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
Thursday, October 29, 2009
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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