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When the cancer comes back

BY GUEST
PUBLISHED FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 2012
As my sister drove me to the hospital on a wintery night after my leukemia returned for the second time, I said over and over, "I'm never going to see my grandchildren. I'm never going to see my grandchildren."

I thought I was at the end of the line. I had already had three bone marrow transplants, each preceded by intensive chemotherapy, when my doctor told me that I had relapsed again.

On the night of Dec. 21, 2008, I had felt a little better after feeling sick for several days. My daughter and I were making cookies. Then I fell to the floor.

After she helped get me to bed, I took my temperature and discovered that I had a fever. I called Dr. Edwin Alyea, my physician at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, and he said he was sorry to tell me on the phone, but the pathology report on my latest bone marrow biopsy showed that I had relapsed.

He said he would understand if I didn't want to go through treatment again, but if I wanted to proceed, he had an idea for a new regimen.

I wanted to live. I wanted to see my three children, 16, 19 and 23, continue growing up into the wonderful adults I knew they would be.

I wanted to walk my Labrador retriever, play tennis, run a road race and return to my job as a newspaper reporter.

Dr. Alyea had said to go to the emergency room and get admitted, and then he would come see me and there would be a plan. It turns out I had pneumonia, so they had to treat that before they did anything else.

I was first diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia in 2003 after feeling extremely tired while running a 10-kilometer road race near my home in South Hadley, Mass. Thinking I was probably anemic, not eating right or training poorly, I went to my internist. He said my blood counts were abnormal and sent me for a bone marrow biopsy. I soon learned that I had AML, a fast-moving cancer of the blood.

The "What, me?" response was pretty strong. I ate well and exercised, I didn't smoke and I was slender. But I had to accept it when, within about a week, I found myself in a bed at Boston's Brigham and Women's Hospital, about 90 miles from home. Under the care of doctors from Dana-Farber, I received three rounds of in-patient chemotherapy, with rest periods in between at home, and then my first bone marrow transplant.

It was an autologous transplant, meaning they used my own new, clean stem cells, removed after two rounds of chemotherapy and then returned to me in a rescue mission after a third and powerful round basically cleared out my bone marrow.

I was in remission, but my first Dana-Farber doctor, Daniel J. DeAngelo, told me that remission is not cure. He said that after two years you break out the Champagne, but only after five years can you use the word cure.

After two, then three-and-a-half years passed and normalcy wrapped its arms around me, I got another shock. The leukemia was back. I learned this just after I played in, and won, a doubles match at a tennis tournament.

"Leukemia is curable," DeAngelo said. "We'll get you back on your feet."

"I am on my feet," I thought to myself as I left his office. And then I burst into tears.

This time I would get an allogenic transplant, with stem cells coming from a donor. After the leukemia cells are killed by chemotherapy and healthy donor cells fill your bone marrow, the donor cells patrol your body to fight off any leukemia that might try to sneak back in.

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