Aplastic Anemia Survivor

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Aplastic Anemia and Me

This is my story. My fight with Severe Aplastic Anemia and Remission. When any of us are first told these words, most of us don't know what it is and we are so relieved it isn't cancer or leukemia. This disease is just as bad. So I'm writing this page to help spread the word of what it is and that there is hope even if you don't have a donor.

What is Aplastic Anemia?

An Overview of Aplastic Anemia

Key Points

Aplastic anemia is a blood disorder in which the body's bone marrow doesn't make enough new blood cells.

This can lead to many health problems, such as arrhythmias (irregular heartbeats), an enlarged heart, heart failure, infections, and bleeding. Severe aplastic anemia can even cause death.

Aplastic anemia is a type of anemia. The term "anemia" usually refers to a condition in which your blood has a lower than normal number of red blood cells. Anemia also can occur if your red blood cells don't contain enough hemoglobin, an iron-rich protein that helps carry oxygen to your body.

In people who have aplastic anemia, the body doesn't make enough red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. This is because the bone marrow's stem cells are damaged.

Many diseases, conditions, or factors can damage the stem cells. These conditions can be acquired or inherited. "Acquired" means you aren't born with the condition, but you develop it. "Inherited" means your parents passed the gene for the condition on to you. In many people who have aplastic anemia, the cause is unknown.

Aplastic anemia is a rare, but serious blood disorder. People of all ages can get aplastic anemia, but it's more common in adolescents, young adults, and the elderly.

Low numbers of red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets cause most of the signs and symptoms of aplastic anemia. Signs and symptoms may include fatigue (tiredness), shortness of breath, dizziness, headache, coldness in your hands and feet, pale skin, chest pain, infections, and bleeding.

Your doctor will diagnose aplastic anemia based on your medical and family histories, a physical exam, and test results.

Treatments for aplastic anemia include blood transfusions, blood and marrow stem cell transplants, and medicines. These treatments can prevent or limit complications, relieve symptoms, and improve quality of life. Medicines that suppress the immune system don't cure aplastic anemia. However, they can relieve its symptoms and reduce its complications. These medicines often are used for people who can't have blood and marrow stem cell transplants or who are waiting for transplants.

Three medicines-often given together-can suppress the body's immune system. They are antithymocyte globulin (ATG), cyclosporine, and methylprednisolone.

It may take a few months to notice the effects of these medicines. Most often, as blood cell counts rise, symptoms lessen. Blood cell counts in people who respond well to these medicines usually don't reach normal levels. However, the blood cell counts often are high enough to allow people to do their normal activities.

People who have aplastic anemia may need long-term treatment with these medicines.

Medicines that suppress the immune system can have side effects. They also may increase the risk of developing leukemia or myelodysplasia. Leukemia is a cancer of the blood cells. MDS is a condition in which the bone marrow makes too many faulty blood cells.

Blood and marrow stem cell transplants may offer a cure for some people who have aplastic anemia. Removing a known cause of aplastic anemia, such as exposure to a toxin, also may cure the condition.

With prompt and proper care, most people who have aplastic anemia can be successfully treated. It's important to get ongoing medical care to make sure the disorder doesn't worsen and to check for possible complications.

This was copied from The National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute.

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Rabbit Versus Horse ATG Treatment

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Being Diagnosed With Aplastic Anemia

My Story

I was first diagnosed with Severe Aplastic Anemia in 1987. I was 19 years old. I married in 1986 and soon afterwards became pregnant with my first child. In the middle of my pregnancy my blood counts started to drop. I was taking iron exactly as prescribed but my counts kept falling.

