Life in the East Wing

Me and Papa Willie

First I would like to say THANK YOU to all my family, friends, and co-workers who have called, texted, visited, posted, and prayed for me and my family.

Second, as promised I wanted to keep you all informed on my new life in the Leukemia/Bone Marrow Transplant Unit. Let me just say, they are a little more strict here on the East wing.

For instance, I can't leave my room without suiting up in Hazmat gear like I've got some hazardous materials to clean up.

But what the hey, it makes for some some good practical jokes on the elevator.

In addition to friends and family we've also had many other visitors: doctors and dietitians, coordinators and social workers, PAs and CNAs. My room at the hospital has had quite the revolving door.

After a good chat with Doctor Asch we made the exciting decision to join a clinical trial for ALL (Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia). What did this mean for me; another exciting bone marrow biopsy!  And after all the poking, twisting, and grinding was over, we were still unsuccessful in getting a sample of bone marrow.  Apparently this is not uncommon when you have leukemia because your cancerous cells multiply so quickly that your marrow becomes ultra dense and difficult to extract (a tid bit of knowledge that I may have liked to know BEFORE we started drilling).  Truth be told however, my experience with bone marrow biopsy hasn't been all that bad - a little painful, but not unbearable.

Put simply the clinical trial regiment is a hybrid developed from the pediatric approach to fighting leukemia because children have shown better cure rates. The Doctors tell me that I am young and resilient... but is it that I am child like or just childish that makes them feel this treatment is for me?

The day starts with an optimistic shot glass full of different colored pills.  One of which I believe is called asparigenace and is for all the little kids that got cancer because they wouldn't eat their asparagus.   

I'm not the biggest fan of taking pills.  In fact I think I had my mom buying children's chewable Tylenol for me till I was about 12 years old. The phobia originated from a violent gagging incident that took place with a hearty orange slice.  Needless to say, I take my pills one by one and go through about two classes of water just to finish them off.

In addition to my morning pills they've also been cranking me full of some fun steroids that hype me up like a pot of coffee.  So that's been pretty exiting.

I had a main line sewed into my chest and neck; a quite uncomfortable contraption that prevents the continuous poking of my inner elbows (which were beginning to look suspicious from a pioneer park point of view) and allows medical staff to extract blood and inject whatever kind of fun medication they would like directly into my heart without any poking around.  Other than appearing like I have 3 gangly nipples its not so bad.  My sweet mother is working on some special seamstress magic that will allow me to wear an undershirt and then pop out the 3 ganglies when necessary for maximum comfort.  Yes, she is a compassionate genius (and may have had some practice with this sort of thing while breast feeding 7 children).

I made a new friend and decided to name him Papa Wheely (pronounced Willie). We are pretty much attached at the hip.  He's a thin wiry guy (kind of resembles a hat hanger) that delivers all the right medicine at the right time. Earlier in the week Willie and I went  for a stroll.  Me in my hazmat gear and him, like a robotic bag of hangers with 3 white mini computers on his belt.  Here is a look down the hall from Willie's eyes.

I'll admit, it's not too exciting up on the LBMT Unit but we make the most of it.  My to do list consists of walking, sitting, using this nasty salty mouthwash, and breathing 10 breaths in a spirometer 4 times a day 

(it's like a slow motion bong without any of the hallucinogenic side effects.) Now I know this all may seem pretty easy but this is just the beginning. 

Currently I'm still in the "Prophase" section of my treatment; this started with one dose of Chemo in my spinal chord and is being followed by three days of steroid injections. My hematocrit levels have been pretty consistent so I haven't had to undergo any more blood transfusions but my steroids have upped my blood sugars so now I've been getting shots of insulin, yay! Let me give a shout out to my diabetic friends!

The real fun starts on Monday when I begin the "Induction" phase; this is when they really start hitting me with the hard drugs that destroy my lymphoblastic B cells (the Luekemia). Here's what they look like. The bad news is that to take out these cells we deplete a protein that other fast growing cells also need.

Lymphoblastic Leukemia Cell

This is what ends up causing all the fun side effects: weak immune system, inflamed digestive track, and most noticeable, hair loss. This week has been a big pep rally, the game starts Monday.  I would appreciate all your support through this time, but please don't visit unless you are in good health because we are going to wipe out my immune system and then build me back up.  The point of "Induction is to send the cancer into remission" if we can accomplish this, I will be able to leave the hospital and participate a long road of out patient therapy (about 2 and 1/2 more years). Huzzah!

Again I appreciate all your support. Thanks to Johnny for stopping by and creaming me in gummy bear black jack.  To Carson and Teri for bringing food, and gifts, and just hanging out.  For my little brother for taping jazz games and playing old school street fighter on SNES with me deep into the night.  To my nurses and doctors for all their hard work and dedication.  To my amazing mom and mother in law for all they do. To the Ward Relief Society for helping organize a babysitting schedule.  Everyone else again for all your kind and thoughtful words of concern and encouragement. And most importantly to my lovely wife for spending every moment she can with me and even skyping in when Kezman got sick and couldn't visit.

If anyone wants to know my personal strategy for battling this disease read the first presidency message in the Ensign for January.  It's A: for a positive attitude, B: believe in myself, others, and the gospel of Jesus Christ, and C: courage. 

Ironically the Jazz are playing behind me in this underdog shot :)

For as my often hyperactive but awesomely inspired cousin Chuck popped in from North Carolina tonight and said, "It's funny how the things you don't want to happen end up teaching you the things you need to know the most."