Friday, February 4, 2011

Remission!

I have arrived! Today's oncology appointment represented the culmination of all that I have sought and achieved for the last ten months. The "R" word! Season over! The Stanley Cup of the Myeloma League. The World Championship ring at the dramatic conclusion of the Oncology Playoffs. Yogi Berra jumping into the arms of Don Larsen. Champaigne flowing like waterfalls in the Cancer Clubhouse.

Blood tests this morning show no sign of the myeloma in my system, and all organs functioning at optimum level. No question it's a major milestone. Remission Control announces remission accomplished!

Oddly I feel rather neutral about it all. I expected the news, and rather judged myself to be in remission a long time ago, despite my lack of a medical degree. I didn't even brag about it at first when I arrived home today. Why? Well, while I don't feel fabulous, I have felt better over these recent months than I have in a decade. Furthermore, I've always known that I have a bit of an iron constitution. In addition, I've all along had great confidence in the team that was working behind me, from my chemo oncologist and his staff to my stem cell oncologist and his team as well. I've had access to the best and the latest in treatment. I could feel the improvement while the weeks sped past (or should I more accurately say, crawled past). And I had extraordinary help and support from family and friends. What cancer could possibly outlast all that?

So the doctor's announcement truly did not strike me as a big deal.

But there are some things I must always keep in mind. The right to fly the latest championship flag over Peck Stadium lasts only as long as the off-season. My health will need to be monitored, probably for the rest of my life. Cancer always gets the opportunity to try for a comeback come the next campaign, and make a stab at tarnishing my trophy. What's more, I continue to consume huge amounts of medication, and I must admit a hint of trepidation here, as my liver and kidneys face a constant barrage and the meds cruise through my body searching for a disease to attack. Finally, the damage to my bones will probably always be there. The days of carting around sheetrock or tossing shovelful after shovelful of wet snow over my shoulder are gone forever. I will need to take the steps and invest in the machinery to make myself independent in alternative ways.

I say it's a small price to pay.

So let's cheer. I've won the Vince Lombardi Trophy of the Oncological League. And on Super Bowl weekend.