I haven’t made a post in 11 days and I’m laying in bed watching a classic Christmas tale, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Perhaps you prefer It’s a Wonderful Life, Home Alone, A Christmas Story, or one of the many variations of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Whatever your holiday movie is, everyone has their favorite and families have their holiday traditions.
Around the holiday season, my father usually whips up a big batch of his amazing potato latkes for Hanukkah. Outside of lighting a menorah and my mother hanging decorations, this is the basic holiday festivities in my parents’ house.
My Christmas Eves for the better part of the last dozen years has been spent in the company of my best friends from high school. I’ve enjoyed Christmas morning breakfast at my father-in-law’s house and Christmas dinner at my mother-in-law’s house. I was unable to attend any of those events last year due to diagnosis and recovery from cancer. This year, I will not be in attendance either due to an impending divorce and lack of invitations.
However, not everything is doom and gloom. I was fortunate to spend the first 3 days of Hanukkah with Gabe this year. He helped light the electric menorah (safe for the young ones) and learned how to spin a dreidel. He came with me to the Masonic Holiday party my lodge held and even met Santa Claus. He asks to the use the potty on a consistent basis, gives me hugs, kisses, and tells me, he loves me. Not too bad.
So, here are my Christmas gifts to you. A positive attitude can help in the healing process. Only you can make yourself happy. Listen to others but remain true to yourself. Best wishes and good health to all.
Happy Holidays!
~Cheers
Side note:
I have received lots of feedback since starting this blog months ago. The majority have been positive and recently some negative. Most feel I am a fairly talented writer. Some people were surprised with the information concerning my disease and fight and happy it was shared. Some people think I am looking for pity and one even wants me to stop posting.
I learned a very important lesson in the hospital from a nurse who was in his second relapse with cancer. When you go through something this tough and trying, you earn the right to live for yourself first and tell everyone else to screw. There is nothing positive about cancer. I will not sugar-coat my experiences and feelings.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Best Wishes
This week, I originally planned on writing about some happy memories from my past, but recent events have changed my mind.
I may not feel well and am still in the midst of recovery from treatments, however my treatments worked and I am extremely fortunate to be in full remission. I am lucky to have insurance that covered my treatment costs. I don’t wish or want disease, especially cancer, on anyone.
There are many who will be diagnosed this year and not have insurance for treatment or will receive treatment that will not work. These people are fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, family, friends, lovers, spouses, co-workers, and complete strangers. No one is safe from this disease and research must be done. I’m not asking for donations of money, but take the time to think about others less fortunate then you and maybe say a prayer for better times whether you are religious or not.
Here’s my topic for the day:
Follicular Lymphoma is the second most commonly diagnosed non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Approximately 22% of all non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma patients are afflicted by Follicular Lymphoma. It is a slow growing lymphoma that arises in B-cells (a type of white blood cells). It is considered a “low-grade” lymphoma due to its slow nature in behavior and how is looks under the microscope.
Some patients may never need treatment, although the median survival time is 10 years with a wide range from less then one year to 20 years. Because the disease moves so slow, diagnosis usually goes unnoticed until it is too late. By the time, most patients (80-85%) are diagnosed the disease is widespread throughout the lymph nodes, bone marrow and major organs.
Now, I am not afflicted with Follicular lymphoma but my father-in-law is. His daughter and I may have our differences and are no longer together but he has always been a gentleman towards me. He helped to move us in when we bought a new house. He came and mowed the lawn when I was too sick and unable to. He went from shop to shop and person to person for donations towards a benefit to help us when I was unable to work. He always had a Memorial Day BBQ and Christmas morning breakfast at his house. He always gave his time to help when and where it was needed. I wish nothing bad for this man; just good fortune and health. Unfortunately that isn’t the case.
He and I have many things in common. We are both divorced. We both live at home with our parents. We both love our kids. We both have fought and continue to fight battles with lymphoma. The difference - my fight is on the upswing and his is going down.
I have recently been made aware that he will enter the hospital on Thursday for back surgery. Due to the disease and treatment, he now has a fracture in his back. (I also fractured my back due to treatments.) Radiology shows a mass in his back near the fracture. Doctors don’t know if this mass is a bone fragment from the fracture or a possible tumor and they won’t know until he is laid open on an operating table.
I want to send my prayers and best wishes out to George, my father-in-law. He is a humble man, who doesn’t ask from anyone. I hope everyone will join me in sending good karma his way. I may not be religious but I believe good spirits and positive thoughts can be uplifting to the body, mind and soul.
~Thank you and Cheers!
I may not feel well and am still in the midst of recovery from treatments, however my treatments worked and I am extremely fortunate to be in full remission. I am lucky to have insurance that covered my treatment costs. I don’t wish or want disease, especially cancer, on anyone.
There are many who will be diagnosed this year and not have insurance for treatment or will receive treatment that will not work. These people are fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, family, friends, lovers, spouses, co-workers, and complete strangers. No one is safe from this disease and research must be done. I’m not asking for donations of money, but take the time to think about others less fortunate then you and maybe say a prayer for better times whether you are religious or not.
Here’s my topic for the day:
Follicular Lymphoma is the second most commonly diagnosed non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Approximately 22% of all non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma patients are afflicted by Follicular Lymphoma. It is a slow growing lymphoma that arises in B-cells (a type of white blood cells). It is considered a “low-grade” lymphoma due to its slow nature in behavior and how is looks under the microscope.
Some patients may never need treatment, although the median survival time is 10 years with a wide range from less then one year to 20 years. Because the disease moves so slow, diagnosis usually goes unnoticed until it is too late. By the time, most patients (80-85%) are diagnosed the disease is widespread throughout the lymph nodes, bone marrow and major organs.
Now, I am not afflicted with Follicular lymphoma but my father-in-law is. His daughter and I may have our differences and are no longer together but he has always been a gentleman towards me. He helped to move us in when we bought a new house. He came and mowed the lawn when I was too sick and unable to. He went from shop to shop and person to person for donations towards a benefit to help us when I was unable to work. He always had a Memorial Day BBQ and Christmas morning breakfast at his house. He always gave his time to help when and where it was needed. I wish nothing bad for this man; just good fortune and health. Unfortunately that isn’t the case.
He and I have many things in common. We are both divorced. We both live at home with our parents. We both love our kids. We both have fought and continue to fight battles with lymphoma. The difference - my fight is on the upswing and his is going down.
I have recently been made aware that he will enter the hospital on Thursday for back surgery. Due to the disease and treatment, he now has a fracture in his back. (I also fractured my back due to treatments.) Radiology shows a mass in his back near the fracture. Doctors don’t know if this mass is a bone fragment from the fracture or a possible tumor and they won’t know until he is laid open on an operating table.
