Dear Friends and Family,
When Dr. Morton arrived the morning after our conversation with Dr. Peterson, his customary playful demeanor was absent. The lines around his eyes were tighter and there wasn’t even a hint of a smile was on his lips.
“I understand Dr. Peterson from the transplant team came by yesterday. I’ve also heard he recommended a transplant right away.”
News travels fast on the cancer floor.
Dr. Morton’s statement is a testament to how deeply the oncology staff cares about all aspects of their patients’ health. (The oncology floor functions like a big family.) After Dr. Peterson’s visit, several on our team had noticed the dramatic, though transient, change in our family’s attitude and disposition. And not only had they offered support, they apparently had related our concerns to our doctors.
Nancy smiled, something I was unable to do.
“He did. We were surprised.”
“I’m sorry that happened, Nancy. I expected to talk to Dr. Peterson before he talked to you.”
I chimed in, “It was distressing, Dr. Morton. His numbers were entirely different from the ones you gave us. His plan was entirely different as well. Nothing he said came close to what we had heard from you.”
“Winnie, I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to him first, and then you. I would have prepared you and Nancy had I known what he was thinking. Sometimes medicine is messy.”
That’s for sure.
Still I had to respond: “Can you explain how you’ve advised us 30% to 40% for a survival estimate, yet he said 10–15%” (I refrained from adding, “To me, those numbers aren’t even in the same galaxy.”)
“We interpret the numbers differently. I can stand by mine, though I understand his conclusions”
What does that mean?
Doublespeak?
Oncology code? (Medical knowledge is often gray, but . . .)
“Dr. Morton, at this point, numbers don’t mean much. They keep changing. We need advice. What should we do? Have you changed your mind on whether Nancy should get a transplant?”
“Well, Winnie, that’s a fair question. I had a long discussion with Dr. Peterson on the subject this morning. He told me the newest studies don’t support waiting, the way the old ones do. If Nancy has a relapse of her leukemia, it will be harder to get her back into remission while taking a heavy toll on her body. And she is fifty-seven years old. The chance of bone marrow success goes down as one approaches sixty. On the other hand, Nancy’s leukemia has been very responsive. Plus, getting a transplant is tricky at best. It makes our chemotherapy treatments feel like a walk in the park.”
How could a transplant be worse than our first hospitalization?
Remember, I told myself, he saved her life.
“Shouldn’t we have been looking sooner for a match if we were even thinking about a transplant? Maybe we’d be ready now and not have to go through another chemotherapy course while we’re waiting.”
“I suppose we might have saved a week or two, Winnie. But it may take months to find an unmatched donor. In the big picture . . .”
In my small picture, every week counts. Every day counts!
Our meeting ended congenially enough, with Dr. Morton adding he forgot to mention that Nancy’s pre-leukemic good health was a positive for the transplant side of the ledger and telling us that good health helped her with the chemotherapy, too.
He also had saved an encouraging note for the very last.
“I do have good news. You can go home tomorrow if Nancy’s blood counts continue to rise.”
Summary: Though the rebound of Nancy’s blood counts will allow us to return to Woodland, a “homework” problem that may not have a clear answer has become part of our “vacation.” Should we consider a transplant?
Love,
Winnie