Down to the Hutch Again
I have to say that Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center is like a luxury hotel. The whole 7th floor is
dedicated to just lymphoma patients. There seem to be quite a few of us spread across the globe,
compared to other kinds of cancer. I have a lot of company.
Gene and I arrived at noon and the nurse got me settled in to the room I’d be waiting in. She
injected the radioactive dye into a vein, and allowed me to take the two prescribed Ativan while I
waited the necessary hour. The tranquilizer, remember, is to calm me down and/or sleep during
the whole procedure. My claustrophobia is probably why I love open spaces so much and being
outdoors. I very much appreciate how the medical community frequently panders to this need of
many patients.
After the scan they sent us home to wait for the result. It would paint a clear picture of how much
or little the cancer has spread. And then my care team would plan the next steps. Many of my
friends and family have asked me, quite indignantly, why it took nearly ten months to diagnose
my cancer—especially since I’ve had glaring symptoms since September of last year. The reason
is that the lymphoma cells did not show up in any of my earlier tests—not in two bone marrow
biopsies nor in my first lymph node biopsy. My last biopsy did reveal a “partial and evolving”
occurrence of t-cell lymphoma. Those two words give me hope that they may have detected it at
an early stage.. My doctor told me it was “non-aggressive and slow-moving.” Does that improve
my prognosis?
Maybe, for now. There are other factors that give me hope. The “nearly perfect health” I’ve
enjoyed most of my life might help me. And it might reduce the possibility of complications. A
dear friend died of lymphoma last year, largely because his heart was compromised and he
needed three stents implanted and several ablations in the midst of fighting cancer. I had an
echocardiogram last winter and was told “You have the heart of a 30-year-old.” Well, that’s nice
to hear, but my lungs are a mess with early-onset emphysema and several benign nodes taking up
residence. In any case, not to state the obvious, the younger and healthier you are when cancer
strikes, the better your odds of long-term survival.
My odds are not good: 4 in 10 patients will live to the five-year mark. I told my son that and he
said,
“Mom, I want more than five years!”
But I’ll be 81 in five years. That’s a good, long life, I think, not to mention the fullness and
richness of the life experiences I’ve been privileged to enjoy. If I’m given five more years, what
an opportunity to grow in my spirituality and make the most of the time left to me! How many
people get that chance?
Of course, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow…
