Third Annual Revelations Art show in support of Alexis Wronzberg

Come out tonight in support of Alexis! Now that I'm home, I'd love to see you all there!

Join JUMP and BAC for our third annual art show, Revelations.

Showcasing the work of young artists in the community, Revelations will be a night of collaborative art, music, spoken word, and visual experiences.

All proceeds for the event will be donated to UJA in direct support of Alexis Wronzberg's fight with cancer.


Jump
1992 Yonge Street (just north of davisville station)
Toronto, ON

being away

It’s been less than a week away from my precious ladies—Alexis and Debbie. And though I abide by the mantra of all “good things” must come to an end, it seems that all the good things were starting after I left (that’s not to say that we didn’t have a good time, but the reality was that we were spending most our time in a hospital)—and even though I’d love to still be in Israel to share in Alexis’ new found freedom of breaking through the hospital doors, I am comforted that she is happier—out of the boxed room she was living in for over a month. Free from nurses, doctors and what seemed to be zookeepers—constantly getting checked up on, fed and stared at—Alexis, though not completely free from the C word, is finally getting a breath of fresh air. I spoke to her the other day—she had a lilt in her voice and her energy was strong.

confidence to go

I'm leaving in a couple of hours--back to Toronto, away from Alexis
and away from Debbie. Joining all the others back home who can't be
with Alexis all the time. Back to Toronto to start a new routine--
waiting to hear how the day went and what the doctors had to say
rather than be there to hear it first hand. But one thing I have, and
one thing ill bring back which gives me a little bit of ease is that I
got to be here and see Alexis day after day. And day after day she got
care and love and will continue to receive that. These doctors are
past the doctor - patient relationship--they've joined us in the
bleachers section. They know they have to get her better.
She is in good hands and I can leave in confidence.

About Debbie

Its been Alexis, Debbie and I for about 5 weeks now. The 3 of us have
created our own little family--even though we are already blood
related.  But anyway, I want to talk about Debbie--and ill try not to
trip over my words.

If you've ever seen a tree before. With its complex dimensions--first
the roots, the sturdy trunk and then the flowing colourful
branches--always providing and giving. That's her. And if plants grew
on Debbie's tree, they'd be sabras--the fruit most Israelis get pinned
for. A little prickly on the outside but soft, bright and delicious on
the inside.

Debbie and I have become an incredible team. Working well and
eloquently together. Just last night while I was laying out the
freshly wet clean dishes, stretching around Debbie in ballet form; she
was on her tip toes in another ballet position reaching over me as she
placed the dishes neatly in the cupboard above. We've got our shit down to a
dance.

We are similar and different in a lot of different ways. But the
differences only make us respect one another more.

Nights after spending the day in the hospital, the two of us would
find solace in painting, sipping delicious wine and talking. Recapping
the days.

I've spent a lot of time listening to Debbie's thoughts, dreams, wishes
and concerns and I'm so deeply humbled that she's shared them with me.

I see how she is with Alexis- strong and honest--literally an advocate
for her baby. Piping up with questions for the doctor eager to be
comforted by their response.

She's a fighter, a non defeatist and confident. Especially confident
with her decision of bring Alexis to Israel-- I think we all owe
Debbie our gratitude--especially me.

a few wishes to send me home in peace

(written on November, 18, 2010).

I am leaving Israel in a couple days. The thought of it makes me crazy. I've been here now for 3.5 months and I've had an experience that I would never pass up for anything. Ever. The only thing that could make it better was if a few of my wishes would come true.

I wished, that before I left, 4 of my wishes would come true.
To put it simply, I wanted
1) To see Alexis in the apartment
2) That Alexis' body would start reacting positively to the treatment
3) That we would have shabbat dinner under the stars (with Alexis)
4) That I would be able to paint a little bit more before I had to leave

ALL FOUR CAME TRUE--I could finally go and walk away with peace in my mind and in my heart!

can't hear past the crunching

It was Wednesday of last week. I had gone to the beach to catch a few last minute rays. I also tried to finish a book I had borrowed from the hospital.

At around 3pm I was getting antsy--I brushed off the sand from my sun kissed body and made a mad dash for the apartment.

I had my key in hand, but, surprised and nervous, the door was left open. I couldn't figure it out. Why was the door left open? Was someone robbing the place? Did I leave it unlocked? Omg! Debbie was going to be so angry. But, it wasn't any of that, and Debbie certainly wasn't going to be angry.

I opened the door and...ALEXIS was sitting INSIDE!