Finally after my blood counts dropped dangerously low, my doctor sent me to Huntsville Hospital and from there I was sent straight to Birmingham. By this time, I was eight months pregnant and they performed a bone marrow biopsy on me right away. The news was one of three things: bone cancer, leukemia or aplastic anemia. My parent's face drained of all color and I watched them age right in front of me with complete worry and fear. After further testing it was confirmed, Aplastic Anemia, and it was severe. My family, friends and even people I didn't know donated blood for me and tried to see if they would be a match for a bone marrow transplant but there wasn't any. The search for a bone marrow donor went country wide. With still no match, I had only one shot at living and it was blood transfusions and steroids. I was told I could have them for two years but after that the body would reject the transfusions. So here I was getting transfusions week after week, taking care of my baby girl and trying to live a normal life. That is so hard when you are restricted from being around people and in public places for fear of infections. Any kind of small infection can kill a person with this disease. Also, the bumping your head caution because you can't clot and stop bleeding. So everyone was always watching out for me that I didn't trip and fall or bump my head in any way for fear of bleeding on the brain.

Very Cool Aplastic Anemia Awareness Raglan Tee

Aplastic Anemia and Relapse

After a year of getting all these transfusions and taking handfuls of steroids, I finally had great news. I was in remission. Wow, I did it!! I made it!! I beat it!! So I thought. In 1990, I relapsed and I completely felt defeated. This whole time I thought I was cured. Then bam, those words...There Is No Cure. Once you have this, you always have it. The best I could hope for was remission. I listened to all the doctors and I was sent back to Birmingham, because the doctors in my home town didn't know how to treat me because Aplastic Anemia is so rare.

In 1987, when I was first in Birmingham, I was only the second case they had ever had. So needless to say, my trips back and forth to Birmingham were very regular. All the memories of the prior treatments and hospital stays kept running through my head. Could I fight this again? Could I endure all this again? Yes, I was going to fight this again just like before. We do all we can and find strength in us that we never knew we had when we have to fight anything to stay alive. I wanted to live!!!

Stamp Out Aplastic Anemia

Apastic Anemia and Options

The doctors called me in and wanted to talk to my husband and me about my options. Still no matches for a donor, we were left with two choices. I could do both the transfusions / steroids again every week for a year and hope for another remission or I could try an experimental drug called ATG serum (horse serum). It would be a 14 day treatment and that was all if it worked. WOW!!! 14 days and that's all? But why did the doctors looked so concerned? This was fantastic news to me. This serum was so new that they told me there could be risk. They go on to tell me all these things that could happen. What they didn't realize is all I kept thinking was 14 days. His last risk brought me back to his attention, death.

So now, I have to weigh the options...do I go through weekly blood transfusions and daily use of a handful of steroids for a year (possibly two) again or take this huge chance for the 14 days and HOPE it takes and I go into remission? The reality for me was death in two years (the prognosis) or death in a couple weeks with the serum if by some chance I was allergic or other complications came up. I was just bursting with hope and happiness and I had to go for it. I wanted the serum. Something inside me, courage, the fight in me to live, had took over. In May 1990, I began getting the serum. The nurses and doctors were so good to me and my family. Especially, a nurse named Mary, who has the same birthday as me, June 8. She was with me the first day I was admitted and took great care of me the whole month I was on her floor.

The serum had to go through a central line in my neck and after it was placed, it was really easy. No pain, no more needles and being stuck with veins blowing up. I was so tickled. The weekend before I was to go home and completed the serum, my husband came and stayed with me. The rest of the family was at home waiting on me to come back after my two week stay. That's when everything started happening. I had spots coming up all over me that looked like blood blisters. I couldn't stand up because those spots were even on the bottom of my feet and the pain was more than I can describe. It honestly hurt to touch me. I started swelling all over. The nurses and doctors were swarming around me and telling me they were taking me somewhere that can take better care of me. The unit.

