🌀Mood: Sober. Grounded. Clear-eyed. Emotionally heavy.
When my husband and I walked into the transplant consultation at Fred Hutch, we still thought this might be a choice.
We’d been told that freezing my stem cells and delaying the transplant was a possible path — maybe I’d stay on the treatment I was already responding so well to, and revisit the transplant later. It wasn’t ideal, but it left the door open.
But very quickly — within the first few minutes — it became clear:
There is no later. And there is no option.
If I want to live… I have to get the transplant.
A Hard Truth, Spoken Gently
The doctor I met with has been doing this for over 30 years. Calm, knowledgeable, even warm. He didn’t rush, didn’t sugarcoat. But still — when someone says aloud that your life depends on this, no bedside manner can soften the blow.
The conversation covered a lot. And as he explained the “why” behind this next step, it became clear that for someone like me — relatively young, high-risk disease, 17p deletion — a stem cell transplant is still the best shot at keeping the cancer at bay for as long as possible.
Why Not Just Stay on My Current Treatment?
This was the question I asked — the one I was quietly clinging to. If my current four-drug regimen is working so well (and it is — my M protein is down to 0.08), then… can’t we just stay the course?
The answer stunned me.
No, I can only be on this regimen for six months total. And I’m already nearing the end of that window.
Once I stop, there’s a very high chance that the cancer will attack my kidneys again. But this time, the doctor said, I may not be so lucky. I might not recover kidney function. From there, it could move on to other organs. And that, eventually, would lead to death.
It was a sobering moment — the kind where time slows and everything you thought you knew rearranges itself.
That was when the conversation turned.
From “Let’s talk about options.”
To “Here’s how we save your life.”
What the Transplant Actually Is
Before this, I didn’t fully understand how it all worked. Here’s the simplest version I can offer — now that I’m living it:
- The treatment I’ve been on since August — the 4-drug regimen — is designed to get my M proteins to zero.
That’s the target. Zero. It’s the only way I can move forward to transplant. - Once I reach that point, they collect my stem cells before giving me high-dose chemo that wipes out everything — good and bad.
The reason they collect the cells first is so they aren’t exposed to the chemo. After chemo, they infuse my own stem cells back in — the hope is that they “engraft” and rebuild a healthy immune system.
The goal of this process is to push the cancer so far down that I go negative — meaning there’s no measurable disease left in my blood. That’s what we call remission. - And then… we wait and watch.
The transplant isn’t a cure. It’s a deeper reset. A longer runway. A chance to push the disease so far down that it stays quiet for a while.
When I asked about remission — what we’re actually hoping for — the doctor was clear: The goal is five years.
He told me that five years ago, one of the drugs I’m currently on didn’t even exist. That’s how fast this field is moving. So the hope is: if the transplant gives me five years of remission, then by the time it comes back, there may be even better treatments — or a cure.
But there’s a catch.
We don’t actually know how long I’ll get.
It could be five years.
It could be one year.
It could be three months.
There’s no way to know.
That’s the brutal math of myeloma.
The New Timeline: More Than I Bargained For
One of the hardest parts of that day came when they shared how long I’ll need to be in Seattle — living near the clinic. It’s longer than I’d been told before. Here’s what it looks like now:
Transplant Timeline Summary
| Phase | Week(s) | What Happens |
|---|---|---|
| Evaluation | Weeks 1–2 | Kidney tests, heart function, bone marrow biopsy, full pre-transplant workup |
| Stimulation | Week 3 | Daily shots (2x/day) to stimulate stem cell growth for collection |
| Transplant Prep | Week 4 | High-dose chemotherapy; Day 0 is when stem cells are infused back in |
| Critical Window | Days 5–15 | The hardest stretch — immune system wiped out, risk of complications is highest |
| Hair Loss | Around Day 10 | Chemo side effect: hair typically begins to fall out |
| Recovery | Weeks 5–8 | Monitoring for engraftment, early healing begins |
| Follow-Up | Weeks 9–12+ | Ongoing outpatient recovery, rebuilding strength |
The Caregiver Requirement — and the Guilt That Comes With It
As if the physical and emotional toll weren’t enough, there’s one more layer I haven’t talked about yet:
I’m required to have a caregiver with me — in person — for weeks 3 through 10.
That’s when I’ll be going through stem cell stimulation, high-dose chemo, the transplant itself, and the early recovery period — when I’ll be at my most vulnerable, with no immune system and a long list of possible complications.
The clinic won’t proceed unless someone is physically there — not just checking in via phone, but present, every day, helping with medications, meals, emergencies, everything.
And that’s a lot to ask.
I’m incredibly grateful that someone close to me has committed to being there for the hardest stretch — Weeks 3 to 8 — and knowing I won’t be alone during those weeks brings more relief than I can put into words. I’m also trying to build a plan for the surrounding weeks so no one person has to shoulder it all.
Still, this is one of the hardest parts emotionally. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want anyone to feel trapped or drained or pulled away from their own life. But I also know I can’t do this alone — not physically, not mentally.
This part requires as much courage to ask for as the treatment itself.
One More Twist (Coming Soon…)
The irony is, I left that meeting thinking the plan was finally clear. The transplant path was real. The timing was soon.
But just two days later, I found out something that changed everything — again.
More on that in the next post.
My Anchor Holds 