Hope and Help for Sam & Christina
Donation protected
Please help make life more manageable for Sam and Christina. Donations will go directly to them as they continue their two-year battle with Sam's aggressive cancer.
Thank you for your heartfelt support! No donation is too small to have meaning. And if you have love to spare, please share this campaign by email, Facebook, however, where ever. Read their story below »
Thank you for your heartfelt support! No donation is too small to have meaning. And if you have love to spare, please share this campaign by email, Facebook, however, where ever. Read their story below »
Sam smiling big for Christina, pushing through the pain. 2017.
----
"Media naranja," Sam whispered as he smiled at her. "What does it mean?" she laughed. "You want half an orange?"
We sat in their tiny hospital room, catching up, joking, always joking. Sam was on his bed with Osito, the teddy bear that travels everywhere with them. Bear has now been through multiple X-rays and half the rooms in the ICU. Christina sits up in her hospital recliner - that's exactly how I picture them. It's the position they're in often.
"Well, literally, it means half an orange. But what it really means is you're my half, the half that was missing. You complete me, Christina, you are my soulmate. I can't shake the feeling that I've known all about you even when you were missing from my life. I was just waiting. Now you've appeared, and I'm free to just be. And I only want to be with you."
Their relationship moved faster than either expected. But after a long journey to one another, things just felt right. They had earned this love. This pure, unbreakable love.
The thoughts you don't dare bring up until you're safe leaving your heart vulnerably and completely open, were already on their lips. Maybe a puppy first? Christina says no. How about a small (quiet!) dog? What's a princess cut? Just asking for a friend in love... What's the most romantic place to have a wedding, just hypothetically speaking? They agreed: there had to be sand, and sun, and sangria, and a little, private table on a moonlit beach. And dancing. Plenty of it.
That’s when she found it, a strange spot on his lower back. The boxes were still packed from the move. And what came next came fast.
"He can barely walk," Christina started, then faded. "Yet this morning I woke up to an empty bed. He was gone. I felt a surge of panic rise through me. His side of the bed was cold. My head began to fill with the worst thoughts. Then I heard him outside, fumbling with the keys."
"He had walked slowly, unsteadily for several blocks to be there at our favorite pastry shop as it opened. He got my favorite sweet. I didn't ask how long it took. I just watched him standing there, a little wobbly, but holding a big bag and wearing his winning grin. His footing was shaky, but the look in his eyes was unwavering. 'I got this for you, love. Thank you. Thank you for everything you do,' he said."
The next year and a half continued to be a whirlwind of hospital visits, emergency surgeries, more medical surprises than any two people can wrap their heads around, and sacrifice, the kind of sacrifice that might cross our minds on occasion, but that none of us are really sure we can stomach.
The cancer spread across his back. There was a surgery. And another, and another. Twelve surgeries in 90 days... or was it thirteen? Then a skin graft. Did we mention that Sam is part shark now? The surgeons used shark skin along with his own because the wound was so deep. On the plus side, he’s a much better swimmer.
But then it didn't take. So they tried again. Three weeks of bed rest. And the pain, it was agonizing. Just when Sam and Christina thought they’d get a break, it was time for seven weeks of radiation. The infections started. At age 34 Sam could no longer work. And then he could barely walk.
There was a period of recovery. He returned to work and was promoted almost instantly. The team was ecstatic to have him back. Christina started an exciting new job. Things started to stabilize.
The bills never stopped.
It was the day after Easter, Sam couldn't breathe. Time for another frantic scramble to the hospital. The cancer had metastasized. It was in his lungs, multiple tumors in each lung...
Hospital, then home, then back. Then Sam was vomiting parts of the tumor. It was terrifying.
Forced to choose between being by Sam's side and adhering to an inflexible work schedule, Christina changed jobs. She now works three catering and service jobs for a shot at a flexible schedule, for the ability to leave for the hospital at a moment's notice.
I've asked her if they have enough to live on. She shies away from the question. Do you have insurance? Are you making time to look after yourself? She shrugs quietly, but never defeated, smiling through tears.
