Tag Archive for: medulloblastoma

Patient Profile: Cali Trepkowski

In March 2015, 8 year old Cali Trepkowski vomited on the way to school. She stayed home from school that day, but she seemed to be fine as the day progressed. A few weeks later she vomited again. This happened three more times so her mom Carrie called the pediatrician who determined it was allergies and put Cali on an allergy medicine. But the vomiting continued. The pediatrician said Cali might be lactose intolerant and advised Carrie to take all dairy out of Cali’s diet. But still Cali vomited. In June the pediatrician said to remove all the sugar from Cali’s diet, but the vomiting continued. By July Cali was vomiting every three days. A visit to the emergency room resulted in a gastric diagnosis and a follow up with a gastroenterologist. The gastroenterologist scheduled Cali for an endoscopy on August 14th, but by August 1st she was sleeping all the time and still vomiting so they went to the ER again and Carrie, who was no longer willing to wait to get results, insisted the endoscopy be performed immediately. The endoscopy didn’t provide answers so the ER doctor scheduled a brain MRI for August 14, the original date for the endoscopy. The morning of the MRI Cali woke up and stumbled into a wall. “Her gait was off,” says Carrie who had become increasingly worried about her daughter. The scan revealed that Cali had a 4.5 by 5 centimeter tumor in the back of her brain right up against the brain stem. Cali had cancer — Medulloblastoma, the most common form of malignant brain tumor in children.

Cali was immediately transported to a hospital in Miami, Florida where her surgeon put a drain in her brain to reduce the swelling. It was the swelling that was causing Cali to vomit. On August 17th Cali’s surgeon was able to remove the entire tumor. It was very literally not a day too soon. The surgeon told Carrie that miracles do happen and if they had waited one more day they would very likely have lost Cali.

Four weeks after surgery Cali underwent proton radiation — which Carrie learned is a type of radiation that causes less tissue damage. She says that with traditional radiation all of Cali’s major organs would have been vulnerable but with proton radiation only the top of her kidneys were affected. Then Cali had nine rounds of chemotherapy over 11 months and more than 20 transfusions. In addition, she began speech, occupational, and physical therapies and therapy with the Special Equestrians that helped Cali recover her strength and helped with her balance.

“She truly is a miracle,” says Carrie of her daughter who has some lasting side effects such as slow processing speed, and abstract learning, attention, and balance issues, but overall has had a remarkable recovery. “In the cancer world we’re the lucky ones,” says Carrie who is all too aware of how easily it could have gone the other way for them. “Once it becomes part of your world you see it everywhere. You have to give hope to others going through it.” she says. “I am very adamant about sharing her story and helping others.” Carrie stresses how important it is for parents and patients to press for answers from their doctors. “I knew something wasn’t right,” she says. “I don’t care what a doctor tells you. demand the testing. Don’t wait. Just because they are doctors doesn’t mean they are all knowing.” In Cali’s case so many of her symptoms were overlooked because the doctors she was seeing were not familiar with her type of cancer and because it doesn’t show up in normal blood work. Carrie now knows that when a child throws up in the morning, if it’s not a flu or other virus, it’s a sign of a brain tumor and she wants other parents to know that too.

Cali is 10 now. She’ll be 11 in February. She has an MRI every three months and while she currently has no evidence of disease, the highest chance of relapse is two years post treatment. After five years with no relapse Cali will be “cured” and will have a brain scan once a year for the rest of her life.

Going forward, Carrie says Cali will see an endocrinologist to address the hormonal side effects that accompany treatment. Carrie, who is very proactive in her daughter’s care, suspects a growth issue. “She hasn’t had much growth in two years,” she says. “Children will stop growing when there’s a brain tumor.” Carrie is concerned that without supplemental growth hormone Cali won’t reach a height of five feet. “Your whole world becomes taking care of your child and finding the best treatment,” she says. “I just want her to feel normal.”

