My mom has had a partial response to treatment. Her lymph nodes are smaller than before. We don’t yet know if its working a little, meaning there is still a lot of cancer left in her lymph nodes, or working completely, and the nodes are full of dead stuff and scar tissue. The positive is that, be it modest or dramatic, a response is still a response. She is going to head to the hospital for round 3 of chemotherapy tomorrow, provided her blood counts have recovered. A few weeks after her discharge, we will have a PET CT which might better help illuminate whether or not she is in remission.
I could be buoyed with hope. Mom is looking well. This treatment might be her magic ticket. Some other folks with refractory lymphoma don’t even get a partial response. But actually, I’ve been feeling pissed off and anxoius. I’m angry my mom has lymphoma. We’ve been chipping away at this disease for a year; she still is not in remission. I hate sitting around in the stem cell clinic, regretting that for all the crap I talked about in therapy, I never got around to discussing my job as a bone marrow transplant nurse. The doctors fill my ears with “she’s a perfect candidate! She’s so strong and healthy.” It all feels hollow to me. Of course she’s a perfect candidate, healthy, has a “good” kind of lymphoma, blah blah blah. Please get her in a f$%*#&g remission and then we’ll open the champagne.