I want to send my prayers and best wishes out to George, my father-in-law. He is a humble man, who doesn’t ask from anyone. I hope everyone will join me in sending good karma his way. I may not be religious but I believe good spirits and positive thoughts can be uplifting to the body, mind and soul.
~Thank you and Cheers!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The Camel is Broke
An old adage states, “It take two to tango.” This is true. Another states, “That’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.” Both of these adages ring true when speaking of my marriage.
We fell in love quickly, probably too quickly. We rushed everything from getting to know each other, to living together, to buying a house together, to having a baby together, and to getting married.
We had conflict. We had financial woes. We had in-law issues. We had fading romance. We had both been laid off and needed to find new jobs. We had our first baby. Lots of life altering events and a very short time and then comes the straw…I got sick. WE HAVE A CAMEL DOWN. BROKEN BACK!
My understanding is 50% of marriages end in divorce. I am comfortable being a statistic. This was a relationship heading for the rocks and built to fail from the beginning. Hindsight shows me that. But it didn’t have the end the way it did…in the manner in which it did.
She took me to chemotherapy and clinic appointments. She made sure my benefits and social security were applied for and taken care of. She took 10 weeks unpaid from work to stay home and support me while I was a lump of useful human flesh. (Granted the 10 weeks were paid for with the funds from the benefit event that were supposed to last a year - different subject for a different time.) I couldn’t even stand in the shower by myself without almost passing out.
However, after our affairs were squared away and she returned to work, the love I once felt and still thought was there changed. She became rude. She became outwardly mean. I couldn’t take it anymore. I yelled. I questioned. And finally I got my answers.
She wasn’t happy. “Like two ships passing in the night,” she claimed. No romance. Friends at best. Kissing tales of weeks past with a co-worker. Did I really need this? No, but with a resounding YES.
Had I grown less romantic? Yes. Who would feel romantic while receiving chemo and feeling like shit day in and day out? Did we have problems? Yes. Show me a marriage without some conflict and I’ll sell you a bridge. I asked for couples counseling. It was refused. I asked to give me more time to recover and things would change. She was too far past that.
The result = divorce.
I have avoided this subject for too long now, but when someone says, “I bend over backwards all the time for you, always at the last minute.” I get a little pissed off seeing I can’t control cancer and I can’t control a suppressed immune system during flu season. There ARE things I could have done differently but in every relationship there has to be a push and pull and there will always be work to be done. Remember the vows, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, ‘til death do us part. It’s just rhetoric.
I don’t want to be painted the bad guy because I am sick? I don’t necessarily want her to be painted the villain because she left at the worst possible time. Everyone makes mistakes and unfortunately timing sometimes IS everything. I won’t apologize for being sick. She’ll never apologize for doing or not doing what she did.
There is no right or wrong. Everyone has their own opinions. I’m just tired of apologizing for what’s out of my control.
Cheers!
Footnote: Italicised text credited to content written in email by Kristie Callahan written 12/6/09
We fell in love quickly, probably too quickly. We rushed everything from getting to know each other, to living together, to buying a house together, to having a baby together, and to getting married.
We had conflict. We had financial woes. We had in-law issues. We had fading romance. We had both been laid off and needed to find new jobs. We had our first baby. Lots of life altering events and a very short time and then comes the straw…I got sick. WE HAVE A CAMEL DOWN. BROKEN BACK!
My understanding is 50% of marriages end in divorce. I am comfortable being a statistic. This was a relationship heading for the rocks and built to fail from the beginning. Hindsight shows me that. But it didn’t have the end the way it did…in the manner in which it did.
She took me to chemotherapy and clinic appointments. She made sure my benefits and social security were applied for and taken care of. She took 10 weeks unpaid from work to stay home and support me while I was a lump of useful human flesh. (Granted the 10 weeks were paid for with the funds from the benefit event that were supposed to last a year - different subject for a different time.) I couldn’t even stand in the shower by myself without almost passing out.
However, after our affairs were squared away and she returned to work, the love I once felt and still thought was there changed. She became rude. She became outwardly mean. I couldn’t take it anymore. I yelled. I questioned. And finally I got my answers.
She wasn’t happy. “Like two ships passing in the night,” she claimed. No romance. Friends at best. Kissing tales of weeks past with a co-worker. Did I really need this? No, but with a resounding YES.
Had I grown less romantic? Yes. Who would feel romantic while receiving chemo and feeling like shit day in and day out? Did we have problems? Yes. Show me a marriage without some conflict and I’ll sell you a bridge. I asked for couples counseling. It was refused. I asked to give me more time to recover and things would change. She was too far past that.
The result = divorce.
I have avoided this subject for too long now, but when someone says, “I bend over backwards all the time for you, always at the last minute.” I get a little pissed off seeing I can’t control cancer and I can’t control a suppressed immune system during flu season. There ARE things I could have done differently but in every relationship there has to be a push and pull and there will always be work to be done. Remember the vows, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, ‘til death do us part. It’s just rhetoric.
I don’t want to be painted the bad guy because I am sick? I don’t necessarily want her to be painted the villain because she left at the worst possible time. Everyone makes mistakes and unfortunately timing sometimes IS everything. I won’t apologize for being sick. She’ll never apologize for doing or not doing what she did.
There is no right or wrong. Everyone has their own opinions. I’m just tired of apologizing for what’s out of my control.
Cheers!
Footnote: Italicised text credited to content written in email by Kristie Callahan written 12/6/09
you be the judge - retraction
Due to deep personal feelings and rash decisions, I have decided to pull my last post. I had a morning argument with Gabe's mom and should have calmed down before blasting her on the internet. I will repost this subject again at a later date with more information and slightly less venom.
Cheers!
Cheers!
Friday, December 4, 2009
To Port or not to Port
An Infusion Port (also called a Port-a-Cath, Mediport, etc.) is a type of IV catheter, which is surgically implanted under your skin. It provides an entrance into your veins and arteries. Your infusion port allows medications or solutions to be given intravenously whenever needed.
Let’s talk past and present. On May 14th of 2008, I entered Brigham and Women’s hospital to have a dual-port placed for infusion use during chemotherapy.
This is a very minor and quick procedure. IV line placed in arm. Sedatives administered. X-ray. Ultrasound. Please hold your breath. Twenty minutes later. Please hold your breath….”You just asked me to do that?!” You are all done we just need a picture to make sure it is in right. “Oh, ok.” It’s that simple. Two days later I had my first chemotherapy and the rest is history.
The purpose for placing a port in my body instead of using a regular peripheral line in my arm is simple too. The chemotherapy regimen my body was about to endure would have stripped the veins in my arms. The ports would assure the poison would travel into a main artery and leave my veins useful for a later date.
