Recently in Patient Stories Category

By Cristina Rodriguez

I'm a 30-year-old non-Hodgkin's lymphoma fighter. It's not all that I am, but it's all I'm focused on at the moment. The purpose of my blog, lymphomamaniac, is manifold.

I want to record this experience, not just for myself, but for anyone who can relate to or learn from my experience. I want to let people know that cancer can be funny and cancer is not politically correct. Why should I care about cancer's feelings? Cancer sucks and I'm going to kick its butt. 

"Intro to Stem Cell Transplant." That was the name of the class I took a couple of weeks ago at MD Anderson. This optional class made me think harder about it than anything since I started my battle against non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.

"Why them and not me?"
I know that sounds weird being that I'm going through a cancer battle, but let me explain.

This class was for stem cell transplant candidates and their caregivers to learn what to expect and how to prepare for the inescapable leave of absence from their homes. We got information on what a stem cell transplant is, the types of transplants, health risks and on and on.
 
I was alone in this class and that fact was not lost on me. It wasn't anybody's fault. My father was waiting in the lobby, since English is not his forte, and my husband was stuck working for the medical insurance I still so desperately need. 

Continue reading Transplant 101 .

By Justin Ozuna

Justin Ozuna lives in Dallas and was diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukemia in January 2006. He is a Texas State Representative and Dallas/Fort Worth facilitator for The National CML Society. His mission is to capture the ups and downs of a young adult living with cancer and to serve people through humor, encouragement, hope and adversity at his blog, theozunaverse.com.

I'm not much of a runner. My only experience running a timed event was during a junior high track meet. I ran the equivalent of one lap, or 400 meters. It didn't turn out so well. I was responsible for the last leg of a 1600 meter relay so by the time I was passed the baton, the competition was three-fourths of a lap ahead of me. I didn't have a chance.

Early in my fight with leukemia, I felt much the same way. I was 25 years old, struggling to get ahead. It felt like life was passing me by. I was anxious for the baton, for a chance to sprint, because catching up with the world around me was the only thing I knew to do. Everything else, I figured, would take care of itself.

When I was younger, it was extremely difficult to wrap my mind around the big picture. I grew up in an excessive culture defined by immediacy and indulgence, where patience is considered weakness and investments are often vilified. To rely on endurance to get me through the trials and tribulations of life was a tough lesson to learn.

Race with a purpose
Four years after my diagnosis, I moved to Dallas and discovered I was growing resistant to Gleevec, a first-line medication. I learned of a mutation called t315i, which would prevent any known FDA-approved medication from working. It was at that moment I started to see things differently. I realized the futility of my self-centered approach to life and reinvigorated my efforts to run the race against cancer with a purpose.

I stopped believing life was a sprint. A diagnosis of leukemia didn't necessarily mean I was going to live a shortened life, it simply meant I had to run smarter, more effectively, and with purpose. I knew as soon as I let go of that truth, I would lose. And so I pressed forward. I decided to do whatever I could to cross the finish line with determination.

Continue reading What cancer has taught me: life is a marathon.

By Val Marshall

Val Marshall's cancer journey began in May 2009, when her son Addison was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia. A visit to the family doctor for what they thought was a simple high school football injury turned out to be much more.

Inspired by her son's strength and hope, Val strives to be a voice that connects other parents on this journey. Her series shares insight into her life as a mom of a typical teenager who just happens to be fighting leukemia.

Addison Marshall crush cancer

It's a bitter sweet time as Addie will be graduating on May 26 and will begin his new chapter at Texas A&M in August. When you have faced the world of relapse, you tend to fear the end of treatment and the hospital family that has caught your fall for 1,095 days, but who's counting?

Jack and I were invited to an MD Anderson fundraiser in West Texas a couple weekends ago and we reflected on the support system we've received as parents these last three years.

Apparently, other families have felt this love as well. Polo on the Prairie is in its 26th year and has raised millions of dollars for cancer research because one family has modeled what MD Anderson teaches us with hope, science and the never-ending quest for a cure.

Continue reading This is my MD Anderson.

By Holly Easley

Holly Easley began her cancer journey five years ago when she was diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS). After two types of chemotherapy and a stem cell transplant, she says she loves life, is improving daily and enjoys blogging about the cancer experience at http://hollyeasley.wordpress.com/.