Aplastic Anemia

The Unit

The complications I was warned about was happening. I had become septic and was going into toxic shock. Then it just kept getting worse. Fear gripped me. I couldn't breathe. Respiratory failure. All I can remember from that is the doctor looking down over my face telling me that he's going to help me breathe. Then they found a 5 1/2 inch blood clot in my neck that had to come out. In the middle of this surgery, I woke up and I couldn't move or open my eyes. I was completely horrified. I had to let them know somehow, someway that I was awake. I concentrated on moving my fingers. If I could just move them so this nurse (I knew by hearing her talk) beside me would see and know I'm awake. I felt them doing things to my neck and still unable to open my eyes, I began to cry and the tears rolled down the sides of my face. Finally I heard the nurse telling the doctor that I was awake. When he leaned over my face, I opened my eyes and he asked me if I was in any pain, I responded by blinking once for yes. He then told me that it was alright that they were going to put me right back out. Thank God. I had also suffered a stroke that hit both eyes. All of this within hours. The pain was indescribable. Was this it? How could I fight this? This pain was unreal. The doctors gave me about a 5% chance to make it through the night. God helped me. He gave me strength when I didn't want to fight anymore, when I felt I couldn't fight any longer. I even wrote down on a notebook telling my sister in law to prepare everybody that I can't do this anymore. Between the pain, which was unlike anything you can imagine, and the exhaustion I was ready to give up. Then something happened. I don't know how else to describe it except it looked like the room lit up and felt like God had put his hand on me. It covered me completely from head to toe and from my feet to my head I was being filled with strength. I knew right then without a doubt that I was going to live.

After a week, they took the respirator out and it happened again a couple hours later...failure, I had to be hooked up again. After a few more days they started to ween me off the respirator and this time, it worked. I could breathe without the machine. I couldn't walk or sit up by myself, I had lost all muscle in my body. When I could finally be taken out of the unit and put back in a room on the floor, here came my angel, Mary. She had cried and was so afraid I wouldn't make it. Then my doctor came to see me and told me words I won't ever forget, "You fought with death and won. You are a miracle". I remember smiling at him, thinking to myself, it wasn't me. That has been 21 years ago. I have remained in remission ever since.

Other's With Aplastic Anemia

Today

Why am I writing this? Well, I saw in an Alabama Paper yesterday where two children has been diagnosed with Aplastic Anemia and looking for a donor match for them both. It broke my heart. I know what they are going through and the fear their parents, family and friends have. There's hope. We can survive this horrible rare disease. I am one. I pray to God that these children and everyone else that has and will be diagnosed will go into remission. That we all can be SURVIVORS together! Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

Another thing I need to add. Please donate blood and think about becoming a bone marrow donor. You may match someone and be able to give them a chance to live. People with this disease needs blood transfusions just to stay alive. Again, thank you so much.

If you have learned something you didn't know before, please show me some love :)

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Aplastic Anemia

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Aplastic Anemia Foundation

Aplastic Anemia Foundation
This foundation offers help and hope to families diagnosed with this disease.
Aplastic Central
Find others fighting this disease.
Cancer.org
Cancer Foundation also Aplastic Anemia

Facebook page for Aplastic Anemia

Facebook
Facebook page where everyone fighting and surviving this disease can come together

Share your story or leave me a comment

  • Jenn Hunker Feb 17, 2012 @ 6:37 pm | delete
    I was diagnosed at age 6 in 1989. It was summer vacation, and—for me anyway—things were normal. My parents were growing concerned about my health, however. I’d begun to look pallid, and was breaking out in rashes all over my body. Something simple like bumping into a table or sitting down too hard resulted in black and blue bruises. I can see the illness in pictures of my sixth birthday party. Now in retrospect, I don’t know how they couldn’t have known there was something terribly wrong with me. But they didn’t know what to make of it—and probably weren’t prepared to face it.

    My mom had given birth to my baby sister mere weeks before, after all, and they were busy welcoming her into the family. Heck, her birth had kept my mom in the hospital for over a week. I seemed healthy enough, anyway—I ran and played and raised as much hell as I always did.

    I still remember the day I was diagnosed with terrific clarity. My friend from across the street Theresa was in town visiting her dad, and I was excited to have her around. I was also a little miffed about a certain engagement I had the next day—my parents were taking me to the doctor. Back then I didn’t know why (though I assumed shots were involved, naturally), but I later learned my parents had finally decided to get to the bottom of what was up with my bruising.

