I don't know that dreams can come true. First of all, I can't remember them. And secondly, they don't make any sense. I wake up thinking "that was interesting" until I think about it. People who don't know each other are together in places they've never been, walking down hallways that don't lead to anywhere. And then I lose track of what it's about.
So I'm not big on hoping dreams will come true.
But then we walked down the hallway into the exam room at the cancer center. The physician's assistant who did my bone marrow biopsy came in and handed us a copy of the results. "Flow cytometry shows no evidence for a clonal B-lymphocyte population." Interpretation -- the leukemia is gone.
The report is two pages of incomprehensible medical jibberish that boil down to my bone marrow functioning properly and producing white cells, red cells and platelets the way it's supposed to. Not enough of them yet, but it's coming around.
It doesn't make for great reading -- there's no plot and you can't really even say there's a beginning, a middle and an end. But I've read it word for word several times, and I'll admit it brings a tear to my eye.
My doctor came in, said "you done good" and gave me a hug. All I had done was sit in a lounge chair with an IV needle in my hand, but I have new respect for the bulging veins on the back of my hand.
A lot of worry melted away when we left the clinic that day.
The next night, I took a cellphone picture of the label of a bottle of 30 year old Glenfiddich, added "test results are in" to the caption and sent it to my brother-in-law. He texted back "I'll be right over." We each had a glass and toasted my blood cells, literally and figuratively. That bottle had been tucked away for a couple of years, and while it tasted like the really good scotch that it is, the reason was better than the booze.
My next appointment is three months away. It's a little odd not having a blood test or a clinic appointment or a chemotherapy treatment looming on the horizon. I won't say I looked forward to them, but I marked time that way -- two weeks until I go back in for chemo, blood test Tuesday and so on. The year's gone by quickly. Fortunately, it's gone in our favor.
Back there in the recesses of my head is the knowledge that it's not considered a cure -- though there are people who have had the same treatment I had and have no sign of CLL after nearly five years. So, it could be a cure.
And they're working on a lot of things that hold the promise of being even better treatments, and a vaccine is in the works. Things that will be available some day -- in case I'm not "cured" and need to fight it off again.
In the meantime, it's everything we could have hoped for -- like a dream come true.
So I'm not big on hoping dreams will come true.
But then we walked down the hallway into the exam room at the cancer center. The physician's assistant who did my bone marrow biopsy came in and handed us a copy of the results. "Flow cytometry shows no evidence for a clonal B-lymphocyte population." Interpretation -- the leukemia is gone.
The report is two pages of incomprehensible medical jibberish that boil down to my bone marrow functioning properly and producing white cells, red cells and platelets the way it's supposed to. Not enough of them yet, but it's coming around.
It doesn't make for great reading -- there's no plot and you can't really even say there's a beginning, a middle and an end. But I've read it word for word several times, and I'll admit it brings a tear to my eye.
My doctor came in, said "you done good" and gave me a hug. All I had done was sit in a lounge chair with an IV needle in my hand, but I have new respect for the bulging veins on the back of my hand.
A lot of worry melted away when we left the clinic that day.
The next night, I took a cellphone picture of the label of a bottle of 30 year old Glenfiddich, added "test results are in" to the caption and sent it to my brother-in-law. He texted back "I'll be right over." We each had a glass and toasted my blood cells, literally and figuratively. That bottle had been tucked away for a couple of years, and while it tasted like the really good scotch that it is, the reason was better than the booze.
My next appointment is three months away. It's a little odd not having a blood test or a clinic appointment or a chemotherapy treatment looming on the horizon. I won't say I looked forward to them, but I marked time that way -- two weeks until I go back in for chemo, blood test Tuesday and so on. The year's gone by quickly. Fortunately, it's gone in our favor.
Back there in the recesses of my head is the knowledge that it's not considered a cure -- though there are people who have had the same treatment I had and have no sign of CLL after nearly five years. So, it could be a cure.
And they're working on a lot of things that hold the promise of being even better treatments, and a vaccine is in the works. Things that will be available some day -- in case I'm not "cured" and need to fight it off again.
In the meantime, it's everything we could have hoped for -- like a dream come true.
