be repeated after the trial, before my transplant-if I am a candidate-after the transplant-if my brother's cells take-all the while I keep up with daily appointments.  If I am able to move forward into transplant, I will do and take any and all tests necessary.  It's the financial burden I am putting on my husband that is making me more emotionally sick than I feel from the cancer. 
 
Not being here for my children is tearing me apart.  I have been a stay at home mom for 17 years- and now my daughter is seeing a counselor twice a week; coincidently since the first week I was in the hospital was also the same day as the crisis (school shooting) that took place right in front of her and I wasn't there for her.  My son hardly talks and tries to be to brave and strong.  It is my job to take care of them.  My dogs even know when I don't feel well.
 
I am now off the oral chemo drug, but still take over 30 pills a day and travel daily to Seattle until we will have to relocate to live closer for the transplant which will be 4-5 months.  My brother has been tested and will hopefully be my donor, he has been a positive match.  Now he is facing numerous tests of his own, all of which will be billed under our insurance.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  We are so blessed and grateful.  But now with our deductible coming up for renewal, everyday expenses, mortgage, it's the medical bills that will surely be piling up.
 
In the next couple weeks,  I will begin preparing for the stem cell transplant-high dose radiation, high dose chemo, three weeks total inpatient at the University of Washington, depending on no complicating side effects. This will be followed by the relocation of my residence so my team of doctors can monitor me on a daily basis at the SCCA.  I will require a 24-hour caregiver, their rules, while my husband will still need to find the time to work at least part-time to keep our medical insurance current.  This sounds so cliché, it will never happen to me, it will never happen to me....