🌀 Mood: Anticipation, Vulnerability, Gravity, Turning Point

I was incredibly anxious for a few days before the consultation at Fred Hutch. I didn’t exactly know what to expect, but I knew it was going to be serious. And somehow, that made my condition feel more real — like it had moved from the world of bloodwork and scans into something undeniable.

For those of you who may not be familiar with Fred Hutch, they’re the only NCI-designated (National Cancer Institute) comprehensive cancer center in Washington. That means their research, care, and education meet the highest federal standards. They’re globally recognized for breakthroughs in areas like bone marrow transplantation, immunotherapy, and infection-related cancer research.

If you’re going to hear hard truths, this is the place to do it.

But I had one major worry going in: Did they actually read my labs?

Multiple myeloma is deeply personal — it doesn’t act the same in every person. So if they hadn’t reviewed everything thoroughly, it would have felt like a waste of time. I needed to feel seen, not just processed.

When we arrived, I felt an unexpected sadness. The waiting area was full — every chair, every hallway. And of course, you know exactly why each person is there.

It hit me hard.
So many people quietly battling something terrifying.
It made me feel both less alone and more heartbroken at the same time.

Eventually, we were called in. First up was the doctor’s assistant, Heather. She asked me to tell my story — and so I did.

I walked her through the five months of back pain, the anemia diagnosis, the blood transfusion, and eventually, the words I still struggle to say out loud: Multiple Myeloma cancer.

I also shared what happened at my very first chemo — when the IV reaction hit hard and the medical team rushed in like a SWAT team after just two minutes. That’s when we started pushing for the shots instead of the IV — and thank God, my body tolerated it better.

Heather was calm, thoughtful, and incredibly thorough. She examined me, listened to my lungs for infection (all clear), checked my heart (sounded great), and walked through my MRI results. She asked where I was still feeling pain. I told her about the lingering pain in my back — even after the kyphoplasty.

She explained that I have multiple lesions in my spine — L1, L3, and S2. These aren’t new. But the pain I’m feeling now could be coming from those same spots. Before, it was masked by the bigger pain from my collapsed vertebrae, but now that that’s healing, other pain is rising to the surface.

Lesions, for those unfamiliar, are where cancer has damaged the bone. Over time, they weaken the structure — causing pain, fractures, or that classic “moth-eaten” appearance on scans. When doctors say there are “lesions throughout,” this is what they’re talking about. Not fun.

The good news? She saw no new lesions and said this is likely myeloma nerve pain — not new damage, not progression. Just something we need to manage while the treatment continues to do its work.

Then she looked at my labs:

My IGG lambda proteins started at 4800 and are now at 1100.

Light chains (those abnormal monoclonal proteins) started at 2500. Now? Just 9.

I couldn’t believe it.

She called it a really strong response — and hearing that phrase meant more than I can explain.

In a body that has felt unreliable and out of my control, the numbers were telling a different story:

You’re fighting back. And it’s working.

Then the doctor walked in.
She had clearly reviewed everything — no small feat — and I appreciated that.

But one of the very first things she said stopped me cold:

“There are some high-risk features in your case.”

That was all she said at first.
And just like that, I knew this conversation was going to change everything.