Alrighty kiddies... the news many of you have been waiting to hear. I had written to a few of you to fill you in on the bone marrow biopsy test results, but now can share the news with everyone.
According to the Stanford labs, they could not even find any sign of my ever even having had cancer at all, and no signs of having taken chemo. Now I'm considered "not human", as they expected me to feel horrible and be laying around.
No way. I've been out and about since a couple of days out of the hospital. (And for those of you who are new to what I'm talking about... read my earlier blogs. I had gotten one of the rarest, deadliest forms of Leukemia in July, and beat it in about 60 days.)
So, I finally saw my oncologists on the 19th and was given the clear bill of health. I am now officially in remission. And that was from just one chemo treatment (of four separate shots) while I was locked in the hospital room for the month of August.
Apparently that is not the norm (although some people do do as well), and now I can actually say that I have the 90% chance of being completely cured with no relapses. Now it's just down to two more chemo shots in the next few weeks (starting this Monday), and then those fun ATRA (All-Trains Retinoic Acid, a Retin-A derivative) pills for one year.
I should be fully back in action by around December. Good deal. I'm going to be locked down for the next 2 - 4 weeks (for the most part), so I'll be online and answering my phone more often for whomever wanted to chat or get a hold of me. I will be a captive audience, and not pull my disappearing acts. Anyway... just wanted to let everyone know. Miracle Boy beats Leukemia.
Woo hoo! Thanks again, as always, for everyone's support.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Tuesday, October 4, 2005
Bone Marrow Biopsies and Beating Imminent Doom
For those of you who have been following the story so far, keep reading...
For those of you who are new to this, read the (several) previous blogs about how I went from being on vacation in San Diego in July, to suddenly finding out I have two days left to live, to finding that I have one of the rarest forms of Leukemia, to now apparently having beat it in less than 60 days. hehehe...
Oh yeah, I just didn't feel like dying this year.
So... the story continues -
On Wed. Sept. 21, I went in for my second bone marrow biopsy - the next best thing to getting a spinal tap. My first was the day after I got into the hospital at the end of July. The difference here... I had this one done by a Dr. Diamante, the head of the department.
For those who don't know what's involved...
I have a couple of needles stuck into my back hip area to search and numb the area.
They find a good section of hip bone, near enough to the spine, and proceed to skewer a "core sampler" type of needle/rod into the flesh, and down into the bone. This involves cutting into the bone, removing the small knife, and then grinding a smaller needle into the bone using a T-handle.
Apparently with me, it took a bit of arm power and perspiration.
"You've got good bones.", the doctor told me a couple of times, a bit sarcastically.
Although I felt the pressure, it was relatively painless (or I'm just really used to pain by now). Actually it was numbed up enough.
OK... that aside, I was supposed to get my test results back in a couple of days. It took about 10.
On this past Fri. Sept. 30, I got a call from a Stanford lab doctor. He was basically talking to me as any old cancer patient, so I got the clue that he didn't really know much about me.
I asked, for my next chemo treatment (I have two shots left in Oct. and Nov.) if I would be admitted as an in-patient.
He said, "I'll be blunt. Most people don't handle this chemo very well. Some don't get through it. You will feel pretty bad during that time. So yes, you will be admitted."
As we talked, I definitely got the impression that he needed to read my records. He mentioned that he couldn't make out the oncologist's notes very well, but he started to read my charts, and other doctor notes as we spoke.
At this point the lab doc starts saying, "Wow! Wow! Unbelievable! This is not possible." I then told him that I already had the major chemo and not only gone through it without any issues, but enjoyed the whole experience. Also, I told him that I had gone to work just a few days out of my 30-day stay in the isolated hospital room. This doc just kept with the "No way! Wow!" commentary.
I had made mention that I wanted to know about being an in-patient, as I had a possible film production job later in Oct. He then told me what was going on.
The doc said flatly, "There is not one sign of any more cancer in your marrow or body, not in your marrow or blood tests. I was told what to look for in the tests. It took so long because we went over it with a fine tooth comb to sub-atomic levels. If I didn't know what was going on, I would say that you showed no signs of ever having had cancer, or ever going to have it."
When finding out how active I am normally, and especially right after the hospital, he just "wowed".
"We have a curve of what to expect from Leukemia patients and how they react to it, and the chemo. You have just thrown the curve out the window. What you have done is not humanly possible. You should still be in bed feeling horrible. Your body has been ripped apart by a very strong chemo and you show almost no signs of even having that. That's just not possible. This is something to check into. I feel very secure in saying that you will have a very long career ahead of you in anything that you do. I cannot see any cancer coming back. I don't know what you have done, but keep doing it."
So there you have it... the answer that everyone's been waiting to hear (so far), from the marrow tests. He said on a "molecular" and "physiological" level I could say I'm in remission, but he wanted to wait until at least after my next two (and final) in-house chemo treatments to "entertain the idea of saying that you are cured."
Woo hoo! Many people get cancer - and Leukemia is certainly one that shows no discrimination of who gets it - and less people make it through to be able to say that they are cured. But it would be a cool feat for me to look back and say that I beat Leukemia in 30 - 60 days.
A reminder, by the way, that this form that I have - from start to finish - reportedly kills within 2 to 4 weeks. Usually there is no real symptom. And then, your veins fill up with overproduction of immature white blood cells and burst. Not a pretty picture. I caught it two days before it happened, and here I am.
So... my next appointment is to see the oncologist in a week or so and get ready to chemo up again. Only this time I won't be quite so weakened, and I'll be able to hang out at home.
Then I have to wait 10 - 20 days for my body to heal up again, then one more treatment the following month... and then pills for a year. Yay!