I’ve had very few issues with these ports. Flushing with saline and heparin has never been a problem. Blood draws recently have taken a few minutes to start but then flow fine. And I have never experienced pain, until yesterday.
Please tune up the orchestra for the passing out ceremony. Port accessed…begin saline flushing…shooting pain up my neck…getting dizzy…going cold…sweat dripping…and…..WHAT HAPPENED?! That’s right. I passed out. I told the nurse I was going to and who am I break a promise. Here comes the wheelchair. Here comes a nice hospital bed. Here’s the question…what’s wrong with the frickin’ port?!
They try to access it again. Same pain, shoots straight up the right side of my neck. I don’t taste the saline and there is no blood return. At least the second time I didn’t pass out. So instead of a simple clinic visit, I get poked twice in the chest for no good reason except to cause a pain in my neck (no pun intended), poked once in each arm for blood cultures (necessary to have cultures from two different areas when checking for infections), had 2 chest X-rays (one to check the port and one to check for a respiratory infection) and a nasal washing (check for influenza and pneumonia, Dana Farber’s version of water boarding).
Being cancer free doesn’t mean stress free, pain free, or free from any normal sicknesses, viral infections, or flues that afflict everyone else. It just means I’m cancer free and still share everyone else’s problems. Please don’t welcome me to the club, I am charter member.
Here’s my update since Thanksgiving. Been fighting a viral infection resulting in two missed days with Gabe, one missed date, one clinic visit, one passing out, four placed IV lines, two chest X-rays, one nasal washing, one pain in my neck, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I know this is the time of year for giving, but really…Give me a Break!
Cheers
Let’s talk past and present. On May 14th of 2008, I entered Brigham and Women’s hospital to have a dual-port placed for infusion use during chemotherapy.
This is a very minor and quick procedure. IV line placed in arm. Sedatives administered. X-ray. Ultrasound. Please hold your breath. Twenty minutes later. Please hold your breath….”You just asked me to do that?!” You are all done we just need a picture to make sure it is in right. “Oh, ok.” It’s that simple. Two days later I had my first chemotherapy and the rest is history.
The purpose for placing a port in my body instead of using a regular peripheral line in my arm is simple too. The chemotherapy regimen my body was about to endure would have stripped the veins in my arms. The ports would assure the poison would travel into a main artery and leave my veins useful for a later date.
I’ve had very few issues with these ports. Flushing with saline and heparin has never been a problem. Blood draws recently have taken a few minutes to start but then flow fine. And I have never experienced pain, until yesterday.
Please tune up the orchestra for the passing out ceremony. Port accessed…begin saline flushing…shooting pain up my neck…getting dizzy…going cold…sweat dripping…and…..WHAT HAPPENED?! That’s right. I passed out. I told the nurse I was going to and who am I break a promise. Here comes the wheelchair. Here comes a nice hospital bed. Here’s the question…what’s wrong with the frickin’ port?!
They try to access it again. Same pain, shoots straight up the right side of my neck. I don’t taste the saline and there is no blood return. At least the second time I didn’t pass out. So instead of a simple clinic visit, I get poked twice in the chest for no good reason except to cause a pain in my neck (no pun intended), poked once in each arm for blood cultures (necessary to have cultures from two different areas when checking for infections), had 2 chest X-rays (one to check the port and one to check for a respiratory infection) and a nasal washing (check for influenza and pneumonia, Dana Farber’s version of water boarding).
Being cancer free doesn’t mean stress free, pain free, or free from any normal sicknesses, viral infections, or flues that afflict everyone else. It just means I’m cancer free and still share everyone else’s problems. Please don’t welcome me to the club, I am charter member.
Here’s my update since Thanksgiving. Been fighting a viral infection resulting in two missed days with Gabe, one missed date, one clinic visit, one passing out, four placed IV lines, two chest X-rays, one nasal washing, one pain in my neck, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I know this is the time of year for giving, but really…Give me a Break!
Cheers
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thanksgiving
This time last year, I wasn't thankful for anything. I know it sounds horrible but being two weeks removed from one month in the hospital doesn't make you very grateful or thankful.
Here is a list (in no particular order) of what I am thankful for this year.
Gabriel, my son. Daddy loves you!
Beau, my brother, without him I wouldn't be writing this list
My family, most notably my parents
My friends - it is really easy to give up on someone when they seem down in and out
My wonderful team of oncologists
All of my new brothers from the Masons
Chinese food
Pizza
Beer (in moderation of course)
Good and Bad comic book movies
The Food Network
and most importantly complete remission from lymphoma
Like I mentioned before, this list is in no particular order but just some of things I am thankful for now and will not take for granted anytime soon. Be thankful for everyday you breath and experience life. Be thankful for the people in your life who love you whether you're being a pain in the ass or a complete angel. Not much more to say.
I hope everyone had a safe and Happy Thanksgiving and you survived black Friday if you were brave enough to go.
Cheers!
Here is a list (in no particular order) of what I am thankful for this year.
Gabriel, my son. Daddy loves you!
Beau, my brother, without him I wouldn't be writing this list
My family, most notably my parents
My friends - it is really easy to give up on someone when they seem down in and out
My wonderful team of oncologists
All of my new brothers from the Masons
Chinese food
Pizza
Beer (in moderation of course)
Good and Bad comic book movies
The Food Network
and most importantly complete remission from lymphoma
Like I mentioned before, this list is in no particular order but just some of things I am thankful for now and will not take for granted anytime soon. Be thankful for everyday you breath and experience life. Be thankful for the people in your life who love you whether you're being a pain in the ass or a complete angel. Not much more to say.
I hope everyone had a safe and Happy Thanksgiving and you survived black Friday if you were brave enough to go.
Cheers!
Monday, November 23, 2009
Blood on the Down
Neutrophil granulocytes, commonly referred to as Neutrophils, are the most abundant type of white blood cells in humans and form an essential part of the immune system. Neutrophils are typically found in your blood stream. However, in the beginning stages of inflammation, particularly with bacterial infections and some cancers, neutrophils are one of the first responders of inflammatory cells to move toward the inflamed site.
On two separate occasions since my diagnosis with cancer, my Neutrophil count has dropped to zero. On both occasions I’ve been hospitalized. As far as I know you need to have a Neutrophil count of at least five, or at least I needed MY count to be five to be released from the hospital.
My first experience with a low Neutrophil count was following my third treatment of chemotherapy around July 4th of 2008. I had a high temperature, mouth sores, dehydration, and exhaustion. After contacting my oncologist, I went to Dana Farber to be checked out. Upon arrival to the hospital, my temperature was 102.5. As soon as the nurse started to draw blood cultures, I passed out and had the first and only seizure of my life.
