Saying Goodbye to 2025

It’s been an interesting year. Not much health-wise, thankfully, but health problems are never far from my thoughts. This year marks five years since I finished treatment for follicular lymphoma, a form of blood cancer that is considered very treatable but chronic and incurable.

In June 2020, I started experiencing what I now know were “B” symptoms of follicular lymphoma: I had significant afternoon fatigue that would cause me to fall asleep mid-afternoon. I would wake up soaked in sweat. I attributed both to the weather; it was a hot summer, and air conditioning only does so much. I also lost a significant amount of weight (30 pounds in two months), which I attributed to a back injury the month before that ended up with me on muscle relaxants. I wasn’t particularly hungry, because even if the muscle relaxants took care of most of the pain, it hurt to move, and I wasn’t eating as much as usual.

As part of recovering from the back injury, I scheduled a massage. The massage therapist found an enlarged lymph node in my armpit and suggested I get a mammogram. The gynecologist I went to agreed and sent me for a mammogram. That visit also uncovered a previously unknown symptom: sinus tachycardia, a high heart rate; my resting heart rate approached 130 beats per minute. Diagnosis ended up coming from both directions. On Wednesday, I went for the mammogram, which led to an ultrasound and then a biopsy, while on Thursday, I went for a CT scan to look for the cause of the sinus tachycardia, which my doctor suspected was a blood clot in a lung. But it wasn’t; the CT scan came back “probable lymphoma, possible leukemia.” And so it began.

Looking back, five years and six months after diagnosis, five years after completing treatment and being declared NED (no evidence of disease, remission), my life is, in some ways, totally different than it was then. I retired from teaching slightly sooner than I had intended; being immune compromised in a middle school in the midst of a pandemic seemed like a bad option when I had the choice to retire. Sammy, the dog who was my companion through COVID and cancer, died of honorable old age in 2022. Several months ago, I finally adopted a new dog. I did something I’d been dreaming of for years and visited India. I renovated my house.

Even so, some things remain the same. I still love books, especially fantasy novels. I still see my oncologist every six months and get a CT scan every year, looking for recurrence. I have no noticeable signs that the lymphoma has returned, but then again, my oncologist thinks it was spreading for five to 10 years before diagnosis, and I only had symptoms for two or three months before diagnosis and treatment. My annual CT scan is coming up in late January, and already I’m stressing about it. I’ve been sick with something I can’t identify; my resting heart rate has risen some (not nearly as much as five years ago), I’ve had a mild fever, I’ve been fatigued. It’s enough to raise my stress level significantly, even though it’s most likely some respiratory infection. Scanxiety — anxiety about an upcoming scan, blood test, or medical appointment — is real and never really goes away.

Then, too, it’s New Year’s Eve, a date that invites introspection. Add a significant anniversary to that, and it’s been an interesting evening. I just hope that the fireworks I expect my neighbors to set off in the park across the street don’t upset my new dog too much, but at least soothing her if they do will take my mind off everything else.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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