As for the rest of the family, things are starting to become what Carrie calls a new normal. Carrie is extremely dedicated to supporting other families in the cancer community, and raising money for cancer research and the Make a Wish Foundation. She and her husband are both teachers and have three other children who Carrie says “didn’t have a mom” while Cali was undergoing treatment and Carrie was focused on caring for her. “I’m finally starting to be able to enjoy things again and I have these other kids here who need their mom,” says Carrie.“We do things differently now. We are building memories. Making as many memories as we can. We do as much as we can and enjoy it. We enjoy life.”

Stupid Brain Cancer!

Matthew Zachary

Matthew Zachary

(Matthew Zachary is a brain cancer survivor and founder of Stupid Cancer.)

Brain cancer. Those two words strike fear into the hearts of man perhaps more than any other cancer. After all, it’s your brain. Some might argue it’s the one thing you can’t live without. (Take that, heart!)

Now, I’m not one to start pitting body parts against each other in the world of cancer. I’ll leave that up to the body-part-specific groups. Let that infighting enjoy itself for all it’s worth. Once they realize that the future of medical research is rapidly shifting to biology, immunology and genomics, rather than geography, they’ll soon realize it’s the new bandwagon to hop on.

When I was a 21-year old college senior, I was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of pediatric brain cancer: medulloblastoma. There were only 200 cases a year, the tumor was congenital and it nearly always occurred under the age of 12. I was one of the rarest cases ever seen at the time; and that did not bode well.

What’s more, the fact that I was not a child presented even more unique complications than otherwise thought. As an emerging young adult, issues of college, fertility, relationships and mental health had to weigh in. They didn’t of course since it was the 1990s and the idea of “patient-centered care” was not a concept. Back then you were lucky to be alive to deal with whatever side effects you had, all for the privilege of not dying from cancer. And those were the magic words: the “privilege” of not dying.

Considering I was given six months to live and, after those six months, a whopping 50% chance to survive for 5 additional years, I’ve done alright. January 10th, 2016 was my 20th cancerversary in somehow defying the odds. There is no rhyme, reason or explanation for how this all came to be. I just got lucky.

And that’s all anything is, really. Luck. Good luck or bad luck, it’s still luck. Yes, there are conscious choices we believe we can make, but, in the end, we are all bound by the singular commonality of chance. Call it what you will: karma, God’s will, fate, metaphysics, destiny, etc…all we have is our free will and the privilege to make choices in response to shit that is happening or in advance of shit that may happen.

Which brings me to my point. (I actually had a point, I promise)

I founded Stupid Cancer because I wished I had that kind of resource at my disposal when I was depressed, alone, afraid and without peer support. I didn’t even know that peers support was a thing. “You mean there are other college students out there with cancer who understand what I’m feeling right now?” What a concept.

It’s easy to say that no one should face cancer alone It’s entirely another thing to actually fill that need. Stupid Cancer was the community I needed that I never got to benefit from. And going back to my aforementioned comments about “all cancers matter”, I really didn’t care if I were connected with a young adult with leukemia, breast cancer, colon cancer or brain cancer. For young adults — a largely unknown demographic in the war on cancer — the playing field is leveled when you’re told those three words, “You have cancer.”

Stupid Cancer is entering it’s 9th year of operation and has proudly emerged as the largest support organization representing teens, adolescents and young adults (15-40). We’ve also inadvertently become a home for the hundreds of thousands of pediatric cancer patients who survive and grow up. It has become a remarkable nonprofit brand in healthcare that has democratized survivorship. Because, no matter your diagnosis, you have the right to survive with dignity, quality and be treated age-appropriately.

In 1996, that did not happen. In 2016, 1.7 million Americans will be diagnosed with a primary cancer. 80,000 of them will be children and young adults. We are no better or worse than other age groups; we’re just different.

And we matter.

Cancer survivorship is an art. And the art of your survivorship is how you choose to get busy living, The era of cancer survivorship has begun. It is not about how long you live, but how you live, that defines your legacy in this life.

So for now, I’ll leave “cure-hunting” to everyone else.