Greetings.
This is the thirty-seventh in a series of DAILY NANCY UPDATES I will be posting until the amazing Nancy Neufeld Callaway is in full remission and we have kicked her leukemia on its ass.
If you'd like to be automatically notified of updates to this blog-- just enter your email address in the window on the right beneath Nancy's picture and follow the prompts!
BREAKING NEWS
Today we came back to UCLA's Jonsson Cancer Center for some basic blood testing-- and to meet with our chief oncologist, Dr. Gary Schiller, about the results of Nancy's bone marrow biopsy from last week.
And here's what the good doctor had to say:
There was no leukemia found in the "blast" cells of Nancy's bone marrow.
There was, however, one Philadelphia leukemia cell found in twenty cells in her cytoplasm.
What does that mean?
Well, maybe you could say that she got an A- today, instead of an A+.
Of course, if you know Nancy, you know that bugs the hell out of her. Those competitive gymnast genes are still very much alive and well in her. But they're exactly what's made her respond so well to treatment thus far-- and what will ultimately help her beat leukemia altogether.
So what happens next?
Exactly what would have happened, regardless. Beginning next week, after undergoing a short procedure to insert a new intravenous line in her chest (which will make taking blood and giving meds much easier)-- Nancy is scheduled to begin an *eight week regimen of chemotherapy.
Why the asterisk?
Because what sounds like a lengthy run of chemo may very well be cut short by a bone marrow transplant, which her doctors believe would be the most effective course of treatment to rid her of cancer altogether.
In the meantime, both of her brothers (and even our kids) are being tested to see if they might be viable marrow donors. If so, great. If not, no worries. Based a number of key aspects of her blood work, our doctors believe Nancy would have no problem finding a perfect match from a bone marrow donor.
Until then, Nancy plans to spend the rest of this rainy day in Los Angeles relaxing.
And as always, we genuinely appreciate your continued good thoughts and prayers for the Sunshiny Superwarrior Goddess to keep up her fighting attitude and kick cancer to the curb, no matter how long it takes.
POST SCRIPT
I'll warn you, this next part may get a little graphic.
But today in just a few hours at UCLA Medical Center-- I saw the following:
- Elderly women holding onto loved ones, their bodies ravaged by disease.
- A group of pulmonary patients, each wearing oxygen while they coughed through lunch.
- A military veteran on a motorized wheelchair with confederate flags.
- A twenty-something woman on a stretcher, crying with a tracheal tube.
- A man with no eyebrows and a mask.
- Two young women walking a man whose face and arms were covered with burns.
- A distinguished looking bald woman with a long line of surgical staples across her forehead.
- A little boy holding a door open for his paraplegic father.
And as you may have gathered, at a certain point, all that suffering started to feel completely overwhelming.
I mean, I know I was in one of the best hospitals in the world-- but how the hell can so many people need so much help?
Well, like everybody else in the 21st Century-- I turned to Google for an answer:
"What percentage of the human race is sick?"
And the surprising answer came in the Global Burden of Disease Study (GBD) published just a couple of years ago in The Lancet, one of the world's oldest and best peer-reviewed weekly medical journals.
Here's the full article, if you care to read it.
But the headline pretty much tells you all you really need to know.
95% OF US ARE SICK.
So here's my takeaway from that.
Nancy is one of the most incredibly special people I've ever known. But it suddenly occurs to me that even though it may be rare, her leukemia isn't all that special, really. Neither were all the strangers' various ailments that troubled me today. And that annoying cold I've pretty much been fighting since were on vacation in Mexico, still blissfully unaware of what was happening in my wife's body? Ridiculously pedestrian.
What is remarkable, however, is the way we all somehow manage to care for each other.
The way each of you have cared for and supported us.
The way one of my pals showed up to bring us dinner-- but stayed in the car because he had a cough. The way my mobility-challenged mother didn't think twice about having to be wheelchaired on and off four flights just to be with us at Cosmo's bar mitzvah. The way my restauranteur friend (who's suffered some health problems of her own) wouldn't let me pay for my breakfast the other day. The way my sons carried up the trash cans this afternoon, in spite of both being sore from soccer and swimming practice. And the way (assuming we believe that 95% number) most of you are probably suffering from something-- but still care enough about Nancy to read this ponderous post, anyway.
So let me just take my antibiotic, wash my hands, and use this opportunity to tell all of you one more thing.
I am here for you.
Whenever you need it. And not just because you've been here for me, my wife, and our kids-- although that is admittedly, a debt I may never be able to fully repay.
But simply because being there for each other is probably the best chance any of us has of ever getting better.
I love every last one of you.
WE LOVE NANCY. And...
ALL IS WELL!