I stood. Staring. Tears brewing in my eyes. Remnants of sand stinging between my toes. I knew I needed to take a shower, but I just looked at her, she at me, staring, smiling and tears full of joy. Lex got a day pass and I got a surprise. The best of it's kind. Lex was slowly making her way home.

To celebrate, we made a yummy meal--well, Debbie made a delicious chicken stew and I made a bowl of vegetables...:)

We also took a load off on the balcony off Alexis' room--the two of us sat there, talking and engaged in fun activity. We invited Debbie down. A couple minutes later we were all hungry and took a trip to the AM:PM downstairs.

The image of seeing Alexis in the AM:PM is something I will never forget. She was free. She could pick whatever she wanted and no one was stopping her. Our little mission down to the store brought back memories of the days, the honey moon period, before she had the transplant. The days were we would wander and stroll the streets, stop in at candy shops or sit for a delicious salad. I was feeling very positive--everyone was.

We went upstairs--threw everything we bought into bowls, including the likes of Carriot cereal (the chocolate filled puffs), cinamon toast crunch, peanuts and zatar crackers. We all tried to watch Ellen but none of us could hear past the crunching. It was so loud! And no one cared! We were just happy! The 3 of us sitting on the couch, eating, smiling and crunching!

the body is a temple and a wild vessel

(I wrote this about a week and a half ago--sorry for the tardy post)

I slept at the hospital last night.

When I woke up at around 830 in the morning, one of alexis' nurses
came rushing into the room with a smile on her face. She spoke as if
little happy face bubbles were flying out of her mouth.
Alexis'neutrafills, or as I like to call them, new-trees,   had
multiplied to an excitement worthy amount. Except still not enough to
send her home.

To watch and wait and be part of this, alexis' battle, is both an
experience I'd rather she not have to go through, but is one that I am
honored to be going through with her. Like I said, she makes this
cancer stuff seem easy. And as uncomfortable as she might be, when the
doctor comes to ask of her complaints, she shrugs her shoulders,
gently shakes her head from side to side, smiles and says in her soft
tone, "I feel fine".

Man, the body is such a wild vessel. The way the physical plays with
your emotial and mental well being is pushed to all limits. And to
watch alexis go through all of this is in some ways fascinating. The
way her mental effects her physical  is something worth mentioning.
She brings the idea of mind over matter to the plate and man is she a
heavy hitter. --and even when she's down, there's always a piece of
her that is fighting. Rampantly. Fighting stronger mentally, than her
body is fighting against her.

Lolipop! Lolipop! oh lolly lolly lolly, lolipop!

The doctors have been giving Alexis "special lillipops" (she said they tasted like bluberries) since her throat was bothering her. She likes them and it wasn't until a few days ago that she discovered a) why she liked them so much and b) that they worked so well. So, she did what any rational human being would do when they wanted to know more about something--She googled it. She understood, finally, why this was her taste buds new craving.

And this was her reaction...

"I had no idea it was medical. I just thought it was fun!"

"It's not something I'd buy at the candy store, but it's delicious. The effects are delicious."

"Oh that's why it works so well!"

"Known as morphine lolipops. Also referred to as percopops on the streets of U.S. Eight calories and they have a sugar free version!"

last wednesday night (november 10th, 2010)...Restless

Disclaimer for this post: I couldn't sleep a few nights ago because these were the thoughts that were keeping me up.

It's been two full days having not gone to the hospital to visit Alexis. I wasn't feeling too well and didn't want to chance anything. Alexis' immune system has been none existent since transplant day almost 21 days ago and I certainly don't want to be the one to blame for an infection. Gevalt.

Two days away from the hospital was hard--I like going there daily to be with Lex--we entertain one another. I go mostly in the evenings and sleep over. And now that i'm leaving for Toronto in a couple days, i'm feeling a host of different emotions. Feeling everything. Not only am I leaving behind the incredible personal journey of my own self exploration, but I won't be here to sit, physically, in the bleachers cheering Alexis on. I won't be here for the ups and thank gd tollerable downs. I won't be here to visit daily, or witness the day to day visits from the doctors, student interns, or iced aroma light indulgences and I won't be here the day Alexis' body is renewed--the day her body becomes her own, perfectly functioning (B"H) system that she deserves--cancer free (B"H).

I've been by Alexis' and Debbie's side since day one--I've been part of this team--part of the experience--part of the ups and downs. In a few days, I will be so far from everything--and although she is in the best possible hands, I'm starting to feel anxious--as the reality profoundly sinks in of my departure from this magnificent country, this amazing young woman I call both my cousin and truly a best best friend, and of course my com padre and mentor Debbie, I'm nervous.

