Monday, October 02, 2006
small steps: inspirations from a cancer survivor - by David Flood
In the summer of 2001, I began to notice a slight back pain. I saw a chiropractor on and off who did gentle manipulations with little success. Eventually I visited a primary care doctor who told me to take Advil and do a series of exercises every day. But the back pain persisted.
Then, in January of 2002, I tripped on a gym bag on the floor of my house and couldn’t get myself back up. My wife Masako called 9-1-1 and several firemen lifted me up and dragged me to bed. Something was indeed wrong.
The next day, Masako got me to see a back specialist. After X-rays, a bone scan and a urine test, I got the call. An oncologist informed me over the phone I was in an advanced stage of a disease called “Multiple Myeloma” and, according to statistics, I had a medium chance of survival of five years. I was 40 years old at the time with a three-year-old daughter. The doctor went on to tell me the disease had invaded my skull, rib cage and spine. One tumor had punctured a hole through a lumbar vertebrae (L-3), threatening to collapse it. Later another doctor would cut my survival time in half, insisting on showing me “charts” that plotted the statistical arc of my demise. I refused to look.
After the diagnosis, I was given both chemotherapy and radiation to kill as many Myeloma cells as possible. Radiation was targeted at my spine to clear up the tumor. To make sure my spine didn’t collapse in the process, I was immediately fitted for a prosthetic shell from my neck to my groin. The shell was to remain on, with the exception of showers, for three months. ...
In the summer of 2001, I began to notice a slight back pain. I saw a chiropractor on and off who did gentle manipulations with little success. Eventually I visited a primary care doctor who told me to take Advil and do a series of exercises every day. But the back pain persisted.
Then, in January of 2002, I tripped on a gym bag on the floor of my house and couldn’t get myself back up. My wife Masako called 9-1-1 and several firemen lifted me up and dragged me to bed. Something was indeed wrong.
The next day, Masako got me to see a back specialist. After X-rays, a bone scan and a urine test, I got the call. An oncologist informed me over the phone I was in an advanced stage of a disease called “Multiple Myeloma” and, according to statistics, I had a medium chance of survival of five years. I was 40 years old at the time with a three-year-old daughter. The doctor went on to tell me the disease had invaded my skull, rib cage and spine. One tumor had punctured a hole through a lumbar vertebrae (L-3), threatening to collapse it. Later another doctor would cut my survival time in half, insisting on showing me “charts” that plotted the statistical arc of my demise. I refused to look.
After the diagnosis, I was given both chemotherapy and radiation to kill as many Myeloma cells as possible. Radiation was targeted at my spine to clear up the tumor. To make sure my spine didn’t collapse in the process, I was immediately fitted for a prosthetic shell from my neck to my groin. The shell was to remain on, with the exception of showers, for three months. ...
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