June 16, 2005, wasn't just like any other day. John and I sat in Dr. Ford's office waiting to hear what the results would be from John's recent tests. The door to the doctor's office opened and the oncologist strolled in.
He looked quickly over at John. "Well, I have some good news for you. You don't have Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma."
"Great!" John and I both blurted out at the same time, relieved.
"You have something else," he continued. "You have Myelodysplasia."
John and I were both stunned. We thought he was giving us good news, and now he was bringing up this word Myelodysplasia. What was Myelodysplasia anyway?
Dr. Ford explained that Myelodysplasia was bone marrow cancer. John's bone marrow wasn't working properly. He said it would eventually turn into MDS leukemia (something called AML), and that John would need a bone marrow transplant to stop it from doing that.
Now we were even more stunned. And horribly frightened.
Apparently John knew a little bit more about bone marrow transplants than I did. He said, "Well, I've heard about bone marrow transplants before. First they have to destroy some of your bone marrow. If the donor's marrow doesn't take, then I die."
"Well, it's not without risk," Dr. Ford said. "But you need to do it. Because without it you WILL die."
Then he got up to leave the room. "I'm sorry," he kept saying and shaking his head.
On the ride home John says that everything that Dr. Ford said, and everything that he knew about bone marrow transplants kept going round and round, over and over, in his head. It was "traumatizing" is the way John is describing it to me.
Traumatizing is how I would describe it too. I was frightened beyond words. What would the future bring?
Krissy, you might have dealt with this before in one of your other entries, but I'm relatively new to your journal. Didn't you think it was odd that the oncologist said he had good news, but then proceeded to give what I think would have been bad news? Seemed like he was lacking in tact or sensitivity, but I don't know him nor can I imagine how difficult it would be to deliver news like this every single day of your working life.
ReplyDeleteI can imagine traumatizing would be one of the words I would have used.
again, hugs to you, and praying for a match.
betty
((((Krissy)))))) I couldn't inagine how you both were feeling!
ReplyDeleteHugs,
xoxo
Heather
This oncologist just sounds so cold. The emotions you are dealing with are so many. It's the world of the unknown and thinking of what the future holds. I have to say with my fathers situation, we are taking it one day at a time. This seems to work with us and might for you. Whenever I look into the future and what might be ahead I snap myself back to the present day. It's the only way I can deal with it.
ReplyDeleteTBADT, surprisingly, your entries here and people's comments are helping me. In a strange sort of way. I didn't know it would be catharctic for me as well. I will explain later. This must be hard for you. (((((Krissy, John1))))) xoxoxox
ReplyDelete((((( Krissy and John )))))
ReplyDeleteSara x
((((( and Val )))))
ReplyDeleteSara x
Boy that doc sssounded kinda of rude. I can't imagine what yo are going through....Kasey
ReplyDeleteWhat an awful day for you both...JAE
ReplyDelete