The Long and Winding Road Straightens

The Rwandan roads always zig & zag

So, ever since the June PET scan result that showed the cancer growing back right on the heels of the first chemo regimen, the trek has been more arduous, akin to a switchback trail up a steep incline.  Against a challenging backdrop of work demands and kids on summer break, the zigs and zags have revolved around a) whether the bone marrow transplant from a suitable donor is really necessary, given the risks, and b) assuming it is, who's the best donor for me.

Christine and I have struggled, often late into the night or in the wee hours of the morning, to get our heads around the medical rationale for the recommended transplant.  Here's how I would describe it.  Imagine a giant weed in the garden that one yanks out periodically but without ever getting deep enough underground to remove the roots.  Essentially this is what's happening with my cancer.  The drugs, in combination with my immune system, are succeeding in removing the cancer from the visible landscape but not in getting beneath the surface.  As such, the cancer is sure to come back and, given its aggressive nature, sooner rather than later.  Yesterday's scan results showed the the cancer had been knocked back to negligible levels again after the latest two rounds of more intense chemo but, alas, the transplant remains necessary to fully uproot it.

A few blogs ago, I wrote about the competition between my brothers to see who would emerge as the best stem cell donor for me.  And the winner was Regg! I mean Ross!  It was a photo finish, in other words, not quite the crystal clear outcome we were praying for.  Regg is an identical tissue match while Ross is a half match.  What put Ross in first was the fact that his cells show the potential to bind more effectively to Rituxan, the key cancer-fighting drug they'll be administering to me in this next phase.  With other experts in the cancer field concurring, the team at Hopkins stressed to us that any increased risks of a half match are manageable and that the better Rituxan match gives us a higher probability of taking out the weed at the roots, so to speak.  The progression-free survival numbers that they're getting with stronger Rituxan match donors for patients with my kind of ("tough") lymphoma are very encouraging.

Having interrogated the proposed treatment plan to the best of our (limited) ability, we've somehow felt a growing peace about the road ahead, sensing that God's got it.  As Christine blogged on Thursday, we've taken Proverbs 3:5-6 to heart, leaning on God and not our own imperfect and less-than-satisfying understanding and trusting that the path ahead will be straight and ultimately bring complete, lasting healing.  And we continue to marvel at the excellent medical care that we're getting at Hopkins and all the love that our family and friends continue to pour out on us.  You all are amazing.  Thank you from deep down for trekking with us and lightening our load in so many ways.