Waking up from a seizure and seeing 20 strange faces in front of you, your wife crying and people yelling “Code” and trying to stick you with IV needles is quite the experience. If I hadn’t just regained consciousness, I probably would have passed out again. I didn’t know what happened and no one would answer my two questions. “What happened?” and “What does that mean?”
Regardless, I was placed on a stretcher, put in an ambulance and taken to Brigham and Women’s Hospital. After five days of tests, IV fluids and antibiotics, my Neutrophils rose to a normal level, my temperature dropped but we never found out what kind of infection I had.
Now this past Memorial day, I had no temperature, felt fine and just happened to be at clinic for my regular monthly check-up, but I had no Neutrophils in my blood work. I went to Boston for a check up and ended up staying in the hospital for 5 days. Tons of scans, blood work, and even another bone marrow biopsy found no infections or problems in my body. My Neutrophils were at zero for 3 days. Day four it rose to one and morning five it was at twenty-two and I was released.
I think my point is whether I feel sick or don’t, whenever I have blood work done there is always a chance I will hospitalized. The doctors and nurses will poke and prod. They won’t find any problems and I’ll magically be better 3-4 days. Talk about frustrating!
I want to close this post my saying I am very proud of my son. We just celebrated his 3rd birthday. I don’t remember his birthday last year as I was only 16 days removed from the stem cell transplant. Gabe is adjusting so well to life with his parents separated. He can spell his name, count to 24, sing “you are my sunshine”, ask to use the potty, and wants to help or do everything my himself. He knows his full name, his mommy’s and daddy’s names. He says “I love you” all the time. He is SO special and SO smart. He will be my legacy one day when I’m gone and I couldn’t be prouder.
Daddy loves you, Gabe. Happy Birthday!
~Cheers
On two separate occasions since my diagnosis with cancer, my Neutrophil count has dropped to zero. On both occasions I’ve been hospitalized. As far as I know you need to have a Neutrophil count of at least five, or at least I needed MY count to be five to be released from the hospital.
My first experience with a low Neutrophil count was following my third treatment of chemotherapy around July 4th of 2008. I had a high temperature, mouth sores, dehydration, and exhaustion. After contacting my oncologist, I went to Dana Farber to be checked out. Upon arrival to the hospital, my temperature was 102.5. As soon as the nurse started to draw blood cultures, I passed out and had the first and only seizure of my life.
Waking up from a seizure and seeing 20 strange faces in front of you, your wife crying and people yelling “Code” and trying to stick you with IV needles is quite the experience. If I hadn’t just regained consciousness, I probably would have passed out again. I didn’t know what happened and no one would answer my two questions. “What happened?” and “What does that mean?”
Regardless, I was placed on a stretcher, put in an ambulance and taken to Brigham and Women’s Hospital. After five days of tests, IV fluids and antibiotics, my Neutrophils rose to a normal level, my temperature dropped but we never found out what kind of infection I had.
Now this past Memorial day, I had no temperature, felt fine and just happened to be at clinic for my regular monthly check-up, but I had no Neutrophils in my blood work. I went to Boston for a check up and ended up staying in the hospital for 5 days. Tons of scans, blood work, and even another bone marrow biopsy found no infections or problems in my body. My Neutrophils were at zero for 3 days. Day four it rose to one and morning five it was at twenty-two and I was released.
I think my point is whether I feel sick or don’t, whenever I have blood work done there is always a chance I will hospitalized. The doctors and nurses will poke and prod. They won’t find any problems and I’ll magically be better 3-4 days. Talk about frustrating!
I want to close this post my saying I am very proud of my son. We just celebrated his 3rd birthday. I don’t remember his birthday last year as I was only 16 days removed from the stem cell transplant. Gabe is adjusting so well to life with his parents separated. He can spell his name, count to 24, sing “you are my sunshine”, ask to use the potty, and wants to help or do everything my himself. He knows his full name, his mommy’s and daddy’s names. He says “I love you” all the time. He is SO special and SO smart. He will be my legacy one day when I’m gone and I couldn’t be prouder.
Daddy loves you, Gabe. Happy Birthday!
~Cheers
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Coming Home Again
Who says you can never go home? I’ve done it several times in the past. Thanks to my parents I have always had that option. I came home after college. I came home after a failed apartment experiment. And most recently I came home after a failed marriage.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank my parents for their continued love and support throughout all my endeavors in life. They’ve dealt with my best on the stage, on the field, in high school, in college, at the workplace and my worst with relationships, my struggles with teenage angst, depression, suicide, and cancer.
Several of my supporters have asked me to write about a topic I wasn’t truly ready to tackle. For the love of my son Gabriel, I won’t go into great detail and will keep this somewhat short.
Let me say I have no regrets In life, but Lord knows, I have made my fair share mistakes. Just a few being attempting suicide in high school, attacking a friend in college, buying a house far out of my financial means and my marriage. Hindsight is always 20/20 and you can‘t change the past. All we can do is learn from it.
My wife and I were engaged three months before finding out we were pregnant with our first and only child, Gabriel. His due date and our wedding date were set only weeks apart. So, we cancelled our wedding plans, got back what deposits we could, flew out to Las Vegas on May 21, 2006 and got hitched. On November 21st of that same year, Gabriel was born.
Less than three years after our Las Vegas marriage, my wife asked for a divorce. There are many reasons she asked for a divorce and I know my sickness was one of them. Life hasn’t been easy for me but I know it must not have been easy for her either, dealing with someone sick on a daily basis for 10 months. Going in and out of Boston for treatments. Taking care of a toddler by herself while I lay in a hospital bed. Living with someone who didn’t share compassion and had all but lost his passion for life.
Perhaps, I am naïve but I always thought marriage was taking the good with the bad. Sickness and health. Richer or poorer. Until death due us part. I now know this is just rhetoric and doesn’t mean much. I actually had to keep myself from laughing at a recent wedding when I heard these vows repeated by the bride and groom. How sad is that?
And despite everything that’s happened, I still believe in love and would like to find my happy ending. My happily ever after. But I realize, it won’t come from someone else. I need to find my own happiness as does everyone. Whether it is cooking, sewing, music, art, religion, exercise or doing nothing at all. If you can’t make yourself smile, don’t expect someone else too.
I love my son so much I am not going to divulge anymore of my feelings here. I could go on for much, much longer, but I’ll keep my harsher feelings on this matter between me, my journal, and my counselor.
Thank you again for taking the time to read. I still have so much to say but am so unorganized. Stay with me. There is MUCH more to come.