What I haven't told you is that these two sweet faced 30-something-year-olds are fighters. And they are hilarious. Neither of them takes life sitting down. And neither sits idly by as the other stares down an obstacle.
"We were back in the hospital, I've lost count of which time," Christina recalled. "The doctor told Sam there's nothing else he could do, that things were hopeless. So, I started packing, right there, right in front of him. Drinks fell from that wobbly, little bedside table. 'If there's literally nothing you can do for us, we're leaving. Right now.'," she announced. The doctor protested. They had to wait for discharge paperwork, and the nurses were in the middle of a shift change. "I advise you to remove his IV or we're wheeling it out of here. You can complete the paperwork at your leisure. Let us through." And they left.
These are the stories we sit with, telling and sometimes retelling with laughter. If you're wondering whether there's been a miracle, Sam and Christina have discovered that the inner workings of the body are a miracle - Sam's resilience has astounded his medical team.
Sam was recently intubated, but, by the following week, he was walking down the halls, making the nurses laugh. He has defied the statistics again and again and again. His will to live is so strong that he has become unstoppable. And he does it for Christina. And she does it for him. She's by his side day and night.
On September 1, after a week of excruciating headaches, Sam landed in the hospital again, where he remains. The cancer spread to his brain. The pressure was making him lose short term memory. Did he remember that last week his favorite, most trusted doctors said this thing was more and more likely going to get him at some point? Did he understand the odds were again against a complete, enduring recovery? Did he recall that he had multiple treatment options, all of which were designed to keep the tumor from growing, but none of which were projected to eliminate it?
Actually, he did. He heard and remembered everything.
It turns out that both Sam and Christina want to live and they want to love each other. No matter what.
Despite a stage four diagnosis, Sam’s oncology team has found multiple life-extending options. They’ve given Sam a fighting chance, then another. They’ve given us hope that he will be that person, the one who beats all odds. And he’s not nearly done fighting.
Not one of us can live forever, and we must all come to terms with that in our own ways. But most of us will not be challenged to put up the kind of fight that Sam and Christina have. And I don't know who would be able to do it wearing a weary but relentless smile the whole way through.
Thank you for reading, sharing, and donating as your situation allows!
"Media naranja," Sam whispered as he smiled at her. "What does it mean?" she laughed. "You want half an orange?"
We sat in their tiny hospital room, catching up, joking, always joking. Sam was on his bed with Osito, the teddy bear that travels everywhere with them. Bear has now been through multiple X-rays and half the rooms in the ICU. Christina sits up in her hospital recliner - that's exactly how I picture them. It's the position they're in often.
"Well, literally, it means half an orange. But what it really means is you're my half, the half that was missing. You complete me, Christina, you are my soulmate. I can't shake the feeling that I've known all about you even when you were missing from my life. I was just waiting. Now you've appeared, and I'm free to just be. And I only want to be with you."
Their relationship moved faster than either expected. But after a long journey to one another, things just felt right. They had earned this love. This pure, unbreakable love.
The thoughts you don't dare bring up until you're safe leaving your heart vulnerably and completely open, were already on their lips. Maybe a puppy first? Christina says no. How about a small (quiet!) dog? What's a princess cut? Just asking for a friend in love... What's the most romantic place to have a wedding, just hypothetically speaking? They agreed: there had to be sand, and sun, and sangria, and a little, private table on a moonlit beach. And dancing. Plenty of it.
That’s when she found it, a strange spot on his lower back. The boxes were still packed from the move. And what came next came fast.
"He can barely walk," Christina started, then faded. "Yet this morning I woke up to an empty bed. He was gone. I felt a surge of panic rise through me. His side of the bed was cold. My head began to fill with the worst thoughts. Then I heard him outside, fumbling with the keys."
"He had walked slowly, unsteadily for several blocks to be there at our favorite pastry shop as it opened. He got my favorite sweet. I didn't ask how long it took. I just watched him standing there, a little wobbly, but holding a big bag and wearing his winning grin. His footing was shaky, but the look in his eyes was unwavering. 'I got this for you, love. Thank you. Thank you for everything you do,' he said."
