A pulmonologist, a hematologist and an infectious disease specialist walk into a bar.
I don't know why I find that set-up funny. I guess it's because I get a kick out of the title "infectious disease specialist," which sounds like something from a Michael Crichton novel. Very ominous.
Or maybe my funny bone is tickled at the thought of seeing my docs out of context. I'm picturing myself sipping a Manhattan at Smitty's. Suddenly, Dr. Horak (pulmonologist in scrubs and Crocs), Dr. Forman (hematologist in chinos and button-downs) and Dr. Dadwal (infectious disease specialist in pristine white lab coat) belly up to the bar together.
(I've never seen one of my doctors in a bar, but I did once run into my gynecologist at Burger Continental, a Middle Eastern restaurant in Pasadena. It was very awkward for both of us because we were embarrassed to be discovered eating in such a mediocre establishment.)
The problem is that I don't have a punch line. And the doctors, three of the best in their fields, still don't have an explanation. They have a lot of "suspicions," but nothing is conclusive.
Sometimes I think I just need to push myself a little harder. At other times, I think I'm trying too hard. But it doesn't seem to matter how much sleep or rest I get; I feel an overwhelming, crippling exhaustion.
And there's nothing funny about that.
(If you have a punch line, I'd love to hear it.)
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March 2008 - Sometimes I feel like a wig.
Sometimes I don't.
Up a tree and feeling on top of the world
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What does a writer do when she finds out she has stage 4 Mantle Cell Lymphoma? She blogs. Because, as everyone knows, cancer sucks, but blogging rocks.
On January 26, 2007, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Mantle Cell Lymphoma (blastic variety), a rare, aggressive and treatment-resistant form of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.
My team at the City of Hope decided to bring out the big guns - six rounds of Hyper CVAD followed by an autologous stem cell transplant. I bounced back after each round of chemo, but my blood counts didn't.
After four rounds we called chemo quits and started collecting stem cells for the auto stem cell transplant. The harvesting took three tries, two drugs and eight weeks, but I finally eked out the minimum two million stem cells.
After megadoses of chemo, I received my stem cells on November 14 and 15, 2007. I bounced back almost immediately. Best of all, I achieved complete remission from the Mantle Cell Lymphoma.
In January 2008, I was hospitalized for 11 days for chemo-induced pneumonia. I bounced back.
In the summer of 2008, my eosinophils (a component of the white blood cells) rose to dangerous levels and infiltrated my lungs and GI tract. My weight dropped to 105 pounds, and I was incapacitated for nearly three months. Once again, I bounced back.
I continue to make monthly visits to the City of Hope for blood tests and check ups, quarterly visits for maintenance Rituxan and semi-annual visits for scans.
I'm still in remission and have more energy than ever. And about that perfect purse? I keep looking.
Here are a few other things keeping me busy:
My food blog, Open Mouth, Insert Fork
My consulting business, A New Leaf Communications
The Orange Cat, a site for family fun in the San Gabriel Valley
A3M - Asians for Miracle Marrow Matches
YWCA Pasadena-Foothill Valley
IWOSC - Independent Writers of Southern California
On January 26, 2007, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Mantle Cell Lymphoma (blastic variety), a rare, aggressive and treatment-resistant form of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.
My team at the City of Hope decided to bring out the big guns - six rounds of Hyper CVAD followed by an autologous stem cell transplant. I bounced back after each round of chemo, but my blood counts didn't.
After four rounds we called chemo quits and started collecting stem cells for the auto stem cell transplant. The harvesting took three tries, two drugs and eight weeks, but I finally eked out the minimum two million stem cells.
After megadoses of chemo, I received my stem cells on November 14 and 15, 2007. I bounced back almost immediately. Best of all, I achieved complete remission from the Mantle Cell Lymphoma.
In January 2008, I was hospitalized for 11 days for chemo-induced pneumonia. I bounced back.
In the summer of 2008, my eosinophils (a component of the white blood cells) rose to dangerous levels and infiltrated my lungs and GI tract. My weight dropped to 105 pounds, and I was incapacitated for nearly three months. Once again, I bounced back.
I continue to make monthly visits to the City of Hope for blood tests and check ups, quarterly visits for maintenance Rituxan and semi-annual visits for scans.
I'm still in remission and have more energy than ever. And about that perfect purse? I keep looking.
Here are a few other things keeping me busy:
My food blog, Open Mouth, Insert Fork
My consulting business, A New Leaf Communications
The Orange Cat, a site for family fun in the San Gabriel Valley
A3M - Asians for Miracle Marrow Matches
YWCA Pasadena-Foothill Valley
IWOSC - Independent Writers of Southern California
March 2008 - Sometimes I feel like a wig.
Sometimes I don't.
January 2009
Up a tree and feeling on top of the world
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I can't die. I still have to find the perfect purse.
6 comments:
well, it's not funny...but it is.
isn't it fun when you stump the docs? I had one doc tell me once "well, I don't think we can describe this in terms of Western medicine". I asked him to elaborate and he couldn't. I found another doctor who COULD explain the issue.
So...the three docs walk into a bar and order a round of margaritas as they tell the bartender "Whelp, we're stumped! Any ideas?". After the confab the bartender suggests they try looking at page 123 of their specialty medical books and they will find the answer.
Either that, or page 42, which as everyone knows, is THE answer to everything.
I suspect you've got something. Dunno what it is, but it is something. It may also be, as I have had, your body saying "Don't DO that to me again" in response to all that you've been through with treatment. I know *my* body has done that, a few times.
Breathe. Keep taking meds. Drink plenty of water and well, when you're up to it, have a Manhattan. Or two, or three. Ya never know, it MIGHT just put some pounds on you! ;-)
hugz!
Hilarious, Trish!
Funny, but I can't imagine "my team" drinking margaritas.
it's supposed to be ironic...'ritas for the docs--so out of place! ;-)
or would it be better if they were doing shots of Jägermeister?
what might clear their minds enough to find *the* answer?
am not sure I could see most of my docs doing more than sipping a crisp chardonnay or pinot gri quietly in a corner.
then again, I once had a straight-laced teacher whom I ran into in a bar, doing shots and dancing with a stripper---way out of place for her and totally blew my mind in class from then on out.
I think we should have the docs should order strawberry 'ritas. :)
Hang in there. Don't try to do anymore then necessary. Put your feet up and eat bon-bons. By the way, remember my mom, she used to say that doctors were only "practicing" medicine.
Well, I know two of three of these docs pretty well. I can't say that I'd expect to see any of them in a bar, but maybe that's what they need? Maybe they are thinking so clearly that they can't see something more obvious. It might come to them if their head was in a little fog. Maybe things need to be a bit more blurry?
Anyways, Susan, take care of yourself and don't overdo it. How's your EOS count? I have a friend who had to go through photo-pheresis following transplant. I'll call you on this tomorrow.
Rest, my dear. It was good to see you today..... love, nancy
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