Remission

Is it counterproductive to spark up a cigar and crack a beer when your doctor tells you you're in remission?

Yeah, probably. 

In a continuation of the good news from Friday, my hematologist/oncologist told me this morning the rest of my scans looked good and that she considers me to now be in remission. Even she seemed relieved, shaking her head at the thought of how sick I'd been over the past few months.

Hell, even my blood pressure was normal this morning. Apparently the cure for my high blood pressure is to drink one espresso right before measuring it, consume several hotdogs the night before, and probably most importantly: be told to stop worrying about my blood pressure.

It was also the first time I asked my doctor what stage my cancer was at. I guess waiting months to ask is odd, since that's one of the first questions people ask me. But honestly, I never cared. I figured it was probably at least a stage three, but regardless of classification it was obviously pretty bad and I was going to need serious treatment and a lot of luck. So what difference did it make? 

But on finding out that it was mostly gone I was all of a sudden curious -- and she confirmed that it had been stage four (due to involvement of my pancreas, lungs and skin). 

I'm dying to get back to work and to just be normal again, but I'm still not allowed. Rest and recovery continues to be the doc's orders and it's key that I avoid infections in these pre-transplant days. Because all this good news continues to unfortunately be tempered by the reality that I'm highly likely to relapse, and probably quickly, without a successful stem cell transplant (the Brentuximab is brilliant, but not curative, and those with large cell anaplastic lymphoma typically relapse, sometimes even after the transplant).

Anyways, I'm eager to meet with the transplant team this week to get the plans rolling.