Scott

The Harvest

I got the call on Friday, June 14th to be at the hospital in Portland at 6:30 AM to begin harvesting stem cells. The process involves a Red Cross Technician, an intricate machine called the Cobe Spectra, and me lying on a bed for most of six hours.

The goal was to harvest 10 million stem cells. Saturday brought in 2.55 million.

Sunday was a carbon copy of Saturday, but brought in only 1.94 million cells. I was called back to the hospital Sunday evening for a shot of Plerixafor, a very expensive chemical to supercharge my stem cell productivity.

Monday brought only 1.94 million, and after another Plerixafor shot, Tuesday brought 1.51. The good news is that they add up to “Close Enough.”

When Mike, the Red Cross Technician was shutting down the stem cell transfer machine, I heard it beep an SOS. I asked if that’s what it was and he looked quite surprised.

He said I was his first patient who recognized the signal. I didn’t tell him I knew that code because of a 70’s music group, SOS – Sounds Of Success.

The harvest season ended for me with a bag of platelets to be infused into one of those handy tubes hanging out of my chest.

Before being connected to the bag, I was asked to sign another waiver. There seemed to have been several each day and they all basically said, “We’re doing our best, but you must understand – this could kill you.”

The nurse explained that the platelets were from a human donor, and I could have bad side effects. I asked how long the side effects might take to show up. She said, “Oh, in 15 minutes you might have a lot of trouble breathing….. we’ll know.”

There must be something good in platelets because I felt much less exhausted at the end of this day, or maybe it was just knowing this part of the process was over.

I was discharged to go home in fragile condition and instructed to avoid any activity that could lead to bleeding, internal or external (I always try to avoid activities that could lead to bleeding anyway).

Friday I will check into the hospital for my long-term stay, receiving “Brink of Death” chemo Friday and Saturday. Monday they will put my stem cells back in me and by about July 11^th, it will become apparent if they are doing as we hope.

July 15^th on my hospital calendar is marked, “Home soon if doing well.” During my stay, I will be able to send and receive emails and have visitors who are not sick.

Thank you again to my cousin, Abraham, for all the great help and support when my wife couldn’t be there.

Now Begins Real Adventure

After finishing the chemo treatments, food tastes good again, constipation is gone, and I am not so easily out of breath. Ending the treatments also meant ending my sanctioned boycott of professional dental cleaning.

With Wednesday’s teeth cleaning I received a mouthful of x-rays to make sure there were no impending infections that would interfere with the stem cell transplant process.

I apparently passed my pre-transplant tests, the electrocardiogram, an echocardiogram, and a pulmonary function test. They wanted to see that I’m likely to survive this adventure.

*“Line” is a much friendlier name than Central Venous Access Device*

Yesterday was a full day at the Providence Cancer Center in Portland. Everyone I came in contact with was more than kind, starting and ending with my cousin, Abraham who drove and spent the day there with me. My Central Line was installed and I received a strong dose of chemo.

I was awarded a box full of supplies including those needed for cleaning the Central Line daily, and some pre-filled Neupogen syringes for the twice daily subcutaneous shots to be administered by Diane or myself through the next week or so. This is to encourage stem cell production.

In about nine days, stem cell collection should begin. Sometime after that, I will move into my temporary home in the hospital. God knows the end of this fascinating story. I must play it out one day at a time to see how it concludes. Thank you all for your prayers and support.

Let The Transplant Begin

Diane and I met with the Stem Cell Transplant specialist. She explained the theory of and steps for the transplant. Seeing it as my best and only real option, I agreed to have it done. It’s not a cure, but it’s supposed to buy time.

Pre-testing will begin in the last week of May; I should be in the hospital somewhere around the middle of June, and released around the middle of July. There is a period of recovery at home ranging from one to six months, but at least I will be at home.

After chemotherapy, I was told to continue taking the daily thalidomide pills. I can stop those now and hope to see some side effects go away. Thank you all for your prayers and support.

*Our first son, Brandon was born thirty five years ago today; one third of the best part of my life.*

I shaved my stomach for this?

I’m at the end of Chemotherapy series number four, that’s twelve weeks of treatments. The results of today’s bone marrow biopsy will be key in deciding the next step: more chemo, or more likely, a stem cell transplant.

When I had my first subcutaneous infusion there in the Chemo Lounge, the nurse finished by putting a small round band aid on the shot site. It was just an unassuming little band aid, but it stuck like superglue.

If all medical fields had advanced as well as the field of band aid sticking, everyone would be living longer and healthier lives. I never thought of my stomach as hairy, but when I finally got a grip on the edge of that circle of protection and pried it off my skin, it was covered with hair. It looked as if it had been pulled off our cat, Rocky.

Considering I was going to have to do that about 15 more times, shaving my stomach seemed a good idea. It turned out to be a waste of time, I just stopped using the band aids.

I have two appointments next week, one for the biopsy test results, and one with a stem cell transplant specialist. When I first heard that a transplant involves up to a month in the hospital, I thought, “No Way.” But when I considered the alternative (possibly being dead), I thought I could probably stand on my head for a month in the hospital.

Summer is approaching, and my summer calendar is about to get marked up. It’s exciting to see what the next month will bring. Thank you for your prayers for Diane and me. Our lives have been full of blessings. We get joy from your words and deeds, acting as God’s hands. We are encouraged as you remind us how all powerful Jesus is; awesome and yet accessible to each of us. We take comfort in God’s Peace, what ever happens.