Between Medicine and Miracles: Finding Peace in the Process

I think I could never be an addict. It takes too much effort. It's more than just swallowing pills or guzzling alcohol. It's a constant battle. With pain meds, the relief they bring can be amazing, but the cost is too great, in my opinion. The cost is withdrawal. I can understand why addiction happens. The motivation is to keep the lightheadedness, the nausea, the splitting headaches, the constipation, and the shakes—oh! the shakes—away or at least subdued. Imagine trying to type on a keyboard when your fingers are shaking like leaves in an October north wind. Why would anyone put themselves through that torture? I can't fathom it.

During my chemotherapy sessions, I found a pleasant diversion in watching a sci-fi series with Halle Berry called Extant. I really enjoyed it, and the themes were very appropriate for today: the potential dangers of AI, the existence of life on other planets, etc. There were only two seasons and I figured no chance of a third or fourth because the series was produced back in 2015.

It blows my mind that 2015 was ten years ago. In the first season, I noticed that nearly every outfit Molly, Halle Berry's character, wore looked like something I had in my closet. Beige and tan cardigans, cowl-neck sweaters, and silky blouses under dark blazers—styles I still own. Are they out-of-date styles from ten years ago or are they timeless fashions I could wear again without feeling antiquated? You know what? I don't care one way or another. I do think I need to do some downsizing. I have too much stuff that's as inconsequential as those outfits Molly wore.

Yesterday was the first day I felt almost normal. My hands are still shaky, but not so bad that I can't type. Like yesterday, I woke with a mild headache today, but acetaminophen seems to have taken care of it. In eight days, John and I will be on our way to Houston again to start this new regimen. I'm keeping track of everything on my phone calendar.

To be precise, I will receive my genetically modified white blood cells, or leukocytes, through an infusion on September 16 followed by 10 daily visits with my oncologist, Dr. Oren Pasvolsky. Those 10 days are part of the 30-day monitoring period to ensure I am doing well and to deal with any side effects I may experience.

There are so many unknowns for me about this therapy. It is similar to the stem cell transplant process, and the main concern is a compromised immune system, making me susceptible to any number of things. The most common side effects I might experience include:

• fever (100.4°F/38°C or higher)

• chills or shaking chills

• fast or irregular heartbeat

• difficulty breathing

• very low blood pressure

• dizziness/lightheadedness

• effects on my nervous system (too many to include here).

The occurrence of any one of these side effects will send me to the hospital with John or one of my cousins who will be my caregivers.

Like all pharmaceutical drugs, the side effect list almost always includes the words, "may cause side effects that are severe or life-threatening and can lead to death."

I know they are required to list everything that can possibly happen, and most of it is not nearly as likely as they make it sound. At least that's what I tell myself. But this relapse has been so different from my first three lines of treatment, including the stem cell transplant, that I find myself in a state of uncertainty. I don't really feel afraid. Just nervous anticipation of what could happen.

Christians are called to have courage. We are supposed to live boldly with faith that our Father is watching and He knows what we need. Will this therapy lead to four or five more years of remission? Maybe more? Only time will tell. I have placed my trust in the highly trained physicians who provide my care. I know their knowledge and talent comes from our Creator who loves me and whose wisdom is incomprehensible to humans. I want whatever He chooses for me.