Feeling Small

When living or surviving with Multiple Myeloma, it is quickly figured out that there is no such thing as a routine or trivial blood draw. Each and every blood draw matters. The blood draw is king. Every time the arm gets poked and/or the port gets accessed it is an event of major significance.

The nurse or clinic/lab technician draws the vials of blood and then the waiting and wondering begins. What will the results show? Where am I at? The results of the blood draw, the blood numbers, will determine most if not all the subsequent activities that will take place as you move forward in the management of the Multiple Myeloma.

It is important. And it becomes familiar and somewhat reassuring. It is tangible evidence that you are surviving. I mention this because in February it was decided that no blood draw would be taken in March.

It has been 28 months since my CAR T procedure. My numbers are/have been holding steady in a preferred range of value. Hallelujiah. So, based upon the numbers/results received in February, no blood draw was ordered for March.

For me this was somewhat of a milestone because I have routinely had monthly blood draws for the better part of almost 12 years. There has been a lot of blood drawn and then, this past month - nothing.

A cancer diagnosis is of course life-altering. A lot changed/changes. Prior to the diagnosis, I had a yearly blood draw in accordance with my yearly physical.  And that was it. Now they became at least a monthly occurrence and quite often twice a month depending on what the previous draw indicated.

The reality of needing to be evaluated all the time becomes somewhat routine. And the most effective way to evaluate your condition is through having someone capture some blood. It is understood that you cannot be 100% certain how “things” are/will play out. No surprise here as there are very few guarantees in life. However, your blood work seems to be a fine indicator as to how you are progressing.

As the first week in April approached and the draw date inched closer, I became a bit jumpier and ornerier. I seemed lost and somewhat vacant. I have to believe that some of my anxiety manifested in a severe case of the “shanks” with my golf swing (that is where your swing goes all to heck and you end up hitting the ball nowhere near where you were aiming or where you were wanting it to go – quite embarrassing).  I was very distracted by most everything that I encountered.

There was a gap in what had become my normal routine of getting a blood draw the first week of each month and it was very much noticed.

Finally, I went in for the blood draw and four days later all the results confirmed that my numbers were still holding steady. The new numbers were very much the same as they were two months ago. There was no evidence of a monoclonal peak.

Just writing that there was a sense of relief and gratefulness does not do justice to the immensity of this feeling. Getting preferred blood numbers back after all the testing is the absolute best. It’s a huge relief.

And then, suddenly, I felt so humbled, so quiet. A new energy entered.

It has been written that with humility comes wisdom. Also, it has been written that the opposite, pride, brings disgrace. Maybe. I certainly am not here to write that I am a wise man. Yet I can certainly say I felt very humbled. It is difficult to describe the “energy” felt/brought about by the blood numbers/results. The best I can provide is that upon receiving the news I felt very small. Small

What a gift. I mean, truly, what a gift.

Another two months until the next blood draw. And most likely as the calendar moves forward towards that date there will be a repeat performance of these past two months involving anticipation, anxiety, some approach avoidance, and a pinch of worry. A generous dose of uncertainty and a bit of trepidation thrown in for good measure must be added. All because, well, I do not know. We are who we are.

On this journey, I have had many occasions, the pleasure of listening to many different cancer survivors. They have let me in on this secret - once you have cancer, you have cancer. - and, if you are lucky, you move forward and you get to keep learning.

Forward we go.

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Song of the Month

San Antonio Rose by Merle Haggard

Just amazing. The fiddle playing, the voice, the energy – well what can be written. The casual brilliance of Merle Haggaard was something to behold. He went about the business of making music without too much fanfare.

His voice was so distinctive and resolute. His fiddle playing mostly underappreciated. This video captures something else – his desire to have fun and entertain.  He was darn good.