My husband and I arrived in Houston a week early for my stem cell transplant. We wanted to get him moved into an apartment and I needed several tests prior to the surgery. 

My appointments that week included a CT scan, anesthesia assessment, transplant coordinator visit, bone marrow biopsy, echocardiogram, subclavian catheter insertion, complete pulmonary function test, social work visit, business office appointment and an appointment with Chitra Hosing, M.D., my stem cell transplant doctor. 

One of the most helpful things I experienced that week was a stem cell pre-admission class. In the class, the nurse told us about everything from hospital admission to the dismissal. It was very informative.

Beginning the journey
I was admitted for my stem cell transplant on May 17, 2011.

Continue reading My stem cell transplant hospital admission .

By Sophia M.

Oh, does the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee smell good in the morning -- even if I cough and sneeze while drinking it. The coughing and sneezing are a small price to pay for having what, for me, is the perfect welcome to a new day. And, I surely did miss it during those endless months of recuperation.

I consider myself an optimist -- maybe as that famous song from South Pacific says, "A Cockeyed Optimist." Nonetheless, it took me a long time to say the words "I have chordoma disease." 

I guess because I have always refused to consider this disease a major part of my identity, and although it is a definite part of my physical being, it is not the core part of my psyche.

That's not to say that I'm unrealistic. I just prefer to compartmentalize that aspect of my life and put that bundle of worries somewhere "over there" while I live as best I can. Of course, sporadic moments remind me each day of my post-surgical deficits and that this disease and I are inextricably intertwined.

Those moments include setting aside the necessary time each morning (after coffee) to do the mouth, lip, tongue and stretching exercises to keep my speech and eating mechanisms more facile.

Looking back at the events that brought me to MD Anderson compels me to relive some painful, poignant memories. But I'm writing these words in hope that my story can, in some small way, provide inspiration for others.

Continue reading Chordoma, caring and coffee.

By Angela Rankin

Angela Rankin is a three-time primary cancer survivor, who attributes her positive attitude and "fighting" stamina to her faith, family and friends. The excellent care received at MD Anderson gave her "healing confidence."

She continues to fight as she also deals with Parkinson's disease and severe back problems. She's been an active member of MD Anderson's Celebration Singers, a singing group made up of cancer survivors and caregivers, and has no doubt that music heals.

When I was diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer in 2005, I knew I had a long road ahead of me. Then, the "road" took a series of unexpected turns when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, melanoma and Parkinson's disease within the next three years.

I was being treated at the No. 1 cancer hospital in the country, but I also needed medicine for my mind. That's when I decided to focus on music. "He who sings scares away his woes." (Cervantes)

Continue reading "Tuned" for healing.

By William Fitzgerald, MD Anderson Staff Writer

Jon Thompson lives a remarkable life.  He's a West Point graduate, a former pilot in Vietnam and successful business owner. He's visited more than 42 countries on official U.S. government trips, met with curators in the Louvre, seen the wreckage of the Titanic on the ocean floor and is currently searching for Amelia Earhart's lost plane.

You could say he gives the Dos Equis ad-man a serious run for the "most interesting man in the world" title. For Thompson, it wasn't a lost bag or plane ticket that interrupted his life's journey. It was cancer.

When his PSA score jumped double digits, he was referred for a number of biopsies that came back positive for prostate cancer. A natural researcher and explorer, Thompson quickly began searching for available treatments. After speaking with a family friend, he learned about MD Anderson's Proton Therapy Center and decided it was for him.

Continue reading Prostate Cancer Doesn't Hold Life-Long Adventurer Back.

By Ed Steger

Ed Steger is a head and neck cancer survivor. He was diagnosed in 2005 and after rough patches in 2006 and 2007 has been in remission. He writes a blog about his cancer experience at www.hncancer.blogspot.com.

Continued from Tuesday's post

Being more empathetic and compassionate
I understand what empathy and compassion are and believe I have always had these traits, but to a somewhat limited degree. As a result of my personal cancer experience, I'm feeling these emotions at a deeper level. It's one thing to know someone is in pain; it's completely different to actually feel that pain.

Having had my own pain during the past seven years, I can now more easily feel the pain of others. I have also had some wonderful role models, who showed me empathy and compassion during this cancer journey. I still have a ways to go here, but I do believe it's making me a better person.

