A couple months back, a close friend found himself very low on energy, unable to walk more than half a mile without rest and just not feeling right. A blood test alarmed the doctor and soon my friend was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. My friend, who I will call Robert, needed blood transfusions and two-weeks rest before he could even fly home from Europe and begin the necessary treatment. This happened only four months after Robert received a gold star report following his annual physical.
I have spoken with my friend by phone once or twice a week since he began treatment. He and his wife have moved in with a son and his family to be close to the hospital where Robert is being treated. On our calls, Robert is very upbeat and says he feels surprisingly well, considering both his disease and treatment.
Yesterday, he sent the message below. Robert told me I could copy it for this post. I have changed the names in order not to identify anyone…the identities are not important, but the message really is:
It’s Sunday morning and sitting here in [my son Jack’s] kitchen having an extra cup of coffee and feeling melancholy.
Finished my 3rd chemo session last Monday/Tuesday with a 24 hour infusion, followed by a day off then another 4+ hour infusion and a powerful shot to boost the treatment. Continue to feel good, still tired but trying to walk a mile or so each day. [My son’s wife] leaves for her AF reserve job in Hawaii tomorrow for the next month so we’ll be picking up the everyday slack of school transfer to tennis and all the myriad other places 5 and 11 year olds go plus food prep and household chores. Still love the driving but not the east coast traffic.
Scheduled for the 4th treatment on June 17 then after more tests a major discussion with the doctors on the hopeful remission or progression of the lymphoma and white blood cells. Maybe, subject to my bone marrow production of good cells, we’ll get a better idea of our future.
Now, why melancholy?
[My wife & I] met one of Jack’s co-workers last night, another lieutenant colonel who is Director of Operations for Jack’s squadron. [The co-worker’s] daughter, Liz, is 10 years old and suffers from a severe type of blood cancer, an aggressive form of leukemia. She just wasn’t herself her dad told us around Christmas time. She continued to respond sluggishly and after a series of tests was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia and they began a treatment program similar to mine with repeated blood tests, chemotherapy and multiple drugs. 10 years old.
I’ve teased about wrestling with porcupines and the multiple holes in my arms and the hole in my hip from the bone marrow sample but, holy cow, I will be 70 years old in a few weeks and have had a great life. Liz goes through these tests and rigorous treatments even more frequently than me. 10 years old.
Liz is a patient at the Children’s Hospital. She’s the eldest of 3 and her mom, retired AF, now devotes her time between shuttling Liz and her brothers between school and the hospital on a daily basis. The future for Liz is, unfortunately, completely up in the air. With a positive remission possible the doctors’ estimates are at minimum 2 more years of treatments followed by ‘who knows’. 10 years old.
She’s now asking “Why me”. I guess that’s one difference between us, I’ve never asked “Why me”. I’m extremely curious about where and why this cancer developed but I’m just about 70. Liz is 10 years old. Fortunately she and her brothers are getting professional help in trying to understand what’s happening. She has her family, her school friends and her doctors…what an interesting and challenging life ahead of her.
Keeps life in perspective, doesn’t it?
Yes, my friend, this definitely puts life in perspective. Thanks for the emotional kick in the butt. Most of us don’t think about this enough. Especially when we give way too much significance to the little things in our lives—like car break-downs, bad hair cuts, heavy traffic, a poor performance on the golf course or any of the million other trivial things in our lives that we think are worthy of stress, temper tantrums and other bad behavior.
Robert’s message reminds us of the truly valuable and crucial things that make our lives complete—friends, family, loved ones. The things we can’t buy and that are really difficult to replace.
Life is short and uncertain. That’s what makes it such a gift. And that’s why I’m so grateful for Robert’s reminder about the perspective of a 10 year old girl who can’t begin to understand that she may have no future at all.
