What it's all about

Tonight I'm doing something unusual for this blog - posting a story that has nothing to do with healthcare reform or policy issues but has everything to do with what healthcare is all about: keeping people alive and healthy.

Mike Guanci is a terrific sales guy at my company, TimeTrade Appointment Systems. Last summer his wife Patrice, age 39, had lower back pain (among other things), was found to have a fractured vertebra, and was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin T-cell lymphoma. The odds were not good. With four young kids the situation was especially poignant - not that there's ever a good time to have a rough prognosis, but having kids makes it rougher.

Patrice underwent an autologous stem cell transplant at Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. It's an arduous treatment in which your entire immune system is killed off, including the disease, and then your own stem cells ("autologous"="your own"), harvested before the treatment and reinjected, grow a new immune system from scratch. During that time you're entirely vulnerable, and almost literally live in a bubble in the hospital.

Needless to say, when this works it's nearly a miracle. And it worked.

Here's the notice Mike posted on Patrice's CaringBridge site Thursday.

=========

Hi Everyone,

Today was a pretty big day in Patrice’s recovery. They did a PET scan on her to see if any lymphoma had popped up since her transplant in January. Thankfully, there’s none. They did see something in her nasal cavity that they want to take a closer look at but the docs think it’s a healing cold/allergy – and nothing to do with her lymphoma. They will take a closer look (to close the loop) via a scope but the doctor was confident enough that tomorrow they are going to remove her port (the access way they implanted in her nearly 9 months ago)

It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly 11 months since she was diagnosed. When we arrived at DF in mid-August of 2008, which seemed like 5 minutes ago (or 100 years ago on some days), they set our expectations right up front. She was going to go through a chemo regiment over 2 months (6 treatments every other week) – then, she would rest up and prepare for the Stem Cell transplant in January. After her stem cell (21 days in the hospital,) they told us that she would be confined to the house for 90+ days after. When you add that all up, they asked us to be ready for one year of treatments.

It was an incredibly emotional day for us both. Minutes seemed like hours, the day like a week. Finally, the doctor and the team arrived in the room and gave us the news. I must admit it was tempered happiness. I bought a bottle of champagne for this day – but it didn’t feel like a celebration, for some reason. Don’t get me wrong, we are thrilled – but when you are at Dana Farber, you see others who are battling so hard, for their lives. Not all will make it. In fact, not 5 minutes after we left the exam room walking on cloud 9, we walked by a teenage boy, bald as a cue ball, with one leg, headed in for treatment. It’s sobering, to say the least.

I’ve learned a ton from Patrice’s doctor. The high isn’t too high, low isn’t too low. That’s the way we are treating this. Lymphoma will always be in our lives (God willing only as a memory) – Dana Farber will always be in our lives (and based on the brand new 16 story building they are erecting, a lot of other people’s lives too)

The support our family has received has been overwhelming. It’s humbling. There have been many times this past year when I had the feeling I was in a boat with no oars headed for the falls. And someone on this email list would step up. With a meal for the kids, a kind email, a text, whatever. I can’t thank everyone enough. I wouldn’t recommend this experience for anyone. It’s like recording your life, live. There aren’t do-overs or rehearsals. We made some mistakes along the way, but overall, I’m incredibly happy and think our little family was chose by the “Big Man” for a reason. To see our littlest one, Caroline, bopping around Dana Farber, not afraid, is a gift in its own right.

So, we are closing this chapter. And starting another. Patrice’s hair is growing back. She looks and feels better than she has in years. And, she and the kids are headed back to NY for the summer to pick up right where we left off.

A final thought. If you read the blog in January, there was a security guard that I used to give the “knuckles” to each night when I left the hospital. He had no idea who I was but after a week or so, he caught on. Well, I was hoping he was there today. Sure enough, on our way to the car, there he was at the same post. I walked up to him and gave him the knuckles. Not surprisingly, he returned the knuckles and I explained to him who I was (it took him a second then he was beaming) – when I turned to introduce Patrice, I told him this was my beautiful wife who was in the hospital all that time and that she’s on her way to recovery. We both turned to look and Patrice was smiling and as beautiful as ever, and he just mumbled to us,

“God is good, man, God is good.”

Enjoy the Summer!!!

=========

And I would say, many many blessings on all the people who were called to go into medicine, to produce this kind of result. It is about saving lives, it is about changing the course of disease. And when it works like this, it means there will be a mom at four high school graduations, a mom who might not have been there.

I can't type that without getting lots of tears in my eyes. Blessings indeed on all of you who do this work.