I met with the Bone Marrow Transplant (BMT) team at LDS Hospital to discuss the possibility of a second transplant--this time with a donor's cells. It's been less than a year since the allogeneic transplant (using my own cells) was done (August 26, 2011).
I really liked my odds a year ago with a 75% chance that the BMT would cure my cancer. No more chemo forever was my mantra.
Now, less than a year later, I'm having another conversation with the same team. Don't they offer frequent flyer or rewards programs? Pay for one transplant, get the second half off?
I start the meeting by telling Dr. Asch and Rachael Beers that I'm listening to them only under protest. "Why protest?", Dr. Asch wants to know. Because the first BMT was supposed to cure me forever. I shouldn't have to be here and especially so soon after the transplant.
She agrees with me, but it's not much comfort. So here we go.
I'm totally against the idea of a second transplant. I cannot imagine being incarcerated into that small hospital room for another 3-4 weeks, and feeling so sick and weak from the high-dose chemo. I feel that I've finally regained about 85% of my energy now, and the transplant was just a year ago. If I'm supposed to be so fragile still that they think my body can handle that stress all over again?
Plus, I lost my job as a direct result of the transplant and just barely found another one. I had to carry around supplemental oxygen for six months after the first transplant, and was pretty much sequestered for three months during cold and flu season last winter.
No, no, no! I can't see myself enduring that torture again!
But wait, an allogeneic, reduced intensity, non-myeloblative transplant might be better and it could be a lot worse.
Better because it doesn't involve inpatient hospital stays (except to treat complications). Much worse because the graft-versus-host-disease can be quite brutal and require infinitely more medications and cause even more severe complications.
It's all a balancing game: allowing enough of the graft-versus-Hodgkins to kill the cancer or keep it at bay but not allowing the graft-verses-host-disease enough latitude to kill me. Oh boy.
We're not even sure we can find a matching (or half matching donor for a haplo transplant, which might be better for me) donor among my siblings and we're not sure my body is a good candidate (can survive) another transplant, but at least I'm willing to start the process and see how far we get.
To start the genetic matching process, I agree to donate some blood. However, after five attempts by three different phlebotomists that work with chemo-friend veins all of the time, the BMT team finally gives up and calls in the NICU specialist. After several hot compresses, flicking several veins, and one more failed attempt, she's finally able to draw from my wrist. (Ouch, I hate that location because it stings and burns much more than a regular vein stick.)
Hmmmm. I call Dr. Wendy's office and tell them I want a port before we do chemo. If it took skilled technicians who are used to working with chemo veins that much effort, I need a port; and Dr. Wendy's office didn't even offer or mention one to me this time.
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