Let's Tell YOUR Lymphoma Story!

Here it is, almost a year after my last—and first—post. What can I say? Life gets in the way. Chemo got in the way. It certainly hasn’t been easy. Yet now, I’m in complete remission from Lymphoma. I look better, frankly, than I have since I was in high school. I’m nearly 25 pounds lighter. My hair is shorter and came back with a lot more gray. Not a big surprise, eh?

And whereas life got in the way while dealing with this nasty drama, life goes on after the nasty drama. There are no guarantees. There is no way to know what’s around the next, and the next, and the next corner for any one of us. But I’m not taking it slowly, or with any less joy. I have a new book coming out before the end of the year, A Maverick Life: The Jack Kelly Story. Our kids are well. Our grandkids are priceless. Life is good.

So it’s time to get this blog going. I want it to be our blog. I want to hear more Lymphoma stories. Every one of us has a story to tell. This blog will tell about those of us who have, or have had, Lymphoma. While there are many cancers and all deserve attention, THIS cancer—Lymphoma—is the one I have come to know personally. I had to educate myself when diagnosed, and then explain to virtually everyone ... this IS cancer. Also had to tell how it was often different than others—of the blood and, no, not Leukemia, and, no, not one specific body part.

I wanna hear your story, my Lymphoma friends. If you have Lymphoma, or have had it, I want YOUR story here. Write it in 1st person, 875 words or less, no profanity or defamations, no specific doctor's names. Tell us who you are, how your illness has affected you ... and how YOU're whacking Lymphoma, and include a small photo! If I have to work on re-sizing, I may not use it. E-mail your story to: lindajalexander@gmail.com.

Kickin' Lymphoma Butt & Takin' Names!

Linda J. Alexander

I am Linda J. Alexander and I started this blog for ALL of us with Lymphoma.

It was August of 2010. I’d felt a lump in my groin for a few months—long enough to know it didn’t belong. I mentioned it to my gynecologist during a routine appointment and after checking, I could tell she was concerned. She sent me for a cat scan and about a week later, I was in their office about 7:30 AM. Back home by 8:30 AM, it wasn’t but 30 minutes later when my phone rang. It was my gynecologist and the sound of her voice was apologetic. “Looks like Lymphoma,” she said. The radiologist had read my scan that fast, and sent news back to her. “And,” she continued, “I’ve made you an appointment with an oncologist for this afternoon.” A doctor doesn’t call you less than an hour after a test if it’s not serious.

Lymphoma? I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure what it was. I knew it was cancer—if not, the doctor already confirmed that—but beyond, I was clueless. When I heard the “C” word related to me, I was floored and mindless. Out-of-body. After hanging up the phone, I called my husband at his office in Washington, over an hour away. He got in his car and drove right home, and we went to the oncologist’s office that afternoon. You can’t know what it feels like to be in this position unless you’ve ever been in this position. It’s that simple. We had a trip planned to see our kids and grandkids in California a few days later, and the oncologist told me to go on the trip. There would be time enough when we returned a week later to go into all the tests needed prior to chemotherapy.

Yes, chemo. Me. Tests typed and qualified my Lymphoma—Follicular Grade 3, Stage 4, with bone marrow involvement. The “stage” told us it was above and below my midsection, meaning I’d had it for awhile. They didn’t know for how long, and little’s known how or why one contracts Lymphoma. I wasn’t in a position to waffle on my decision, so I had a second opinion, verifying the first, and researched my doctor and treatment.

That was three-and-a-half months ago, and I’ve already had four treatments. Each are one long day of drugs pumped into my body, every three weeks—heavy drugs … this stuff’s not for wusses. Stuff that could kill you if it weren’t being used to save you. I went into it physically well enough to handle it so the first few, while no walk in the part, weren’t too difficult. Each since has been more a trial, but I’m tough. I’ve lost most of my hair, lost weight … see, there ARE good points! I’m whacking the heck outta Lymphoma, one way or t’other. Determined. A pet scan in a few days will indicate if chemo’s done its thing, or if I need more. If I get a “clean scan,” it’s two more. Otherwise, it’s “clean scan + 2.”

In between treatments, life keeps keepin’ on. I’m a book author, with occasional articles, and I do copywriting. I write when I can, get frustrated when I can’t, and usually remember to be gentle with myself. I wake up each day, appreciating it a bit more than I would’ve before August, appreciating my family and friends, appreciating my God … without my belief in a power greater than myself, my Lord Jesus, I couldn’t get through this. I’ve more patience with everyone, and smile more each time I hear my husband’s voice, or pick up the phone to hear the voices of our children on the other end.

I want to tell Lymphoma stories, stories of those who LIVE with this. I’ve become obsessed with getting the word out about this often misunderstood illness. Did you know the Lymphoma Ribbon—yes, there’s one—is lime green? Did you know Lymphoma is the 7th fastest growing cancer in the United States, and growing? Did you know in 2010 there are approximately 628,415 people in the U.S. living with Lymphoma … before I, you, and who-knows-how-many-others were diagnosed? Could go on with statistics but fact is … each statistic is a life.

And life’s for the living, no matter what you face around any corner. While I wouldn’t wish this on anyone on God’s earth, it’s already taught me important lessons. I’ve learned we don’t know how strong we are ‘til we have to prove it, and don’t have a clue how much faith we have ‘til we have to exhibit it. I’ve learned there are far more wonderful folks than ugly people. Humanity is good; I know that firsthand. God is great. My faith IS rock solid. I’ve amazing family and friends … and the power of the internet has been a saving grace, introducing me to wondrous people and opportunities. I’ve no idea what my future holds but, then, none of us do. My mantra: “Healthy today, in EVERY way—thank you, Lord Jesus.” Truth of it all, folks … it ISN’T the destination—it’s the journey. Make it the best trip you’ve ever taken … each and every day.