He wrote of his relapse June 11.
6 weeks later and he is dead.
Scary.
http://www.chicagonow.com/cubs-den/2017/06/relapse/ By John Arguello, June 11, 2017 at 1:03 pm
Relapse
I wish I could tell you it comes easier the second time. It doesn’t, especially since I have been asymptomatic and living my life as normally as possible. It was the furthest thing from my mind as I went in for my routine 6 month check up. As I would soon find out, it was anything but routine. The CT scan of my previously affected neck and shoulder area came out clean, as I had expected, but in what turned out to be a fortunate accident, the routine scan also caught a glimpse of something unexpected.
Despite the success of my last treatment, it would appear that some of the lymphoma cells had migrated undetected into the right parietal lobe of my brain. The blood brain barrier that protects us from so many potentially harmful things ironically also protected me from the chemotherapy drugs that wiped out the lymphoma everywhere else in my body. A few cells found sanctuary behind this protective barrier and over the last 6 months, the cells have expanded into a mass large enough to be caught on that CT scan.
As unfortunate as this all sounds, I am actually very lucky. I am lucky that the scan caught this mass before the lymphoma began to produce symptoms, at which point the disease can potentially become even more difficult to treat. As it is now, the intensity of treatment will have to be stepped up significantly to penetrate the protective barrier.
Over the last few days I have undergone a battery of tests, a brain biopsy that has stemmed a few too many, “I need a (fill-in-the-blank), like I need another hole in my head” jokes, a spinal tap, which isn’t nearly as entertaining as the movie - but for now it's an excuse to repeat a few of the most memorable quotes -- and lastly, I had an MRI of my entire spine, which took two hours.
Spinal Tap But it goes to elevenThat’s two hours in an enclosed cylinder, with a cacophony of background noises that sound like the low drone sound effects of deep space movies interplayed with the foreground noises of jack hammers and buzzing alarms. This entire cacophony was turned up to 11, easily penetrating the feeble pencil eraser sized earplugs inserted nominally as protection. It was a harrowing test of audial endurance. Personally, I gave it a 1 out of 10. The discordant rhythms combined with the fact I was strapped in tightly made it impossible to dance to.
This was likely the easy part. The real test of endurance and mental fortitude is coming shortly, but I am steeling myself for this as we speak. The physical challenge will be formidable but overpowering me mentally, emotionally, and spiritually will be no easy task for this lymphoma. I’ll grind my way through one treatment at at a time for as long as I need to. I try not to look too far ahead. I am not going to kid myself, the journey ahead is a daunting one and it is best for me to break it down into smaller, easier to process pieces and work my way toward wholeness again. And all the while I fully intend to retain my sense of self. I will continue to spend time with the ones I love. I will continue to write and attend baseball games, listen to beautiful music, read wondrous works of literature, and as long as I am allowed, I will continue to enjoy an occasional dram or two of scotch.
Once again, I’ve been knocked down and once again I will get up and fight. You can all count on that. And I know I can count on the support of my loving immediate family and friends, this wonderful, inspiring Cubs family/community I have met through this blog, and my brilliant medical community that treats me with such tremendous skill, knowledge, and respect. I will need all the support I can get.
Thanks to all of you and I look forward to celebrating another remission and Cubs World Series win with you all soon.
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