🌀 Mood: Uncertainty, Waiting, Reflection

After such a hopeful week, I thought I’d finally caught a break.
But pain has a way of showing up uninvited.

About three weeks after my kyphoplasty procedure — the one that was supposed to help stabilize my T8 vertebra — my back started aching again.

At first, I thought maybe I had overdone it. Too much sitting and walking during my CUCME class. But this pain felt different — sharper, heavier — the kind that made it hard to take a deep breath.

I mentioned it to my oncologist, and he didn’t hesitate.
He ordered another MRI.

Unfortunately, “right away” turned into a month of waiting.

That month felt long.
Every twinge made me wonder what was happening inside my spine. Was it healing? Or was something else going on?

When the appointment finally came, it was an MRI I won’t forget.
I was in the tube for almost two hours — flat on my back, barely able to move, listening to that familiar clanging and humming all around me.

It felt endless.
I had to keep talking myself down from feeling claustrophobic.
I focused on my breathing, stared at the tiny sliver of light above me, and tried to stay calm.
I reminded myself: This is just information. This is just part of the process.

When it was finally over, I was stiff, tired, and a little shaky — but also proud of myself for getting through it.

Then came the results.
I wasn’t in a doctor’s office when I got them.
I was at a work event, looking at my phone.

The word at the top of the report:
Abnormal.

That same word had appeared months earlier when I got my bloodwork back and learned I was anemic — the first clue that led to my myeloma diagnosis.

Seeing it again triggered something deep.
My stomach dropped. My chest tightened.

And then I saw the rest.

The MRI showed 60% height loss in my T8 vertebra — the very one that had been treated with kyphoplasty just weeks earlier.

It felt like a punch in the gut.
Wasn’t that procedure supposed to fix it?

I had to wait five more days — until Friday — to talk with my oncologist.

Five long days of trying not to spiral.
Five days of telling myself that “abnormal” doesn’t always mean the worst.
Just… different. Unexpected. Something to figure out.

When Friday finally came, I sat down across from him and tried to keep my breath steady.

He told me the good news first:
The cancer in my T8 was responding to treatment. That was a relief.

But… the bone itself had weakened and partially collapsed — a burst fracture.
Damage where the tumor once was.

It’s a strange thing to hear.
Progress… and injury.
Healing… and hurt.
A win… with a cost.

He didn’t waste any time.
He immediately reached out to my neurosurgeon to get me an appointment.

There was no question — something needed to be done about the fracture and the pain.

I left that appointment with mixed emotions.
Grateful that treatment is working.
But also sobered by how much this disease changes the structure of your body, even when you’re moving in the right direction.