    Theresa and I spent the morning picking blueberries behind her house. At about 10 AM, and the mail arrived. I asked my mom if I could retrieve it for her from the lockbox on the corner. She nodded, and gave me the key. I scampered off with my friend. I never did get to use the key—the mailman saw me coming and handed me the mail. I ran back towards home. As I ran across the yard towards my mom, I tripped—over what I still don’t know—and face planted in the grass.

    My right wrist snapped like a twig. The jolt got me screaming, naturally, and my mom came running. It swelled up like a grapefruit, and she got some ice on it. I was regulated to my room while she pondered what to do. She called my dad, and he came rushing home to take me to the doctor. It seemed like a normal little kid injury. A fracture, nothing more. They assumed I’d just end up with a cast (an idea that I hated, since my brand new Nintendo Entertainment System just begged to be played—plus… No swimming for the rest of the summer?! Perish the thought!), and that would be that.

    Dad scooped me up and plunked me into the family car. I was already protesting going, saying that my arm didn’t hurt that bad. My dad quieted me down by stopping at the local Burger King’s drive through on the way to the hospital. Nothing like a chicken sandwich to quiet me down.

    My memories this event are both vivid and fuzzy, if that makes sense. I remember it taking an agonizingly long time. I remember the worry on my dad’s face. They weren’t too concerned with my arm. As I sat on an exam table as the nurse tried to get me to tell her about school, my dad was in another room being told the possibilities. I’m sure the same words that you heard came up. “Cancer”. “Luekemia”. They needed to run some tests.

    Out came the needles. I remember them doing two things. One—the drew blood with a syringe to run their tests with. The second thing... I’m not sure why they did it. They cut me with something, making a very small (about two MM) cut. I’m guessing they were seeing how long it would take to clot. I still have the scar from this little test, and needless to say—it didn’t clot very quickly.

    It was now late at night—probably a good 8 hours after my dad had first departed with me. He told me later that he hadn’t called my mother this whole time because he couldn’t bear to tell her what was going on. When the doctor finally came to him and gave him the diagnoses—“Aplastic Anemia”, I was already asleep on the examining table. The doctor wanted to admit me to the hospital right away. As my dad scooped me up to head to the car so he could make the drive to the hospital the doctor cautioned him not to bump my head.

    My dad naturally did this very thing as he was trying to load me into the car. He said that the next 30 minutes were spent driving at 90 miles an hour to the hospital in a panic. The hospital gave me a blood transfusion and stabilized me over the night, discharging me to my dad the next morning. When we FINALLY got home, he had to recount the whole nightmare to my mother, who was at this point at her wits end with worry. The hospital had referred us to a specialist in Orlando.

    The specialist saw me a couple times (I remember that at this point I was vomiting with some regularity, so I had to carry around these kidney shaped bowls with me when I went to his office, and I couldn’t play with the other children). Eventually, he decided he wanted to install an IV in my arm. My dad said he’d buy me a video game if I was a good girl, so I agreed to it. Needless to say that it took every nurse in the building plus my dad to hold me down. I put up a pretty good fight for a dying kid.

    My dad bought me the game anyway, of course.

    The specialist monitored my condition over the next few days before finally telling my parents to buy a coffin and take me to Disney World one last time. He gave me six weeks. I had to be hospitalized due to my immune system completely shutting down. My only memories of this stay (at ORMC) are of the time that my call button fell behind the bed and I had to go to the bathroom. I’d been sternly told twice already to stay in bed (after all, I was a precocious six year old in an ADULT cancer ward), so I started calling out for the nurse. She came in, SCREAMED at me, and essentially terrified me to the point where I wet the bed. Thank you, lady. 23 years later, and this is what I remember of your establishment. I wish I had your name so the adult me could give you a piece of my mind.