In the meantime... I just got a new mountain bike. When I am on my "up" days (when I am allowed to leave the house without worry of infection of a chemo-weakened immune system), let me know if anyone wants to go riding. It's been quite a while for me, and I really miss going on trails and such.
Alrighty... that's the news for now. Sorry for the novel, but you know how I like to write and am a stickler for detail (as many of you have asked for).
Wishing everyone well!
PS... Now I'm a bit bored of the smooth, bald look. After the chemo, I'm thinking about growing it out and going punk spiky for a while. Will the long hair come back? Maybe. Maybe not. I like having more fashion options now and not looking like a hesher stoner. Is that a bash on long-hairs? hehehe... I never wore my hair as a fashion statement or esteem builder, so do the math. HA!!
For those of you who are new to this, read the (several) previous blogs about how I went from being on vacation in San Diego in July, to suddenly finding out I have two days left to live, to finding that I have one of the rarest forms of Leukemia, to now apparently having beat it in less than 60 days. hehehe...
Oh yeah, I just didn't feel like dying this year.
So... the story continues -
On Wed. Sept. 21, I went in for my second bone marrow biopsy - the next best thing to getting a spinal tap. My first was the day after I got into the hospital at the end of July. The difference here... I had this one done by a Dr. Diamante, the head of the department.
For those who don't know what's involved...
I have a couple of needles stuck into my back hip area to search and numb the area.
They find a good section of hip bone, near enough to the spine, and proceed to skewer a "core sampler" type of needle/rod into the flesh, and down into the bone. This involves cutting into the bone, removing the small knife, and then grinding a smaller needle into the bone using a T-handle.
Apparently with me, it took a bit of arm power and perspiration.
"You've got good bones.", the doctor told me a couple of times, a bit sarcastically.
Although I felt the pressure, it was relatively painless (or I'm just really used to pain by now). Actually it was numbed up enough.
OK... that aside, I was supposed to get my test results back in a couple of days. It took about 10.
On this past Fri. Sept. 30, I got a call from a Stanford lab doctor. He was basically talking to me as any old cancer patient, so I got the clue that he didn't really know much about me.
I asked, for my next chemo treatment (I have two shots left in Oct. and Nov.) if I would be admitted as an in-patient.
He said, "I'll be blunt. Most people don't handle this chemo very well. Some don't get through it. You will feel pretty bad during that time. So yes, you will be admitted."
As we talked, I definitely got the impression that he needed to read my records. He mentioned that he couldn't make out the oncologist's notes very well, but he started to read my charts, and other doctor notes as we spoke.
At this point the lab doc starts saying, "Wow! Wow! Unbelievable! This is not possible." I then told him that I already had the major chemo and not only gone through it without any issues, but enjoyed the whole experience. Also, I told him that I had gone to work just a few days out of my 30-day stay in the isolated hospital room. This doc just kept with the "No way! Wow!" commentary.
I had made mention that I wanted to know about being an in-patient, as I had a possible film production job later in Oct. He then told me what was going on.
The doc said flatly, "There is not one sign of any more cancer in your marrow or body, not in your marrow or blood tests. I was told what to look for in the tests. It took so long because we went over it with a fine tooth comb to sub-atomic levels. If I didn't know what was going on, I would say that you showed no signs of ever having had cancer, or ever going to have it."
When finding out how active I am normally, and especially right after the hospital, he just "wowed".
"We have a curve of what to expect from Leukemia patients and how they react to it, and the chemo. You have just thrown the curve out the window. What you have done is not humanly possible. You should still be in bed feeling horrible. Your body has been ripped apart by a very strong chemo and you show almost no signs of even having that. That's just not possible. This is something to check into. I feel very secure in saying that you will have a very long career ahead of you in anything that you do. I cannot see any cancer coming back. I don't know what you have done, but keep doing it."
So there you have it... the answer that everyone's been waiting to hear (so far), from the marrow tests. He said on a "molecular" and "physiological" level I could say I'm in remission, but he wanted to wait until at least after my next two (and final) in-house chemo treatments to "entertain the idea of saying that you are cured."
Woo hoo! Many people get cancer - and Leukemia is certainly one that shows no discrimination of who gets it - and less people make it through to be able to say that they are cured. But it would be a cool feat for me to look back and say that I beat Leukemia in 30 - 60 days.
A reminder, by the way, that this form that I have - from start to finish - reportedly kills within 2 to 4 weeks. Usually there is no real symptom. And then, your veins fill up with overproduction of immature white blood cells and burst. Not a pretty picture. I caught it two days before it happened, and here I am.
So... my next appointment is to see the oncologist in a week or so and get ready to chemo up again. Only this time I won't be quite so weakened, and I'll be able to hang out at home.
Then I have to wait 10 - 20 days for my body to heal up again, then one more treatment the following month... and then pills for a year. Yay!
In the meantime... I just got a new mountain bike. When I am on my "up" days (when I am allowed to leave the house without worry of infection of a chemo-weakened immune system), let me know if anyone wants to go riding. It's been quite a while for me, and I really miss going on trails and such.
Alrighty... that's the news for now. Sorry for the novel, but you know how I like to write and am a stickler for detail (as many of you have asked for).
Wishing everyone well!
PS... Now I'm a bit bored of the smooth, bald look. After the chemo, I'm thinking about growing it out and going punk spiky for a while. Will the long hair come back? Maybe. Maybe not. I like having more fashion options now and not looking like a hesher stoner. Is that a bash on long-hairs? hehehe... I never wore my hair as a fashion statement or esteem builder, so do the math. HA!!
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