The last eight days have been intense.
A couple of weeks ago, I thought I had the flu. The kind that knocks you down for a few days and then slowly loosens its grip. Except this one didn’t. My head pounded constantly. My fever spiked to 103 and above. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t sleeping. We adjusted pain medication twice and nothing touched it.
On March 1st, at 6AM, I woke Morgan up and told her I thought it was time to go to the ER.
Most of that Sunday was spent on a gurney in a hallway. IV bags were changed. Blood was drawn. More blood was drawn. A chest x-ray. A CT scan. An MRI. They even had to cut off my wedding ring so I could go into the MRI machine. I’ve worn that ring for almost 25 years. That part felt symbolic in a way I wasn’t ready for.
The chest x-ray showed pneumonia. But the bigger concern was my white blood cell count. It was 0.5 in the afternoon. By evening, it had dropped to 0.2. That is far below the safe range and meant my body was not equipped to fight infection.
They admitted me and moved me into an isolated room to protect me from anything else my immune system couldn’t handle.
On March 2nd, after more labs and consultation with specialists, I was diagnosed with Hairy Cell Leukemia. It is a rare form of blood cancer that impacts the bone marrow and white blood cell production. A bone marrow biopsy the following day confirmed the diagnosis.
The biopsy itself is an experience. They numb you up, but you can still hear the drill and feel the pressure in the small of your back. Ugh.
On March 3rd, the meeting with the oncologist was surreal. When someone says the word “cancer,” your mind races in ten directions at once. But he also said something else that I am holding onto tightly: this particular cancer, while rare, responds very well to treatment. The prognosis is very positive. His words were clear. There is a very good chance I will live a long, full life.
We will let my body finish fighting pneumonia, and then we will begin chemotherapy.
On March 4th, I came home. There are still headaches. Still coughing. My appetite is slowly returning. Each day has been slightly better than the one before it.
Morgan and my sister have been administering a few necessary injections in my stomach. Marriage vows did not specifically mention this clause, but here we are.
On March 7th, I was feeling well enough to head to Del Oro and watch my 12-year-old play soccer. I’m one of the assistant coaches on the team, and the boys all wore a painted Z on their faces. At the end of the game, they thanked the other team and the refs, then came to the corner where I was sitting and gave me air fist bumps from about 20 feet away. I was feeling the love.
What has overwhelmed me most is the kindness. The texts. The emails. The prayers. The jokes. The stories. The quiet encouragement. I feel deeply loved by my family, by friends near and far, and by my Del Oro and Loomis community
There will likely be a rough stretch ahead with chemo. I am not naive about that. But I am hopeful. The outlook is strong. The doctors are confident. And I am grateful.
I will know more after my appointment on Thursday and will continue to share updates as appropriate.
For now, thank you.
Truly.
Mr. Zerwas Teaches Here 
thank you for sharing this.
I found that the wedding vows gave us all a heads up. There will be challenges. In sickness and in health was mine.
I know you are up for it.
Feel all your feelings. Give yourself permission to know them all. Then you can move through them. Denying them has so many repercussions.
I know you have so much support. The advice I clung to was from a friend who had non Hodgkins lymphoma. She said. “Do your research, question your doctors. And when you feel heard and safe. Trust your team and relax into the care you can trust. “.
my community of fellow cancer patients was so helpful.
julie.
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You are loved and appreciated, Principal Zerwas. Praying for you!
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