🌀Mood: reflective, honest, grounded, hopeful, resilient

There are certain milestones in this process that you hold onto.

For me, one of those has always been Day 90.

That’s the point where they typically run the big tests—the PET scan and the bone marrow biopsy—to see if you’re in remission.

It’s been the marker in my mind. The checkpoint. The moment where you finally get a clearer picture of where things stand.

So I’ve been waiting for it.

At my appointment this past week with my oncologist at Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center, I learned that we’re not waiting.

She wants to run those tests now.

Apparently, they can be done anytime between Day 60 and Day 90 – and in my case, she doesn’t see a reason to delay.

I was a little surprised by that.

Part of me wondered if it was too soon. If my body has had enough time since the transplant to really show what it’s capable of.

But I’m not the expert.

So we move forward.

And I’ve learned that even that word – remission – doesn’t always mean what people think it does.

It’s something I’m hopeful for – and honestly, based on how things are going, I feel really positive about where I am.

I also know that I’m doing really well in this process – better than many  – and I truly thank God for that.

But remission doesn’t mean the cancer is gone forever or that I’m “done.”

What they’re really looking for is how much disease is left – sometimes at a level so small it can only be detected with very sensitive testing. You may hear terms like MRD, or minimal residual disease, which is essentially checking for even the tiniest traces.

So even in the best-case scenario – and I’m hopeful for that – it means we’ve gotten it under control.

And now the focus shifts to keeping it that way.

That was the first shift.

The second one was harder.

A couple of weeks ago, my local oncologist had shared that I would likely go on one drug for maintenance.

After being on four drugs during my initial treatment, that felt like a win. A step down. A sign that things were easing up.

I held onto that.

But my Myeloma specialist at Fred Hutch sees things differently.

Because of my high-risk status.

Out of the 20 sets of chromosomes they analyzed in my plasma cells, five were abnormal -including a 17p deletion present in 88% of the sample.

That particular deletion is associated with a more aggressive form of multiple myeloma. One that’s harder to treat and more likely to return.

So her concern isn’t just about where I am now.

It’s about what could come back and how fast.

Because of that, she’s recommending a more aggressive maintenance plan.

Three drugs instead of one.

Lower doses. Less frequent. But still… more than I was expecting.

I’d be lying if I said that didn’t hit me.

After everything – the diagnosis, the treatments, the transplant – there’s a part of me that just wants to be done.

Done with the medications. Done with the constant reminders. Done with all of it.

So hearing that there’s still more… that this continues… was hard.

But I also understand why.

The goal now isn’t just to treat what’s there.

It’s to keep it from coming back.

To create the longest possible stretch of time before this disease has a chance to return.

And in that context, a more rigorous maintenance plan makes sense.

Even if I don’t love it.

And even beyond the maintenance plan, I’m still very much in recovery.

My immune system is essentially starting over – rebuilding itself after everything it’s been through.

Which means for the next year, I have to be incredibly careful.

Careful about exposure.
Careful about where I go and what I’m around.

Careful about keeping my health my #1 priority, so there are no setbacks.

Even if the tests come back in the best possible way, that part doesn’t change.

I think this is the part of the journey that doesn’t get talked about as much.

There’s this idea that once you get through the biggest treatments, you’re done.

But in reality, sometimes you’re not done.

You’re just entering a different phase.

A phase that’s less intense—but more ongoing.

Less urgent—but more strategic.

Less about reacting… and more about staying ahead.

It’s the long game.

So that’s where I am right now.

Preparing for the next round of testing.

Processing what this maintenance phase will look like.

Holding both things at once—the gratitude for how far I’ve come, and the reality that there’s still more ahead.

And trusting that I’m exactly where I need to be in this process.