We went to see the Director of the Stem Cell Transplant Division at the cancer center yesterday for a “hospital follow-up visit.” We weren’t sure what that meant exactly, but figured it was routine, since R was recently released from the hospital after a scary incident that occurred on November 4th (see previous posts).

Based on hospital test findings and blood work results from yesterday, the doctor said his cancer is progressing rapidly, and his condition is not stable enough to withstand the chemo regimen required before transplant and the transplant itself.

The medical team will meet, with the addition of a pulmonologist (due to R’s reduced lung capacity), to determine what can be done to stabilize the cancer. This means stopping the rapid growth of his spleen, improving lung function, reducing inflammation in the body, and more things we probably don’t understand or know about.

Next steps are unclear. We await communication from the medical experts. This does not mean the transplant can NEVER happen. It means it can’t happen NOW.

We never felt a sense of urgency from the doctors that the transplant should happen sooner rather than later. I repeatedly asked about risk factors in R’s particular case and heard something akin to, “It’s your decision when you want to go ahead with the transplant, but right now R is relatively healthy and young, so there is no need to plunge into transplant right away.” They also said they would support whatever direction we chose, and we chose to wait until he developed a new, dangerous gene mutation–and even then, we didn’t pick up on a sense of urgency from anyone at the cancer center. WE decided it was time to pull the cord.

We understand that cancer is unpredictable, and the doctors could not have told us that his condition would worsen overnight. I mean, he was up and around and talking and planning things one day and collapsed to the ground the next. Now, all of a sudden, he is a high-risk patient unable to withstand a transplant.

Obviously, we are trying to make sense of this and going through a range of emotions. Everyone wants to help, and we appreciate that! But right now, there is nothing anyone can do other than to keep R and the family in your thoughts and prayers. He looks, feels and sounds alright! (Handsome devil that he is…) He’s had an amazingly positive attitude since the diagnosis 2.5 years ago. He is a role model of strength and perseverance, and my soul mate. He is one half, I am the other half, and together we make one soul. There’s no better way to describe it. 39 years married. 45 years as best friends.

His health will stabilize, and I’ll write again with a new transplant date. Onward and upward!

Love to all.