~Cheers
I would like to take this opportunity to thank my parents for their continued love and support throughout all my endeavors in life. They’ve dealt with my best on the stage, on the field, in high school, in college, at the workplace and my worst with relationships, my struggles with teenage angst, depression, suicide, and cancer.
Several of my supporters have asked me to write about a topic I wasn’t truly ready to tackle. For the love of my son Gabriel, I won’t go into great detail and will keep this somewhat short.
Let me say I have no regrets In life, but Lord knows, I have made my fair share mistakes. Just a few being attempting suicide in high school, attacking a friend in college, buying a house far out of my financial means and my marriage. Hindsight is always 20/20 and you can‘t change the past. All we can do is learn from it.
My wife and I were engaged three months before finding out we were pregnant with our first and only child, Gabriel. His due date and our wedding date were set only weeks apart. So, we cancelled our wedding plans, got back what deposits we could, flew out to Las Vegas on May 21, 2006 and got hitched. On November 21st of that same year, Gabriel was born.
Less than three years after our Las Vegas marriage, my wife asked for a divorce. There are many reasons she asked for a divorce and I know my sickness was one of them. Life hasn’t been easy for me but I know it must not have been easy for her either, dealing with someone sick on a daily basis for 10 months. Going in and out of Boston for treatments. Taking care of a toddler by herself while I lay in a hospital bed. Living with someone who didn’t share compassion and had all but lost his passion for life.
Perhaps, I am naïve but I always thought marriage was taking the good with the bad. Sickness and health. Richer or poorer. Until death due us part. I now know this is just rhetoric and doesn’t mean much. I actually had to keep myself from laughing at a recent wedding when I heard these vows repeated by the bride and groom. How sad is that?
And despite everything that’s happened, I still believe in love and would like to find my happy ending. My happily ever after. But I realize, it won’t come from someone else. I need to find my own happiness as does everyone. Whether it is cooking, sewing, music, art, religion, exercise or doing nothing at all. If you can’t make yourself smile, don’t expect someone else too.
I love my son so much I am not going to divulge anymore of my feelings here. I could go on for much, much longer, but I’ll keep my harsher feelings on this matter between me, my journal, and my counselor.
Thank you again for taking the time to read. I still have so much to say but am so unorganized. Stay with me. There is MUCH more to come.
~Cheers
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Chimerism
“Chimerism (Marrow Transplant Engraftment) Monitoring assesses the relative ratio of donor and recipient cell populations in the post-transplant peripheral blood and/or bone marrow of the patient.”
Since the stem cell transplant, my oncologists perform chimerism studies (blood work) every couple of months to determine the percentage of my brother’s cells in my blood stream. My most recent study just came back and I am 100% my brother’s cells. Obviously this is outstanding news.
However it isn’t always peaches and cream. There are many things that can go wrong with a donor stem cell transplant. The same way things can go wrong with an organ transplant. Even with a perfect match, complications can occur. The worst, of course, resulting in death.
Wikipedia states Graft-versus-host disease (GVHD) is a common complication of allogeneic bone marrow transplantation in which functional immune cells in the transplanted marrow recognize the recipient as "foreign" and mount an immunologic attack. It can also take place in a blood transfusion under certain circumstances.
In simpler terms, your body rejects the new stuff and tries to fight it off by any means necessary. I have some first hand experience with GVHD, even with a 100% chimerism of Beau’s cells.
Seven months ago, my breathing became so labored I was using an oxygen machine. I landed in the hospital for 4 days over Memorial Day weekend and have been taking steroids ever since. Luckily, the steroids corrected my breathing but left my body a battered, bloated, and fluid-filled mess.
Funny thing about steroids…the first 4-6 weeks I felt empowered and unstoppable. This must be the reason why athletes use them but only in cycles. Since those initial weeks, the muscles in my legs and lower back deteriorated to the point where I had to push myself up from chairs because my legs were too weak. I actually fractured my lower back trying to pick up my son and needed 2 weeks of bed rest and 3 months of physical therapy.
And don’t get me started on the hunger and eating related problems. There wasn’t enough food in the house to keep my appetite at bay. I am a good eater anyway and this just made things worse. But once the energy went away, the pounds packed on as did the fluid. Unfortunately, now the fluid is in my skin and not my veins, so I have to wait until the steroids are completely tapered down before the fluid will hopefully flush out of my body. Ugh!!!
The moral of this story is. You need to take the good with the bad. I wouldn’t have gotten to this point (cancer free) without having been through many struggles. The initial battle is over but the war still rages on.
Keep me in your prayers and I’ll keep up my spirit and the fight.
~Cheers
Since the stem cell transplant, my oncologists perform chimerism studies (blood work) every couple of months to determine the percentage of my brother’s cells in my blood stream. My most recent study just came back and I am 100% my brother’s cells. Obviously this is outstanding news.
However it isn’t always peaches and cream. There are many things that can go wrong with a donor stem cell transplant. The same way things can go wrong with an organ transplant. Even with a perfect match, complications can occur. The worst, of course, resulting in death.
Wikipedia states Graft-versus-host disease (GVHD) is a common complication of allogeneic bone marrow transplantation in which functional immune cells in the transplanted marrow recognize the recipient as "foreign" and mount an immunologic attack. It can also take place in a blood transfusion under certain circumstances.
In simpler terms, your body rejects the new stuff and tries to fight it off by any means necessary. I have some first hand experience with GVHD, even with a 100% chimerism of Beau’s cells.
Seven months ago, my breathing became so labored I was using an oxygen machine. I landed in the hospital for 4 days over Memorial Day weekend and have been taking steroids ever since. Luckily, the steroids corrected my breathing but left my body a battered, bloated, and fluid-filled mess.
Funny thing about steroids…the first 4-6 weeks I felt empowered and unstoppable. This must be the reason why athletes use them but only in cycles. Since those initial weeks, the muscles in my legs and lower back deteriorated to the point where I had to push myself up from chairs because my legs were too weak. I actually fractured my lower back trying to pick up my son and needed 2 weeks of bed rest and 3 months of physical therapy.
And don’t get me started on the hunger and eating related problems. There wasn’t enough food in the house to keep my appetite at bay. I am a good eater anyway and this just made things worse. But once the energy went away, the pounds packed on as did the fluid. Unfortunately, now the fluid is in my skin and not my veins, so I have to wait until the steroids are completely tapered down before the fluid will hopefully flush out of my body. Ugh!!!
The moral of this story is. You need to take the good with the bad. I wouldn’t have gotten to this point (cancer free) without having been through many struggles. The initial battle is over but the war still rages on.
Keep me in your prayers and I’ll keep up my spirit and the fight.