    My parents (THANKFULLY) went to get a second opinion. I ended up at a hospital 70 miles away from my home town--Shands Hospital in Gainsville FL. This hospital had an actual pediatric ward and nurses who weren’t the second coming of Hitler, so right from the start this was a better match. My mother, newborn baby sister, and Nana stayed in the Ronald McDonald house near the hospital. My dad, the breadwinner of the family and the one with the job that provided my insurance had to work back home. So he worked 5 days a week and on Friday made the 2 hour drive up to Gainsville to sleep in his car just so he could be near us for two fleeting days. Sunday night he drove back home and started the process all over again. I have no idea how he managed to keep his sanity in check coming home to an empty house all those weekdays after working in the hot sun all day. After all, his oldest daughter was dying, his son was staying with my grandparents, and his brand new baby daughter and wife were 70 miles away.

    My survival chance was 10% because my case was so advanced at this stage. I would wake up in the morning with my pillow soaked in blood from nosebleeds and bleeding gums. They began looking for bone marrow donors, and essentially assured my parents that if we couldn’t find a donor right away, there was hardly a chance that I’d make it another six weeks. Neither my mom nor my dad were matches, and my baby sister was too young to be a donor. I had another sibling, however--my brother, who has Down's Syndrome was staying with my grandmother back home. He's a year younger than me. He was tested--and was a match.

    Meanwhile, I was going downhill at the hospital. I’d picked up a staph infection (my parents suspect from ORMC, as my room wasn’t a “clean room” like the one I was in at Shands), and it was ravaging me. I have absolutely NO memories of the actual transfer of me to Shands because of this, and apparently I hovered in and out of consciousness for about two weeks while they got the infection under control. They couldn’t do the transplant otherwise. To add insult to injury, I turned out to be highly allergic to the best antibiotic for the job—vancomysin. Somehow they managed to get the infection under control, however, and I was prepared for chemotherapy and the transplant.

    These are probably my most vivid memories of the whole ordeal, as I felt like I was in that hospital forever. In truth, it was about six weeks. I was confined to my bed most of the time, though I did have toys and other goodies in my room. EVERYTHING had to be sterilized to enter the room. My parents had to wear full scrubs, masks, caps, ect. Before the chemo and after my infection, I felt pretty good, actually. Weak and tired all the time, but when I wasn’t sleeping, I was generally pretty alert. I just lacked an appetite, which must have been disconcerting to my parents as I was normally a little bottomless pit.

    My parents told me that my hair would fall out thanks to the chemo, but I defiantly told them that if I believed hard enough, my hair would stay right were it was supposed to be. It fell out, of course. When I realized this meant no more suffering through getting my hair brushed, I was pretty happy about it, though. I was also very happy about the Hickman Line installed into my chest to administer the chemo, because it meant no more shots (usually)!

    And then… Well, I got the transplant on September 15th, I believe. The date has faded for me—but I think dates had more significance to my parents, since they were the ones with calendars. For me, the ordeal started three weeks into summer vacation and… Well, it went on all year. All the friends I made in kindergarten went on to first grade while I sat in a hospital room. Because my brother was a match, there was a good chance the transplant would take, but nothing is assured. My parents held their breath, hoping the nightmare was over.

    It was. The transplant was a success. My health improved markedly over the next few weeks. I was up and about in my room instead of staying in bed sleeping constantly. I wanted to go outside. I was eating my weight in candy again. I made friends in the ward—immuno suppressed kids like me. The nurses were ecstatic.

    Finally, I was discharged from the hospital. Because I required a lot of follow up care, the Leukemia Society paid to put us up in a trailer park near the hospital in Gainsville. I LOVED living in that trailer. It was like camping. Plus I got to be with my mom, baby sister, and Nana, which was wonderful after the long lonely nights at the hospital. Plus my dad could actually stay with us instead of bunking in his car.

    A few months later and I was finally cleared to return home. I still remember the end of that car ride, coming around the corner to see my house for the first time in nearly five months. The whole neighborhood had come to welcome me back—all my little friends, my parents friends, everyone. That moment is etched in my memory forever.

