What Are the Odds?

One in three Americans will get cancer at some point in their lives. Fortunately, some cancers are completely curable, and others have very good odds for survival. Roughly 14,000 people a year are diagnosed with leukemia, a small percentage when compared to the most prevalent (and highly treatable) form of cancer in the U.S., basal cell carcinoma. Unfortunately, the odds are not so rosy when leukemia is your cancer. Lady Luck has already thrown you in a ditch, and the statistics kick you while you're down.

But statistics paint a general picture, not an individual one. Even the worst baseball team can defeat the best. You can make informed predictions, but hey, you never know. So far, I'm beating the odds. When my doctor pronounced the magic word "remission" after my first chemo treatment, I felt like I'd won the lottery. I was briefly ecstatic, but as with a sugar high I came crashing back to reality. The cancer had been beaten back, probably not completely eliminated. With chemo alone, I had a 50-50 chance of vanquishing leukemia. Hit me. Five hellish months yielded eight months of (mostly) smelling the roses. I was inching my way to a cure, when, boom! Relapse. Lost that one. More odds, more poison, transplant. I've defied more of those pesky odds by surviving the transplant. Will my luck hold?

This is what transplant survivors constantly ask themselves. Has it worked? Will my new immune system destroy any surviving leukemic cells? It's no picnic living with intimations of mortality every loving minute of every loving day. What if I relapse? What then? Fortunately, I'm able to dismiss (more like bury) these thoughts most of the time. I place my bets on life. I takes me chances.

Here's a little Wordsworth to ponder instead of ruminating about statistics. Personally, I'm cultivating the philosophic mind, whereas my husband is for splendor in the grass, especially after all the time he put into lawn care this weekend.

Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

Idyllic Family Dining

We made the big decision to go out for dinner last night. What's so big about that? For one thing, my doctor advises I limit my exposure to the general public. Our last family dining experience (way back in February) was unappetizing from soup to nuts. In order to have a successful experience, we must wisely choose the restaurant, as one son is a vegetarian and the other worships meat. My husband and I are flexible, that is, we have been beaten down by failed attempts at making everybody happy, and really don't care what we eat as long as things go well. I'm even willing to dine in chain restaurants, although they tend to be crowded, a no-no for Ms. Compromised Immune System.

After carefully weighing all the factors, we opted to try a nearby Olive Garden. Marty and Harry did a reconnaissance mission to ascertain possible safety issues. Mark and I remained in the car awaiting our summons which arrived simultaneously via text message (teen to teen) and phone call (preferred old people method). The immune gods must have been smiling upon us because we were taken to a table tucked into a corner, far from the madding crowd. By all measures, the dinner was a success. The food was adequate and copious; the boys were in chatty upbeat moods (as opposed to sullen and/or critical); no one came within six feet of me. For dessert, we went home and called Mariel. She's looking at only three more weeks in Ecuador before she returns to life in Boring Rhode Island. Fortunately, Mariel is fairly accommodating when it comes to food. This is the girl who used to adore lengua en salsa (tongue) when we lived in Costa Rica, and who has recently had the opportunity to add guinea pig to her culinary resume.

May you only have happy meals.

Some Back Story

Many of you have known me for a long time. Some of you, however, only know me through this blog. Before Cancer walked into my life, I was living a fairly conventional middle-class middle-aged life in suburban Rhode Island. You know the deal: loving husband, 2.5 smart, adorable kids (okay, 3), 2 dogs, 4-bedroom colonial, minivan. Busy shepherding our children through the local public schools, shivering at soccer and baseball games, overwhelmed by the voracious demands of lawn care, we more or less lived your average American dream with its ordinary cares and joys. We had our health, our marbles, and most of our self esteem. If the world wasn't exactly our oyster, we were at least living where you could cheaply buy good seafood.

That life changed two years ago. I was diagnosed with leukemia, which had somehow found a chink in my otherwise healthy body and was churning out evil clones. It was all pretty surreal, since I didn't feel sick. A swollen finger had prompted me to see my internist who ordered a routine cbc and voila, I had a deadly disease and needed to go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Instead of attending a wedding in Princeton, NJ, I was admitted to Roger Williams Hospital in Providence where a shock and awe chemotherapy campaign awaited. It was a perfectly good waste of a manicure/pedicure.

That's how it started. I'll spare you the grisly details for now, and end with 10 things you may or may not know about me.

