Living with Cancer

I woke up one September morning, 1998, with a huge lump on the left side of my neck. I decided to make a doctor’s appointment just to keep my parents from telling me to. Now you must remember, I was 34 years old. The doctor could see me that day. He decided something with my thyroid was not right and he ordered a CT scan. The scan was schedule for the next day–which was a Tuesday! On Monday evening I went to see a wonderful friend who happens to be a nurse but is as smart as any doctor I have ever met. I showed her my neck and told her the doc believes my thyroid is out of whack. Now she is lying in a bed as she just got home from the hospital for a horrible bladder surgery. But when I showed her my neck and told her what was going to be done, I knew instantly it wasn’t my thyroid but I wasn’t aware of exactly what it might be.

Tuesday morning came, told my mother to stay home because once the test was finished I was heading to work. The technician began the scan and I started coughing. She said if it was ok she would scan down lower so the lungs could be check because she was only suppose to do the head and neck area. I told her go ahead. When completed I was asked to wait in the waiting room. Then the technician came back to get me and told me I needed to speak with the Radiologist and my regular physician. Now since this was my first time, I didn’t have a clue this meant bad news! My doctor, who was scared to death, met me and stated I had something terribly wrong with me and I needed to get to a place where my insurance would pay and get immediate treatment. I can remember asking the doctor if I was dying and all he could do was turn away from me. I understand now that he really didn’t know and he couldn’t answer that question.

The radiologist stated that fluid had been found on my lung and this needed to be drained immediately. I would have to have some medication that would relax and not allow me to drive home. Yeah, had to call my mother! Very calm, I phoned home and told her that I needed her to come drive me home because they had to do this procedure, but it wasn’t any big deal. Of course, I thought I pulled one over on her, she never better. Then I phoned my friend who laid in her own bed still healing and began bawling just like a three year old. Bless her heart, she wasn’t suppose to get out of bed for the next few weeks and she’s telling me she will have her marvelous husband bring her down. I told her no, and she actually listened.

My doctor told me I needed to see a specialist, but he truly didn’t have anyone to refer me to but if I could find someone, he definitely would make the referral. Yes, my friend in bed took care of this part, and found the most amazing doctor. However, they could not get me in until a whole week later and man, didn’t they know I was in a hurry and scared to death!

The doctor introduced himself and the tests began. First I did another CT scan, then an MRI and then a Gallium test. I was sure I was so full of nuclear stuff that I could glow in the dark. A bioposy [biopsy] was completed on that lump on the neck and the results were given to me a few days later as I came walking into my house from work. The phone was ringing and I grabbed it in frustrated [frustration]; after all I just got home from work. It was the nurse from the oncologist’s office and she just wanted to let me know I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s. “See you at your next appointment.” Well, I had Hodgkin’s didn’t really have a clue what that meant, so my friend who was continuing trying to rest heard from me again. However, this time the reaction from her was not at all what I expected. I told her the nurse had called and said my diagnosis was Hodgkin’s. She said, “Oh, good!” Now I was misunderstanding her excitement. I said you are always much smarter than me, but you do realize that’s a sort of cancer, right? She started laughing and stated but it can be cured unlike non-Hodgkin’s. Yes, the light came on and I was sort of excited about that too. Anyone who has ever been diagnosed with the big “C” truly believes they have heard a death sentence. The frightening thoughts begin, much less the frightening treatments start.

The worst part of this and I’m sorry, but it is true, the worst part of this was getting my port put in. Please understand, it is a wonderful device once installed, but those folks that installed mine could have been car repairman or anything else but someone from the medical field…they were just down right snotty and rough. At one point I told them I could feel what they were doing and asked them if that was normal; they told me it was and just lay there…they wanted to finish that statement with and shutup, but for their sakes I’m glad they didn’t. And I’m so hard headed that when they finished they told me it would just be a minute to get a wheel chair to take me upstairs; told them I didn’t need anything further from them. I stomped out of there…boy did I show them. About 20 steps later I was attempting to faint; however, my friend who was recovering had recovered and refused to let me faint! There are really times when I don’t like her.