~Cheers
Friday, November 6, 2009
Looking for a New Direction
Good day to all my friends, family, and brethren. Today, we will be covering an interesting topic. That topic being…drum roll please - What do I do now?
Ok, ok, I know this sounds ridiculous but just hear me out. As you know, a week ago I was diagnosed cancer free. For the past 18 months, besides thinking and caring for my son, my only concern, focus, and identity has been on me and my battle with lymphoma.
Granted I am still on several medications (immune suppressants and steroids), which keep me from resuming a regular work schedule and social life. Also, I am in the midst of getting divorced, attempting to sell a house, and eventually moving out from under my parents’ roof and living on my own again. Outside of these items, I am getting closer to the light at the end of the tunnel.
My problem…when I reach that light what do I do? I have been so self contained with cancer, I am not sure where to begin or how. I want to travel. I want to find a new career. I want to spend more quality time with my son. I want to be able to find someone to share life experiences with (although I am unprepared for that now). I want to find more happiness in my daily life.
I am reaching out to anyone reading this blog. I am open to comments, criticisms, ideas, reflections, all of the above. Give me your insight as I am looking for a path.
Thank you and as always cheers!
Ok, ok, I know this sounds ridiculous but just hear me out. As you know, a week ago I was diagnosed cancer free. For the past 18 months, besides thinking and caring for my son, my only concern, focus, and identity has been on me and my battle with lymphoma.
Granted I am still on several medications (immune suppressants and steroids), which keep me from resuming a regular work schedule and social life. Also, I am in the midst of getting divorced, attempting to sell a house, and eventually moving out from under my parents’ roof and living on my own again. Outside of these items, I am getting closer to the light at the end of the tunnel.
My problem…when I reach that light what do I do? I have been so self contained with cancer, I am not sure where to begin or how. I want to travel. I want to find a new career. I want to spend more quality time with my son. I want to be able to find someone to share life experiences with (although I am unprepared for that now). I want to find more happiness in my daily life.
I am reaching out to anyone reading this blog. I am open to comments, criticisms, ideas, reflections, all of the above. Give me your insight as I am looking for a path.
Thank you and as always cheers!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Rendered Speechless
I am going to keep this post short. Today, October 29, 2009, I went to Dana Farber Cancer Institute for a CT/PET Scan. This scan was to show how far into remission the cancer in my body as come since the start of my treatments on May 16, 2008.
Dr. Alfred Lee, who has been with me since the beginning, came into clinic today and told me I was in complete remission. With my own eyes, I viewed the pictures from the scan that showed no contrast in my right leg, where 18 months ago it was completely infected with Lymphoma. I was rendered speechless. Anyone who knows me, realizes this is almost an impossible task to accomplish.
So, again I will keep this short. Today is a day to savor and reflect. I couldn’t be happier and am still not sure how to express it. Thank you again to everyone who has supported me through this journey. It isn’t over yet, but we are getting closer to the end.
~Cheers
Dr. Alfred Lee, who has been with me since the beginning, came into clinic today and told me I was in complete remission. With my own eyes, I viewed the pictures from the scan that showed no contrast in my right leg, where 18 months ago it was completely infected with Lymphoma. I was rendered speechless. Anyone who knows me, realizes this is almost an impossible task to accomplish.
So, again I will keep this short. Today is a day to savor and reflect. I couldn’t be happier and am still not sure how to express it. Thank you again to everyone who has supported me through this journey. It isn’t over yet, but we are getting closer to the end.
~Cheers
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Wait and See
Let me start this post by thanking someone for asking me to create this blog. Over six months ago, my friend, Minesh, suggested I start a blog about my story. He thought others may find it motivational and in some way I feel it has been therapeutic for me. Minesh and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but he has a good heart and had always been there for me if I needed him. There isn’t much more you can ask from a friend. Thank you.
This up-coming Thursday Oct. 29th, I have a CT/PET Scan to find out how far into remission the cancer is since the stem cell transplant one year ago. To say the least, I am quite anxious. I will be at Dana Farber at 8am for blood work, 9:45am for the scan, and then 11 and 11:30am with my oncologists for my normal monthly check-up with blood and scan results.
My last scheduled scan was three months following the transplant and showed diminished size of the lymphoma in my leg. This time around I am obviously hoping for improvement or at the very least no change at all. I won’t begin to discuss my feelings if the scan shows something other than those two outcomes. You can use your imagination.
I am going to keep my fingers crossed and try to stay as positive as possible. Of course, if that fails; I always have my Celexa and Ativan to fall back on. I may post again before Thursday, but it might be difficult to keep any thoughts straight.
Keep me in your prayers and I will update again soon.
~Cheers
This up-coming Thursday Oct. 29th, I have a CT/PET Scan to find out how far into remission the cancer is since the stem cell transplant one year ago. To say the least, I am quite anxious. I will be at Dana Farber at 8am for blood work, 9:45am for the scan, and then 11 and 11:30am with my oncologists for my normal monthly check-up with blood and scan results.
My last scheduled scan was three months following the transplant and showed diminished size of the lymphoma in my leg. This time around I am obviously hoping for improvement or at the very least no change at all. I won’t begin to discuss my feelings if the scan shows something other than those two outcomes. You can use your imagination.
I am going to keep my fingers crossed and try to stay as positive as possible. Of course, if that fails; I always have my Celexa and Ativan to fall back on. I may post again before Thursday, but it might be difficult to keep any thoughts straight.
Keep me in your prayers and I will update again soon.
~Cheers
Friday, October 23, 2009
My New Birthday
Today is my unofficial new birthday. October 23, 2008, I received an infusion of stem cells at Brigham and Women’s hospital. The nurses say this is a rebirth because it changes my blood type and rebuilds my blood counts and immune system from ground zero. After the conditioning process, (already described in a prior post), if the donor stem cells are accepted by my body, they should destroy any remaining cancer cells and provide me with 30-40 years of life without relapse. So far so good with one year down.
Needless to say, this is an emotional day for me. Now a little background again. I still don’t quite understand the process used to find a stem cell match. It isn’t as simple as matching a blood type. There are specific items the doctors need to see within the blood to find the perfect match or at least one close enough. You would think siblings and relatives might be the best donors but only 25% of all siblings end up being a patient’s donor. My memory is a bit foggy but it was my understanding I only had a half-dozen potential matches in the bank of registered blood donors.
Now, I’m a gambler. I’ve never won big but I do love Vegas, Foxwoods, Mohegan, the lottery, scratch tickets…so I decided to roll the dice. And wouldn’t you know…I hit pay dirt! My only sibling, Beau, was tested and found to be a perfect match.