Supporting cancer research
A friend recently volunteered to make a donation to a research program at MD Anderson. My siblings have made donations to my cancer center. One of them even asked her co-workers to make donations to my cancer center. I, too, have made financial contributions and hope to do more in the future. I believe the research I support will ultimately lead to improved prevention, early detection and the treatment of head and neck cancer.

Continue reading A Second Chance at Life Part II.

By Ed Steger

Ed Steger is a head and neck cancer survivor. He was diagnosed in 2005 and after rough patches in 2006 and 2007 has been in remission. He writes a blog about his cancer experience at www.hncancer.blogspot.com.

How often have you said to yourself, "If only I had a chance to start over?"

Although I've been living with cancer since early 2005, it was only within the past year that I had an epiphany: I actually do have a second chance at life! Not a "time machine" type second chance, but a chance to re-evaluate my life before cancer and decide how I will live my life going forward.

Part of this was driven by the realization that I probably won't die of cancer within the next three months. The other part was driven by the need to re-purpose my life after meeting a major goal -- providing guidance and watching my then 13-year-old daughter mature, graduate from high school and begin her life as an independent young woman.

That being "done" -- is one ever done? --  the following is what I've decided to do with my second chance.

Continue reading A Second Chance at Life .

By Sarah Pants

In July of 2011 Sarah was diagnosed with Cervical Cancer. Scared but determined to fight Sarah uses humor to get through treatment.

I don't know what occurred in my brain that led me to believe that laparoscopic surgery would be "no big deal." I actually used those words to describe it when talking to people about my upcoming hysterectomy.

"Oh, it's all laparoscopic. It's no big deal."  

I'd never had laparoscopic surgery, so I don't know where that ludicrous conclusion came from. I was completely overlooking the more important part of the phrase "laparoscopic surgery." It's surgery, and by their very nature, surgeries are a big deal.

My hysterectomy was scheduled to take place 16 days after my diagnosis. I think my doctor would have done it sooner if I'd been able to move in with my parents sooner. My nephews were still in town visiting and living in the extra bedrooms at my folks' house, and I needed a little bit of time to get my own place in order beforehand.

I wound up moving in with them on Aug. 2, doing pre-op all day on the 3rd and having the surgery on the 4th. Once the cancer word is mentioned, things seem to move pretty quickly.

Let the show begin
I wasn't nervous until the morning of the surgery. I woke up that morning at a profane hour and stumbled into the living room to find my dad on the couch. He didn't even finish saying "good morning" before I crumbled into tears. 

Continue reading My Hysterectomy .

Terry Arnold was diagnosed with a right inflammatory breast cancer (IBC) in August 2007 and a left contralateral tumor soon after. She had weeks of chemotherapy, radiation treatment and eventually a double mastectomy. She completed treatment in June 2008 and has been an IBC ambassador and advocate since.

It was like someone slapped me. 

A simple post on Facebook, "I'm in a relationship, yes, I am dating again!" I shook my head, as if I could clear the words from my mind, re-read the post and it would make sense. It didn't change anything. 

The post read the same, but now, was followed by happy tidings for the future.
Why was I so upset? Why was this so personal to me?   

The poster's wife of many years had passed away due to inflammatory breast cancer three months ago. Too soon to date? Not too soon to date? Not even casual dating, but a "relationship."  

I wasn't judging, just stunned.   

Just like cancer comes without rules, life post-cancer is confusing. And everyone has an opinion, a suggestion and a horror story, sometimes all rolled into one.   

What's a surviving spouse to do?

Continue reading Too Soon.

Meet Michelle Mahar - Kasten.

In 2006, while pregnant with her son, Michelle Mahar - Kasten knew something was wrong. She began to have worsening discomfort in her hip and numbness in her leg and foot.

She was eventually diagnosed with an osteosarcoma.

Because the cancer was so aggressive and the chance of recurrence so high, her oncologist suggested she seek treatment at MD Anderson.

Within a month, Mahar - Kasten was living in Houston with her family, including her mother and in-laws. "We made fighting cancer our number one job," she says.

After nine months, Mahar - Kasten completed chemotherapy and surgery to remove the tumor in her pelvis and spinal column. Then she had to learn to walk again.

"Surgery left me with limitations and pain for the rest of my life. But it's the reason I'm here," she says.

"I made the choice to fight to survive. I told my family I wasn't going anywhere, and I believed it," she says.

Continue reading Attitude of Gratitude: Two Patients Reflect on Their Cancer Journeys .