History #10 – treatment – induction – first hospitalization – last week December 2001 – Merry Christmas…

February 3, 2007 at 7:01 am | Posted in AIG, chemo side effects, My initial treatment -- induction, Sam Cantin, Susie Engard | Leave a comment

When I’ve spoken to groups for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society over the years, I sometimes started with a question – “What were you doing Christmas 2001?” My answer was, in Stanford Hospital getting treatment that would save my life. (A good opener – very dramatic and catchy.)

In the days before Christmas 2001, I had the preparations for chemo made as described above, but felt good. The mental attitude was another thing. All of the preparations increased the fear of the unknown. Mouth sores? Infections? I wasn’t having headaches from the ATRA, but still worried about that. And although the prognosis was good, there was that 20% possibility of not making it to remission or surviving. It was all still there, looming. And all one could do was to prepare, and think about it.

One thing that really helped was my connection to my work. At the time I was working as a healthcare consultant for a medical malpractice insurer, and my job was to travel to places all over the western US, including Alaska and Hawaii. I really enjoyed the travel, and the content of the work. I was able to do education and write professionally for work newsletters and other things. At the time of my illness, I had been working on a risk management newsletter for long-term care. I had an outline, and all the content laid out in bullet points. So I had asked to have my laptop brought to the hospital, and to keep my mind off the uncertainty I worked some on the publication. I also sent emails to my co-workers, not just about finishing that publication, but to tell them about how I was doing.

My connection to the people of my work was a godsend, too. I was always very open with what was going on, what was about to happen, and how I felt. I remember reading a story about a woman in the early years of treatment of breast cancer who went through treatment without telling anyone – most of the family, co-workers and friends – for a decade. She hid all the details of her illnesses, taking “vacations” when the symptoms and treatments got worse. Most never knew until just before she died.

I could never do that. I didn’t want to be private about this. There was something about telling others about what I was going through, and implicitly soliciting their thoughts and prayers, that I knew would help me. So I was emailing from the hospital room to not just work, but to old friends and all my family. Not long after admission, I started getting cards and calls from everyone. It really helped. Others started sending emails, just talking about normal routines and things that happened at work. It really really made a huge difference.

But I suppose the one thing that kept me sanest of all was Sam and Susie. One, or the other, or often both, had been there all the time those first few days. They were there through it all – the insertion of the pic line, the shaving of the head. And they kept me grounded – they worried about me, probably than I worried about me.

And probably the best thing they did for me was to make my Christmas and New Years of that holiday season as best it could be. They worked to find various kinds of foods I wanted, that I could eat. Sam made incredibly terrific homemade pecan pies – and he was smart enough to make enough for the staff, which made him very popular. I recall wanting pizza something fierce, which of course was off-limits (no cheese). Somehow they got some processed cheese and did something. I remember getting some kind of cheese at that time, and it was really great. They both decorated the room, and were there to help me make it through those times.

The best thing, though, was a gift Susie got me. I’ve mentioned it already in her own post honoring her, but it’s worth repeating here. She gave me a battery-operated candle, with a card on it that read, “To remind you there is light at the end of the tunnel.”

light-at-end-of-tunnel-candle-005.jpg

That’s exactly what I needed at that time. In fact, I still need it today. We all do.

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