The next year and a half continued to be a whirlwind of hospital visits, emergency surgeries, more medical surprises than any two people can wrap their heads around, and sacrifice, the kind of sacrifice that might cross our minds on occasion, but that none of us are really sure we can stomach.
The cancer spread across his back. There was a surgery. And another, and another. Twelve surgeries in 90 days... or was it thirteen? Then a skin graft. Did we mention that Sam is part shark now? The surgeons used shark skin along with his own because the wound was so deep. On the plus side, he’s a much better swimmer.
But then it didn't take. So they tried again. Three weeks of bed rest. And the pain, it was agonizing. Just when Sam and Christina thought they’d get a break, it was time for seven weeks of radiation. The infections started. At age 34 Sam could no longer work. And then he could barely walk.
There was a period of recovery. He returned to work and was promoted almost instantly. The team was ecstatic to have him back. Christina started an exciting new job. Things started to stabilize.
The bills never stopped.
It was the day after Easter, Sam couldn't breathe. Time for another frantic scramble to the hospital. The cancer had metastasized. It was in his lungs, multiple tumors in each lung...
Hospital, then home, then back. Then Sam was vomiting parts of the tumor. It was terrifying.
Forced to choose between being by Sam's side and adhering to an inflexible work schedule, Christina changed jobs. She now works three catering and service jobs for a shot at a flexible schedule, for the ability to leave for the hospital at a moment's notice.
I've asked her if they have enough to live on. She shies away from the question. Do you have insurance? Are you making time to look after yourself? She shrugs quietly, but never defeated, smiling through tears.
What I haven't told you is that these two sweet faced 30-something-year-olds are fighters. And they are hilarious. Neither of them takes life sitting down. And neither sits idly by as the other stares down an obstacle.
"We were back in the hospital, I've lost count of which time," Christina recalled. "The doctor told Sam there's nothing else he could do, that things were hopeless. So, I started packing, right there, right in front of him. Drinks fell from that wobbly, little bedside table. 'If there's literally nothing you can do for us, we're leaving. Right now.'," she announced. The doctor protested. They had to wait for discharge paperwork, and the nurses were in the middle of a shift change. "I advise you to remove his IV or we're wheeling it out of here. You can complete the paperwork at your leisure. Let us through." And they left.
These are the stories we sit with, telling and sometimes retelling with laughter. If you're wondering whether there's been a miracle, Sam and Christina have discovered that the inner workings of the body are a miracle - Sam's resilience has astounded his medical team.
Sam was recently intubated, but, by the following week, he was walking down the halls, making the nurses laugh. He has defied the statistics again and again and again. His will to live is so strong that he has become unstoppable. And he does it for Christina. And she does it for him. She's by his side day and night.
On September 1, after a week of excruciating headaches, Sam landed in the hospital again, where he remains. The cancer spread to his brain. The pressure was making him lose short term memory. Did he remember that last week his favorite, most trusted doctors said this thing was more and more likely going to get him at some point? Did he understand the odds were again against a complete, enduring recovery? Did he recall that he had multiple treatment options, all of which were designed to keep the tumor from growing, but none of which were projected to eliminate it?
Actually, he did. He heard and remembered everything.
It turns out that both Sam and Christina want to live and they want to love each other. No matter what.
Despite a stage four diagnosis, Sam’s oncology team has found multiple life-extending options. They’ve given Sam a fighting chance, then another. They’ve given us hope that he will be that person, the one who beats all odds. And he’s not nearly done fighting.
Not one of us can live forever, and we must all come to terms with that in our own ways. But most of us will not be challenged to put up the kind of fight that Sam and Christina have. And I don't know who would be able to do it wearing a weary but relentless smile the whole way through.
Thank you for reading, sharing, and donating as your situation allows!
Fundraising team (5)
Julia Liapidova
Organizer
Rockville, MD
Christina Embrey
Beneficiary
Katya Wildgen
Team member
Jennifer Ofsthun
Team member
Olga Sokolova
Team member