Of course I can always come back here (and that's a definite option) but I don't know what tomorrow may bring for Alexis--and I want to be here for that--for the good and the not so goods (poo poo poo).
Debbie always says that "we'll be fine." And of course I know that. But I realize, too, that i've been helpful--whether couriering late night gourmet meals to the hospital, singing each morning, "It's a beautiful morning," or late night talks with Debbie seeping with meaning or simply making Alexis laugh til she cries, I know i've been an asset. That's the truth.
To be so involved with Alexis throughout this war, this battle of her bloods, has been an eye opener and in a lot of ways an honour.

Alexis and I are only a year a part--our friends are the same ages--we are all in the middle of the mid twenties "walking grounds" so to speak--and if I've learned anything, I've totally taken my health for granted--and as Debbie says, "at this age, we should be able to do that, not have to worry," and she's right--absolutely right. I really just think that we should be aware of our health, appreciate our health and recognize that most of our bodies can tolerate the intolerable. Laila Tov.

twenty-eight times

@ the kotel the day before the transplant

photo by: elise kayfetz
Number 28 has been following Alexis for some time now. She was first diagnosed six years ago on the 28th of September, her mother's birthday is the 28th of June, she relapsed again this year on September 28th, she's is in her 28th year and their Tel Aviv building and apartment number is 28 as well.

In the Gamara, twenty-eight means koach, strength; it was only appropriate to read pslam 28 at the kotel, 28 times...we need all the strength we can get...

From Debbie to Alexis

lifeline--october 20, 2010
photo by: elise kayfetz

an ounce of optimism

I slept at the hospital last night--I’ve been doing that the past couple nights. Lex and I have been enjoying our time together--between our late night chats and mini walks, it's been special. I feel like her roommate a little bit. I get her all to myself.

The hospital room is starting to feel like a studio apartment/ hotel--it has all the amenities--2 beds, T.V and DVD player, a desk, a refrigerator and of course a bathroom. Also includes laundry service (specifically for linens) and room service with an abundance of packaged Halva and hummus--deliciously Israeli--the main meals however, aren't so yummy. If it wasn't for regular checkups from doctors and nurses, you'd think we were living like celebrities--but we aren't celebrities and in fact, it hasn't been totally easy--just waiting and waiting for the next clue in this cancer game. But, as we have all been saying, la'at, la'at...slowly, slowly. We will wait and remain cautiously optimistic.

Anyway, at around 3:30am last night, Lex and I woke up, like clockwork, at the same time. We were both thirsty for water--she poured me a glass and then we went back to sleep. At around 9am, I got up and Alexis warned me in my waking hours that we were about to have some company. Two minutes later, nine or ten nurses and doctors walked into the room and stood around Alexis' bed. Two of Alexis' doctors were sharing her story to their colleagues, except, it was all in Hebrew--thankfully I understood what was going on. Alexis signalled to me wanting to make sure that what they were saying was okay...I gave her the thumbs up. They were literally showing her off--that's how good she looks.

After they left, she admitted to me that she felt sort of like an animal at the zoo--I don't blame her. Groups of doctors and nurses and medical students have come to see her--to see what this 27 year old beauty that happens to have cancer looks like. AND, all of them equally impressed with her--but not as much as one of her doctors from the clinic--specifically, Dr. Gazoontite--he is more than impressed with her and his optimism puts all of us at ease.

I ran into him at the elevators on my way out--he was looking at me with a smile on his face--and then he started talking. Still, with a smile on his face he said Alexis is incredible and that he's never seen anyone like her--he continued that most patients he has seen don't have the same fight Alexis has--"and boy that smile," he added. He smiled again and got off the elevator.

Things for everyone, both us here in Israel and I am sure for some of you at home have been tough--cancer is tough. So, when we get an ounce of optimism, all negative thoughts are immediately replaced by the positive. That's what we want. That's what Alexis wants. And too be honest, I think Alexis is tougher than cancer.

normalize this.

Cancer isn't suppose to be a normal experience. In fact, cancer and normal don't exactly fit together in the same sentence. Yet somehow, Alexis seems to be normalizing this--making her cancer experience, in some way, seem normal.

Focusing on everything else, while, I think anyways, forgetting what is actually going on inside her body. At least that's how it seems to be anyway. It could be that she's somehow normalizing this for everyone around her--protecting all of us from the reality of the thoughts brewing inside her head. But I refrain. I might be looking too deep into this. But alas, for Alexis' character, it would make sense that while we are all trying to protect her, she's actually trying to protect us.