    Of course, my ordeal wasn’t fully over. I was barred from interacting with anyone. If I went out, I had to wear a mask and gloves. I had to give away my cat. We couldn’t have a live Christmas tree, and my mom had to keep the house immaculately clean (which was hard, given my habits to trash my room). My parents managed to get a tutor for me. Finally, the next year around the time of my seventh birthday, I was fully cleared. I went to my own birthday party at my grandmother’s house and went swimming for the first time in a year. My hair was growing back, and I was—for the most part—back to normal.

    It’s been twenty three years now, and while it’s a distant memory, sometimes it feels much closer. Hospital wards bring me back to those days in stunning clarity. At the time, I didn’t understand at all what was happening to me. I knew I was sick, I knew I hurt, but I expected to get better like any kid would. I hated my medicine (to the point that I’d spit it out), and tried at every chance to escape my room. But I’m thankful, too. I’m thankful that I—unlike so many other kids who are diagnosed—had a donor in my family. I also wish that more people knew of this condition. Every time I tell someone about it, they answer “Plastic Anemia? What’s that?”, as though it’s a fake illness. It is real, and were I able, I would donate my bone marrow to the registry. I would urge everyone else who is able to to donate as well, because you really could be the difference between life and an untimely death.

    I live a normal life now with my husband, and have done so many amazing things that I never would have been able to do, had it not been for my brother.

    Anyway, thanks for reading my story.
  • Jenn Hunker Feb 17, 2012 @ 6:40 pm | delete
    And now that I shared my story, I really want to thank you for sharing yours and for raising awareness of this condition. It means a lot to me, as it does to a lot of other survivors I'm sure. Honestly, I think you had it a lot worse than me being that you were already an adult and were acutely aware of what you were going through, and what the costs were. Plus that awful thing that happened with the serum... I really am blessed that I had a donor in my family.

    Thank you so much again!
  • Jen Naranjo Feb 16, 2012 @ 10:34 pm | delete
    My son has severe aplastic anemia. He is 4 years old. It has been almost 120 days since his atg treatment with no response. His brother is not a match so if he gets a BMT, he will need an unrelated donor. Your story is inspiring and I thank you for sharing it and educating people about this devastating disease.
  • Jenn Hunker Feb 17, 2012 @ 6:41 pm | delete
    I'm so sorry to hear that... I hope that you are able to find a donor. No kid should have to go through that--I should know. God bless you and your family and I wish you the best of luck. I'll pray for his recovery.
  • Karolina B. Feb 7, 2012 @ 6:27 pm | delete
    I'm fighting aplastic anemia.
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About Me

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CelinaHamm

Hello everyone. I'm Celina and I live in the great southern state, Alabama. I have two children, Brittney and Chase. I will be posting lenses that wi... more »

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Danielle's Story 

Danielle's Story: A Daughter's Battle with Aplastic Anemia

Amazon Price: $11.51 (as of 05/28/2012)Buy Now

This is a book I really recommend reading. Danielle's mother takes you through this battle that her daughter faces and fights. You will laugh, cry and feel like you are experiencing all of it right along with them. It's a powerful journey.

Aplastic Anemia Mousepad 

Aplastic Anemia Awareness Ribbon Mouse Pad

Amazon Price: $9.99 (as of 05/28/2012)Buy Now

This is a great way to help spread the word on Aplastic Anemia. Most of the time, people doesn't know what this is and when they see your mouse pad, they usually ask and if that will get just one person to donate blood, then that mouse pad is worth the questions.

What You Always Wanted To Ask About Aplastic Anemia 

What You Always Wanted To Know About Aplastic Anemia

Amazon Price: (as of 05/28/2012)Buy Now

New updated information about Aplastic Anemia. When you are first diagnosed, most people haven't ever heard of this disease and they want any and all the information they can get their hands on. This focuses just on AA and gives a lot of answers to your questions.