Then went upstairs to receive my chemo Now the very first time of this is one of the most frightening experiences I ever had. I knew that this stuff was suppose to make me better but I wasn’t certain what is was going to put me through to get better. The doctor guaranteed me I wouldn’t puke, but I just laughed. I’d had two babies and I puked continually while pregnant. I had a hard time believing chemo wasn’t going to have the same effect. Yes, it did, but they forget to tell you some little things after you receive chemo. For example, you may need to take stool softeners because if not you become impacted and wind up at the ER for the doctor to help you get stuff out of there. One embarrassing moment of chemo

Chemo went one for about a year. Receive it then go for three weeks and get the next treatment. After getting over the fright, it becomes a “normal” part of your life. I knew when I got chemo, I’d eat a big supper on the way home, then the next 7 to 10 days I’d be sick and home the whole next week from work, but the third week regardless of how I felt, I’d return so I could get ready for the next round. Chemo was completed and scans were given. It was decided that it had not cleared up so I was sent to speak with the doctor who performs stem-cells transplants.

The first time I met with this man I just wanted to absolutely spit in his face. He basically stated that it was not necessary at this time and it should not be done. My poor aunt and my recovered friend were with me that day. I stomped out of his office. I didn’t realize my poor aunt was trying to stay up with me and she has a poor heart. I’m so thankful I didn’t cause her to have a heart attack But this time when I returned to see the stem-cell man if concurred with my oncologist and the plans began.

This time I had to start chemo once again, but it was much stronger as it needed to kill my immune system. It not only did that, but it practically killed me. My body had difficulty in handling the chemo to the point I was coma bound and my family was called in to say their good byes. However, I credit my niece. She was sitting by my bedside and basically talking to me but very stern. She had just had a baby and I was in the delivery room with her to bring that wonderful little guy into this world. She told me that I didn’t let her down so she wasn’t going to give up on me. She pleaded and pleaded with me to wave at her, to open my eyes, to have some kind of stinking contact with her and just when she about stopped trying, I did! She ran out to the waiting room and got my mom and her mom/my sister. She started in again telling me to look at her and wave. I took my time doing it a second time, but when my mom and sister thought my poor niece had lost her mind, I did it again! I came out of my coma and agreed to continue on with the stem-cell transplant.

I had to regain my strength and get back on my feet, literally. Then I again had to have some chemo. This time all went fine. The day came to harvest my stem cells and I was a little nervous about this procedure. I was told I had to have another port put in and I wasn’t looking forward to this; however, I did learn it was not the same people who did my first one. I was more relaxed and truly did not feel one ounce of this port. Much better.

Healed up some and the appointment day arrived. This new port was to harvest my cells. The technician told me that a rare number of people can get 100,000 in a day, but it usually took a few days for this to be completed. He hooked up everything and all the hoses were on my port. As I sat watching, I knew by the look on his face something was not going as planned. Finally the technician stated he couldn’t get the port to work. He then stated there was another option. I asked what that was. He said that a needled could be inserted into my vein to harvest the cells or we could have someone check my port. Told him that we were there to complete a mission–get the needle. The technician hesitated briefly and then returned. He showed me the needle and explained it was going to hurt going in. Yeah, it was huge! I remember thinking there won’t be any problem finding that thing in a haystack. But the technician did a beautiful job on hitting the vein and the process began. After about three or four hours I was told I was done for the day. They would notify me of the number collected and asked me if I could return tomorrow. Told them absolutely. However, when I got home there was a message for me to call them. Yes, I was a rarity! I had collected all the needed stem cells in one day. I decided I was thankful my port didn’t work because I believe I probably got more going directly to the vein!

Then I arrived to complete the transplant. Again, received some more chemo just to make sure my immune system didn’t exist. My mother, father, and sister were with me the day they rolled me down to get the transplant completed. Now after everything else that I had been threw, this was nothing. They hooked my new port up so the stem cells could be released into my body and this time it worked properly. After the transplant was completed, my mom got to stay with me but the rest had to leave and not return for a couple of weeks. My white cells had to start building before further company could come.

After about the 4th week this occurred and I was told by the stem-cell man (an absolutely wonderful man) that if I didn’t puke any more I could go home. Couldn’t wait for the man to leave my room so I could puke, but he didn’t know. Then my mom knew the rule also. My stomach started turning and I thought I can’t do this in front of her, she’ll make me stay longer. I had to get home, my children needed their mother. She decided she was going to go down and get something to eat and drink and I remember about pushing her out the door. I waited a few seconds to make sure she was out of hearing distance, and then did it again. I was doing good. The doctor released me. I couldn’t sign those papers fast enough and get to the car. Yep, once in the car I threw up again. My mom was ready to return me to my hospital room, but I refused. The home health nurses came to the house and I continued to grow stronger.

Six years later my doctors call me cured; I never get that cocky, but I sure like hearing it!