I went green last summer.
Not green as in driving a Prius or using those twisted light bulbs. I went green with envy.
As I was trying to pump out the minimum 2 million stem cells for my stem cell transplant, I looked on enviously as other patients in the transfusion center came and went in two or three days. I watched wistfully as their nurse coordinators scheduled their stem cell transplants.
One of the patients who came and went in two days was Richie, a rail-thin musician with multiple myeloma (MM). He and his wife, Michelle, a full-figured self-proclaimed computer geek, seemed like an unlikely match, but it didn't take long to see that they were devoted to one another. After they smooched like newlyweds, Michelle announced, "We just had our 20-year wedding anniversary, and I want to make sure Richie's around for another 20."
I had no doubt that Richie would be around for another 20 years. I could even picture Richie and Michelle clinking glasses on their 50-year wedding anniversary. After all, they were at the City of Hope in Dr. Forman's capable hands. Best of all, Richie was pumping out those stem cells like his life depended on them. In two days, he produced 4 million stem cells, twice the minimum and about 20 times my measly two-day harvest. He was well on his way to a successful stem cell transplant and certain remission.
Richie checked in to Hotel Hope on September 7 for his stem cell transplant and immediately went into remission. But six months later, the MM monster returned, stronger and meaner than ever. On Friday, March 21, Richie went to the City of Hope for what would be his final chemo treatment. Later that same day, Michelle found him dead in their home.
I'm so sorry that I was jealous of Richie's bountiful stem cell production. I'm even more sad and sorry that Michelle won't get to live those "20 more years" with her beloved husband.
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