LAST YEAR

There’s no gut punch like a close friend or family member being diagnosed with a devastating, incurable form of cancer. But last year, I got that call. When Elizabeth told me she had just been diagnosed with multiple myeloma – an incurable form of cancer affecting plasma cells, a type of white blood cell – I was crushed. We hoped it was early, but she had lesions throughout her ribs, skull, long bones and pelvis. It was a parade of bad news.

We both knew the score. There was no sugarcoating a situation like this, especially when you’ve known someone for four decades. There was no talk of, “You’ll beat this,” or “You can overcome anything,” or “Miracles happen.” There was just a deep sadness and many versions of, “Make everyday count. None of us knows how long we have.”

Zizi, as we call her, buckled down for the long journey ahead and so did I. She threw herself into rubbing the rust off her clinical brain, which hadn’t been used in a while. She researched the latest data, contacted experts all over the country and connected with organizations supporting patients with myeloma, including the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation.

She started the chemo that left her fatigued, feeling fuzzy and more. She had no response. They changed the regimen. Nothing changed. She was scheduled for a stem cell transplant. It was cancelled when she didn’t respond enough to qualify. There was one step forward and two steps back. It seemed hopeless. Then there was a glimmer of hope that she’d be able to get the transplant and suddenly, it happened. She was so sick, confined to the hospital for a month, fighting complications that tore her gut apart. She emerged thin, bald and weak but determined to regain her strength. Finally, her bone marrow biopsy showed some improvement. It wasn’t a lot; it wasn’t even a complete remission, but it was the first treatment that even made the numbers budge.

FORTY YEARS AGO

In 1984, I was a new oncology nurse working at California Pacific Medical Center in San Francisco. Elizabeth was hired around the same time. We were both tall, with short brown hair and looked enough alike that patients would do a double take.

“Wait, did you just change clothes? You were just in here with a blue top and now you’re wearing a red top.”

My automatic response was, “You must have seen my friend Elizabeth. We look alike.” It must have been our similar ancestry as her family immigrated from Hungary, while mine was from Czechoslovakia. Not only did we look alike, but we had a similar outlook on life and quickly became friends.

Night shift was hard, but she kept me awake with endless cups of coffee and amusing anecdotes as we learned the ropes together. Along the way, we dated a few doctors, explored the nightlife, and took full advantage of the energy of our youth and everything San Francisco had to offer. When the hospital opened a bone marrow transplant center, we were the first to volunteer, never thinking that someday, one of us would need a transplant.

I’ve had many roles since then, including director of pediatric bone marrow transplant at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, clinical specialist at Amgen and vice president at McKesson, all focused on oncology and stem cell transplant. Regular interaction with experts across the country allowed me to become well versed in guidelines, outcomes and statistics with a special interest in leukemia, lymphoma and multiple myeloma. I celebrated the advances in oncology over the years and shed many tears over the losses. I focused my entire career on supporting people with cancer, but always at arm’s length. Now, it’s personal. Now cancer is right here, right now.

THIS YEAR

This year, Elizabeth is building back. She’s walking every day, doing yoga, participating in art therapy, connecting with nature and finding fresh forms of expression that give her joy. Following our mantra of, “Make everyday count,” she’s embarking on a physical challenge with Moving Mountains for Multiple Myeloma (MM4MM) to experience the joy and satisfaction of climbing mountains in Alaska. If you know me or follow me, you know hiking is my passion and there’s nothing better than hiking in the Far North.

To donate, visit: https://give.themmrf.org/fundraiser/4361943