He traveled back and forth from St. Louis to Boston for testing, physicals, counseling, the actual donation, and he also went through a series of shots to increase and mobilize the stem cell levels in his body. The donation process is interesting. The machine resembles a dialysis machine. Beau had one IV in each arm. One IV taking his blood out, which was then cycled through the machine to separate the stem cells for me, then returning the platelets and red blood cells to him through the other IV. This is an eight hour process, where his entire blood supply is cycled 3-4 times. No fun to say the least.
As if this wasn’t enough, the staff found Beau to be a bad mobilizer. Basically even with the shots, his body didn’t produce a high enough level of stem cells needed for my transplant. So not only did he donate cells on the 23rd, but also on the 24th and was required to have a full bone marrow harvest on October 28th. This is a full surgical procedure, where three holes are made in the hip bone (while sedated) and bone marrow is extracted for later infusion.
There are no words to truly describe the feelings towards Beau. He is my big brother, my confidant, and my best friend. And after this procedure, he became my savoir. How does one find words for someone who attempts to save your life? Impossible. His blood now runs through my veins (literally) and I can only hope it will make me a better person and I’m not speaking solely of my health.
Today, I celebrate my new birthday and in doing so, I want to send all my love and thanks to Beau Richmond. I wouldn’t be here today if you were not part of my life.
~Cheers
Needless to say, this is an emotional day for me. Now a little background again. I still don’t quite understand the process used to find a stem cell match. It isn’t as simple as matching a blood type. There are specific items the doctors need to see within the blood to find the perfect match or at least one close enough. You would think siblings and relatives might be the best donors but only 25% of all siblings end up being a patient’s donor. My memory is a bit foggy but it was my understanding I only had a half-dozen potential matches in the bank of registered blood donors.
Now, I’m a gambler. I’ve never won big but I do love Vegas, Foxwoods, Mohegan, the lottery, scratch tickets…so I decided to roll the dice. And wouldn’t you know…I hit pay dirt! My only sibling, Beau, was tested and found to be a perfect match.
He traveled back and forth from St. Louis to Boston for testing, physicals, counseling, the actual donation, and he also went through a series of shots to increase and mobilize the stem cell levels in his body. The donation process is interesting. The machine resembles a dialysis machine. Beau had one IV in each arm. One IV taking his blood out, which was then cycled through the machine to separate the stem cells for me, then returning the platelets and red blood cells to him through the other IV. This is an eight hour process, where his entire blood supply is cycled 3-4 times. No fun to say the least.
As if this wasn’t enough, the staff found Beau to be a bad mobilizer. Basically even with the shots, his body didn’t produce a high enough level of stem cells needed for my transplant. So not only did he donate cells on the 23rd, but also on the 24th and was required to have a full bone marrow harvest on October 28th. This is a full surgical procedure, where three holes are made in the hip bone (while sedated) and bone marrow is extracted for later infusion.
There are no words to truly describe the feelings towards Beau. He is my big brother, my confidant, and my best friend. And after this procedure, he became my savoir. How does one find words for someone who attempts to save your life? Impossible. His blood now runs through my veins (literally) and I can only hope it will make me a better person and I’m not speaking solely of my health.
Today, I celebrate my new birthday and in doing so, I want to send all my love and thanks to Beau Richmond. I wouldn’t be here today if you were not part of my life.
~Cheers
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Diagnosis
Today I’m going to backtrack a bit and talk about how everything came to a head.
Back in very early 2008, I noticed two small red bumps (size of a pencil eraser) on my right leg, one by my ankle and one on the back of my calf. At the time this didn’t seem strange or odd but in the coming months that would change drastically. With each passing week, these bumps got larger, then swollen, and painful. By late March, I was having trouble walking and both bumps were now the size of racquetballs. Time to see a doctor.
My primary care physician put me a course of antibiotics in hopes this was a staph infection of some nature but after seven days there were no changes. I was then referred to a general surgeon, who first performed two series of ultrasounds to rule out possible blood clots. As these tests came back negative, the next step was the dreaded biopsy.
Two small biopsies were taken (one from each bump) and within 10 days time I received a phone call. “Mr. Richmond, I am terribly sorry to give this news, but the biopsies show you have a subcutaneous B-cell Lymphoma.”
Hold the frickin’ phone! I’m at work, not a care in the world, and to the most part completely ignorant to the wide world of cancer. The doctor might as well been speaking Chinese because I had no clue what just happened until he said, “I can refer you to the North Shore Cancer Center if you’d like?” OK, there is was in plain English…”Cancer”. My whole world as I knew it collapsed.
First I called my wife (soon to be ex now). Then I called my parents and my brother. I told a few close co-workers, instructed my boss I’d be leaving for the day and then somehow managed to drive 50 miles home with tears streaming, anger brooding, and hope dwindling. My main focus was my son Gabe and what time did I have left.
I decided if I was going to have cancer and fight the good fight, I might as well be seen by the best oncologists in New England. I immediately called the Dana Farber Cancer Institute, had a second larger biopsy taken from my calf (to get the classification of Lymphoma, there are over 85 kinds of non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma), and made an appointment with Dr. Arnold Freedman. He is an amazing oncologist, who focuses on Lymphomas. He and fellow Dr. Alfred Lee would oversee the next six months of my chemotherapy treatment.
I’ll get more into that shortly. I need a break. Thanks for reading.
~Cheers
Back in very early 2008, I noticed two small red bumps (size of a pencil eraser) on my right leg, one by my ankle and one on the back of my calf. At the time this didn’t seem strange or odd but in the coming months that would change drastically. With each passing week, these bumps got larger, then swollen, and painful. By late March, I was having trouble walking and both bumps were now the size of racquetballs. Time to see a doctor.
My primary care physician put me a course of antibiotics in hopes this was a staph infection of some nature but after seven days there were no changes. I was then referred to a general surgeon, who first performed two series of ultrasounds to rule out possible blood clots. As these tests came back negative, the next step was the dreaded biopsy.
Two small biopsies were taken (one from each bump) and within 10 days time I received a phone call. “Mr. Richmond, I am terribly sorry to give this news, but the biopsies show you have a subcutaneous B-cell Lymphoma.”
Hold the frickin’ phone! I’m at work, not a care in the world, and to the most part completely ignorant to the wide world of cancer. The doctor might as well been speaking Chinese because I had no clue what just happened until he said, “I can refer you to the North Shore Cancer Center if you’d like?” OK, there is was in plain English…”Cancer”. My whole world as I knew it collapsed.
First I called my wife (soon to be ex now). Then I called my parents and my brother. I told a few close co-workers, instructed my boss I’d be leaving for the day and then somehow managed to drive 50 miles home with tears streaming, anger brooding, and hope dwindling. My main focus was my son Gabe and what time did I have left.
