Eight Weeks Down. Eight Weeks to Go...?

It was eight weeks ago Tuesday afternoon that I received a phone call from my orthopedist that changed my life and that of my family forever. I called him and told his receptionist I didn't need to come in to review the results of the MRI on my shoulder, because I knew it would heal with time and was 99% sure there was no structural damage. He called me back that afternoon to tell me I was right that there was no structural damage...but that there were issues with my bone marrow. That led to blood work the next day and, eight weeks ago today, a phone call from the orthopedist on my way home, saying that my white blood cell counts were through the roof and my blood pathology was abnormal. Eight weeks. It's amazing how life and what is considered "normalcy" can turn on a dime. 

Now, "normalcy" for me consists of medicine every morning and night, chemotherapy infusions four times a month, weekly blood work, a big, filtered face mask everywhere I go, and a constant fear of anyone around me being sick with anything. A simple cold or flu, for instance, that your body can fight quite well could land me in the hospital simply because I don't have sufficient healthy white blood cells to fight it like you do. Whenever one of my kids has a fever, I can't be around them, can't put them to bed, can't hold them or rock with them, can't help my sweet Noelle take care of them. The things I want to do as a parent, I can't. Every day is full of constant reminders that I have cancer, from my medications to my face mask, from the doctor's bills I'm trying to get put on a payment plan to the fact that I can't even stop off at the store to pick up milk on the way home. 

Over the past few weeks, I've found myself getting pretty perturbed with people who smoke. I walk around the outside of my building on my lunch break, or leave the building to go to my car at the end of the day, and am so grateful to not have to wear my blasted face mask. But what do I encounter? Smokers. And all I can think is, "Are you kidding me?!? I have done NOTHING to get this awful disease. I've never been exposed to high amounts of radiation. I've not led a physically destructive lifestyle. I didn't want cancer. I don't deserve cancer due to anything I've done. I'm fighting for my life every moment of every day. People ask me when they see me wearing my face mask if I'm contagious, when I wear it because they might be and aren't considerate enough to stay home or put a face mask on their own face. Cancer sucks big time and has turned my and my family's life on its head. AND HERE YOU ARE, DOING SOMETHING THAT INVITES CANCER! If you only knew how awful what you are inviting is, I wonder if you would find a way to work as hard to convince yourself that you have to kick the nasty habit as you work to convince yourself that the addiction you've created against your better knowledge is stronger than your willpower. What a cop out. What a sad, sad joke you play on yourself." To my friends and family members who smoke, I do not apologize for what I feel, or for my candor in writing about it. Smoking ultimately led to the cancer that ended my biological father's life at the age of 60. Are there other self-destructive, cancer-inducing behaviors that people participate in that I could harp on? Of course. But those are not as evident, and don't put others who are physically close by at risk for the same consequences. Smoking is a nasty, expensive habit that I wish would go away. Why someone would choose to do it, inviting the thing I have to fight every day to overcome and that scares my wife and children to such a degree that they can't even articulate it, I'll never understand. Please know that I don't condemn you; I just don't understand your choice and I never will. When and if the cancer or other health effects from the smoking come, know that I'll be able and willing to empathize with you over the awfulness of chemotherapy, treatments, hospitalizations and knowing far too many medical terms for someone who has never stepped foot inside medical school, but I will not be able to sympathize over what led you to that point. I will only have sadness for you and your loved ones that it is something you could have and should have avoided. Phew! I'm glad I got that all out!

So, after eight weeks of fighting this fight, now I look ahead eight weeks to mid-January, which is when I will complete my third cycle of my current 21-day chemotherapy regimen of Dex, Velcade and Revlimid. At that point, Dr. Petersen is anticipating that I'll be ready for my auto stem cell transplant (Read my last post if you want the low-down on auto vs. allo transplants). On certain levels, the past eight weeks have flown by; on others, they've been the longest eight weeks of my life. The next weeks don't figure to feel drawn-out, though, as we're now in the midst of the Christmas season, and that always tends to fly by. My parents are coming out for Christmas for about 10 days and staying here, so that'll add to the busyness and speed with which the days go by. The fourth quarter in the equipment finance industry is the busiest of the year and so the last six weeks of the year will be very busy for me as well. So it's not eight long weeks; its just eight weeks before I probably stay in the hospital for two to four weeks, then at home for another two weeks. If my life is different now, then oh, how different it will be then! As I've mentioned before, the doctors, nurses and aides at LDS Hospital's East 8 (the half-wing devoted to the BMT program) are wonderful. However, I HATE BEING THERE! I hope I'll be able to sleep away a good portion of my time there or watch a million movies to help the time pass. The possibility of spending the better part of a month in the hospital is just not something that excites me. In fact, it upsets me a great deal. And, knowing that an allo transplant is the second step (though perhaps not immediate), with a much longer hospital sojourn ahead of me after that, is really not exciting. BUT in the end, if it's what I have to do to cure my cancer and do what I need to get done before leaving this earth, then so be it. I just hope that I'll be able to thrive post-transplant by focusing my energy on healing. We won't know for sure if mid-January is when the auto transplant will occur until we get there, but Dr. Petersen sounded pretty optimistic about it when I spoke with him last Wednesday.

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the United States, so I figure it would be appropriate to end this post with some things I'm thankful for. I'm thankful for the family I have created for myself (with Noelle's and God's help, of course), and for the joy they bring me. Noelle, Abigail, Michael, Emma, Jenna and Isaiah are all inspirations in multiple ways. I'm thankful for parents who taught me the Gospel of Jesus Christ from the time I was very young, and showed me the value of faith that is simultaneously simple and profound through the way they have lived their lives. I'm thankful for friends, both new and old, near and far, who motivate me and cheer me with words of encouragement and humor. I'm thankful that friends, family and God have not forgotten my wife and children as they have remembered me. I'm thankful for medical professionals who are dedicated to the process of my treatment and ultimate healing, and for the technology, knowledge, medications and facilities that allow them to work with me to that end. I'm thankful for an employer that has been overwhelmingly supportive, when they have every legal right to limit my pay and benefits to protect themselves. I am thankful for the gift of music, which has a very unique way of lifting my soul when I'm down or helping me express the feelings in my heart when words alone won't do. I'm thankful for the gifts of technology, which allow me to blog, learn, and communicate "in real time" with others. I'm thankful for the injury to my shoulder which led to my cancer diagnosis. I'm thankful for food, and that I can still eat it and enjoy most of it. I'm thankful for my home, my car, and the other material goods with which God has blessed me. I'm very, very thankful for the beauties of the world around me here in Utah. The beauty of the mountains, canyons, lakes, waterfalls and changing of the seasons are amazing. I love California and what it offers from a natural perspective, but Utah has some unique qualities that have grown on me quite a bit. I'm thankful for good books, including God's words revealed to His prophets as recorded in the Scriptures. Those precious words lift my heart, inspire me, and grant me added perspective and strength every day. Most importantly, I'm thankful for my Father in Heaven, for His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, and for the Holy Ghost, who testifies of them. I'm grateful for their eternal love and support. I'm thankful  for the knowledge I have of how they work together for the good of their children, for my understanding of why they allow their children to suffer from time to time, and for the faith I have at the foundation of who I am that allows me to accept their will and avoid needlessly wasting time asking the question "why me?" and instead ask "what do you need me to learn and do now that I'm in this situation?" I have but one life to live on this earth. I'm thankful to know that with their help, I can make it as full of meaning - for me and for others - as possible.