1. Surprise! I was an English major.
2. I have 4 younger brothers, none of whom are good HLA matches.
3. Reading = breathing.
4. I have an extra dry Beefeater martini every Friday evening whether I need it or not. Don't be alarmed, I've curtailed this habit for the nonce.
5. When I was 10, I announced plans to become a psychiatrist.
6. I have a dozen or so fine china demi-tasse cups for which I have no use.
7. My father taught me how to handicap race horses when I was a teenager.
8. My first job post college was in the Equitable Life Assurance Building in midtown Manhattan where my grandfather had worked until his retirement, 10 years earlier.
9. I lived in Costa Rica from 1996 to 2002.
10. I hate onions.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Okay, sometime's it's not Shakespeare. A headline in today's business section of the Providence Journal prompted my title: Consumers rush to sell gold dental work. In case you've been living in a cave, the price of gold has soared to record highs lately. Still, cashing in your teeth seems to be a questionable tactic since you'll only mine about $40-50 per crown. I remember back in the early 80's when silver spiked and people rushed out to sell their family's heirloom silverware. Perhaps these same people are now going for the gold, whether it's the family jewels or the old chompers. With no silverware and now no teeth, guess they'll be eating a lot of rice. Hmm, maybe not, since rice prices have also hit an all-time high. If you're serious about giving up your eye teeth, keep in mind that your glittery fillings also contain cheaper metals. Still, it might be preferable to selling ancestral gold knick knacks emblazoned with the family escutcheon, or grandma's wedding ring, which possibly have sentimental value. As someone quips in the aforementioned article, "I haven't seen anybody with sentimental teeth." Me neither.

All that glitters is not gold. Shakespeare.

Brevity is the Soul of Wit

I'll keep this short.

It's hypothesized that the Bard was born 444 years ago today. Happy birthday to a true language maven. If you're ever asked the origin of a quote, go with Shakespeare or the Bible. Trust me.

Slings and Arrows

I wanted to post yesterday, but I was a little down and didn’t want to depress you all. My virtual gang at the LLS discussion forums has been hard hit in the last couple of weeks. It’s not that we don’t expect some of our members will succumb to their disease, but it’s still a shock when they do. One young woman (29) who’d been battling AML for 18 months died last week, leaving behind a husband and 4-year old daughter. She underwent two transplants and tried every experimental drug they could find, but the Beast got her in the end. Another young man (23?) who’s been more or less adopted by the LLS gang because his parents are out to lunch continues to hang by a thread. A 3-year-old has relapsed post transplant and there’s nothing left to be done. One of our regulars, a woman I admire for her pithy writing and incredible strength, has just entered hospice. We are all sad.

Still, there are many amazing stories of hope, courage and success that keep us going. Here I sit seven months post transplant with very few complaints. I ran 2 miles this morning, which was therapeutic mentally and physically. My back has been twinging the last few days and I’ve been having problems with simple things like putting my socks on because I don’t have flexibility in my lower back. Running seems to help loosen these tight muscles. Of course I do the obligatory stretching, too. It’s nice to have a health issue that’s not cancer-related. Bring on the decrepitude.

It’s a gorgeous spring day, and I’m planning on driving to Westerly this afternoon to watch the boys run in their track meet. Talking with the Columbia track coach has sparked some excitement in Mark about going to college. A good time in the 1500 or 800m will fan the flames. Go Mark! Go Harry!

Is Blogging Bad for Your Health?

Ah, the stress of keeping up with your blog. For serious bloggers, i.e. those who get paid to blog, or those who're trying to build a reputation in the blogosphere, the pressures of regular posting have resulted in serious health issues, including the worst issue of all, an earlier than expected demise. Maybe a blog about your health is an inherently bad idea. Since I receive no renumeration for this (really), and don't feel particularly pressed to write 3 or so entries a week, I think I'm probably okay.

It's supremely gorgeous outside today. The forsythia hedge is breaking like a huge yellow wave on a sea of green. How's that for a nature simile? Right after breakfast I set up barbershop on the back deck and gave my guys haircuts. Yes, I remembered to apply sunscreen. That way, the hair stuck nicely. Lest you think I was grooming the dogs (a reportable offense), I want it to be understood that I was grooming the humans. My husband and sons look very handsome now.

Think I'll unplug and take in some nature. Speaking of nature, here's a riot of it. Mariel took this photo last week in the Galapagos Islands.