Chemo: Round One
Mantle cell lymphoma is extremely rare, has a short remission cycle, and a median overall survival rate of four to five years[i]. I have amazing teams of scientists, nurses, and doctors at the Mayo Clinic and the University of Minnesota designing and delivering care to prolong my life. Each day of my life is made a little easier by my amazing friends, colleagues, and family.
I’m undergoing an aggressive therapy known as the Nordic Regimen. It includes six cycles of chemo/ immunotherapy followed by a higher strength chemotherapy with a stem cell rescue (also known as a stem cell transplant). The six cycles of chemo/ immunotherapy include two alternating treatments over the course of 18 weeks. Maxi-CHOP is delivered three times at an outpatient infusion center and Rituximab-Cytarabine is delivered three times at a hospital. I have only three weeks to recover before going back for the alternate therapy.
My first chemo/ immunotherapy (Maxi-CHOP) was delivered outpatient at Mayo, 90 minutes south from home. By the time Charlie and I made it back up to the cities afterwards, I wasn’t feeling well. I ended up in the emergency room that night with a neutropenic fever. My body was shaking uncontrollably and I believe the image of me on that hospital gurney scarred my husband for life.
I continued use of a steroid, along with multiple anti-nausea medications, for the week after treatment. I subsisted on canned peaches and noodle soup. Six days after treatment, I felt well enough to go driving by myself. I listened to music and was happy. Briefly. Without the steroid artificially hoisting me the following day, I ended up back in the emergency room that night.
I felt like a failure. My company approved me for unpaid medical leave. My beloved anchor and guiding light, Andrea, set up a GoFundMe. My manager, Dan, graciously supported me in my plan to leave work. I handed over my incredible customers to my trusted colleague, Christi. The person who helped me first comprehend the gravity of my condition, Jen, coordinated a collection of cash from our generous teammates. Deb, a cancer survivor, reached out daily making sure I had enough spoons and reminding me to hydrate.
As I was wrapping up my work commitments, my mood sank more. Work is a huge part of my identity. Thirty minutes before a customer call, my hair started to fall out in clumps. I scrambled to chop it off with scissors. After the call, Charlie took the clippers to the rest of it. The scissor marks I made were still visible, resembling rapper stylings of the early 90s. I told my college besties, Karin and Sarah, that my hairstyle puts Vanilla Ice to shame. Sarah promptly replied, “Vanilla Ice puts Vanilla Ice to shame.”
I started Chemory Lane to keep my chemo-brain busy during sleepless nights. I managed to enjoy a few Thin Mints® hand-delivered by Jason on behalf of his daughters. By the middle of the third week, I had risen from the ashes just as CCnDoc assured me I would. I decided I could keep working, at least a little longer. My immune system recovered enough that I could attend Easter dinner with my whole family. I showed off my bald head. I was ready for Round Two.