I decided if I was going to have cancer and fight the good fight, I might as well be seen by the best oncologists in New England. I immediately called the Dana Farber Cancer Institute, had a second larger biopsy taken from my calf (to get the classification of Lymphoma, there are over 85 kinds of non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma), and made an appointment with Dr. Arnold Freedman. He is an amazing oncologist, who focuses on Lymphomas. He and fellow Dr. Alfred Lee would oversee the next six months of my chemotherapy treatment.
I’ll get more into that shortly. I need a break. Thanks for reading.
~Cheers
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Conditioning
This time one year ago, I was getting ready for an evening cocktail of Cytoxan. Cytoxan also known as cytophosphane, is a nitrogen mustard alkylating agent, from the oxazophorines group. It is a chemotherapy used to fight lymphomas and some leukemia by infusion. In my case, it was the beginning of a 6-day “conditioning” process to destroy my immune system prior to receiving an infusion of stem cells.
This is how it works. Two nights of Cytoxan, followed by 4 days with 7 doses of full body radiation. After experiencing 5 months of chemotherapy prior to the stem cell transplant, I was aware of most of the chemotherapy side affects. However after only a few minor sessions of localized radiation on my right leg, I had no idea the toll full body radiation would take on me.
Diarrhea, vomiting, dry skin, itchiness, mouth sores, throat sores, fevers, body aches, muscle aches, lack of energy, lack of appetite, lack of taste, dry mouth, depression….you name it, I pretty much got it. In one word, “Hell”. If there weren’t pictures of my son hanging in the room to keep me motivated, death would have been a welcomed option.
Now, I’m not sure how real I want to make this, but there wasn’t a day that passed in the hospital where I didn’t cry. I spent 30 minutes sobbing, every morning and every afternoon that I was brought down to the radiation lab for treatment. Laying on a slab, with a plastic box over my head crying. It feels like a tanning bed but it isn’t like preparing for vacation. I was a mess.
Let me apologize if my comments and messages seem a little unorganized and scattered. I have so much to get out and am not sure the best way. Just stick with me and we’ll get through this together.
I’m spent for now. In the next few blogs, I’ll get into my 5 months of chemo, actual diagnosis and presentation, and the donor of my stem cells.
This is how it works. Two nights of Cytoxan, followed by 4 days with 7 doses of full body radiation. After experiencing 5 months of chemotherapy prior to the stem cell transplant, I was aware of most of the chemotherapy side affects. However after only a few minor sessions of localized radiation on my right leg, I had no idea the toll full body radiation would take on me.
Diarrhea, vomiting, dry skin, itchiness, mouth sores, throat sores, fevers, body aches, muscle aches, lack of energy, lack of appetite, lack of taste, dry mouth, depression….you name it, I pretty much got it. In one word, “Hell”. If there weren’t pictures of my son hanging in the room to keep me motivated, death would have been a welcomed option.
Now, I’m not sure how real I want to make this, but there wasn’t a day that passed in the hospital where I didn’t cry. I spent 30 minutes sobbing, every morning and every afternoon that I was brought down to the radiation lab for treatment. Laying on a slab, with a plastic box over my head crying. It feels like a tanning bed but it isn’t like preparing for vacation. I was a mess.
Let me apologize if my comments and messages seem a little unorganized and scattered. I have so much to get out and am not sure the best way. Just stick with me and we’ll get through this together.
I’m spent for now. In the next few blogs, I’ll get into my 5 months of chemo, actual diagnosis and presentation, and the donor of my stem cells.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
The First Post
So, where does a person begin a story of epic proportion. Maybe I’ll do this Tarantino style. We’ll start in the middle, work our way backwards, and then have a big finish. I could just be straight forward or I could myself and start and stop and jump for event to event with no real rhyme or reason. Either way, here we go.
I’m a 31-year old male, who is attempting to survive a battle with cancer. What kind you ask? Mantle Cell Lymphoma (MCL). Yes, Mantle Cell Lymphoma. You’ve never heard of MCL?! Don’t feel bad. I had never heard of it either in April ‘08, when the oncologists at Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston gave me their diagnosis.
Let’s tell you a little bit about Mantle Cell. It is a B-cell non-Hodgkins Lymphoma and one of the rarest. Only 5-7% of all non-Hodgkins cancer patients per year will fall into the category of MCL. It is most commonly diagnosed in males over the age of 60. There is no known cure for MCL. Even with active treatments of chemotherapy, radiation and bone marrow transplants, most patients will fall victim to MCL between 3-6 years of diagnosis.
Today is October 17, 2009 and one year ago I was admitted to Brigham and Women’s Hospital to begin the process of a donor stem cell transplant (similar to a bone marrow transplant) to hopefully save my life and buy as much time as possible while being afflicted with this horrible blood disease.
This is only the first post of a what might end up being a long lasting blog. I've had a few friends ask me to tell my story as they see it may bring hope and motivation to others, fighting cancer, illness, or other problems in their lives.
I want to thank those friends and family and my very loyal medical staff who have stuck with me through from diagnosis 18 months ago though my current attempt at recovery and remission. There is much more story to tell, so please stick with me as this ride is going to get bumpier before it smooths out.
Cheers!
I’m a 31-year old male, who is attempting to survive a battle with cancer. What kind you ask? Mantle Cell Lymphoma (MCL). Yes, Mantle Cell Lymphoma. You’ve never heard of MCL?! Don’t feel bad. I had never heard of it either in April ‘08, when the oncologists at Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston gave me their diagnosis.
Let’s tell you a little bit about Mantle Cell. It is a B-cell non-Hodgkins Lymphoma and one of the rarest. Only 5-7% of all non-Hodgkins cancer patients per year will fall into the category of MCL. It is most commonly diagnosed in males over the age of 60. There is no known cure for MCL. Even with active treatments of chemotherapy, radiation and bone marrow transplants, most patients will fall victim to MCL between 3-6 years of diagnosis.
Today is October 17, 2009 and one year ago I was admitted to Brigham and Women’s Hospital to begin the process of a donor stem cell transplant (similar to a bone marrow transplant) to hopefully save my life and buy as much time as possible while being afflicted with this horrible blood disease.
This is only the first post of a what might end up being a long lasting blog. I've had a few friends ask me to tell my story as they see it may bring hope and motivation to others, fighting cancer, illness, or other problems in their lives.
I want to thank those friends and family and my very loyal medical staff who have stuck with me through from diagnosis 18 months ago though my current attempt at recovery and remission. There is much more story to tell, so please stick with me as this ride is going to get bumpier before it smooths out.
Cheers!
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