I can't quite recall the doctor's exact name, but Dr. Radic over at Mercury handled my grandfather's care for a while back when he was dealing with immune thrombocytopenia and gammaglobulinemia. She actually sent him over to see Dr. Radic—I think they're married—at the local hospital because she suspected some kind of brain growth. Thankfully, it turned out to be nothing. Anyway, that was all about five or six years ago.
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Posts by neonheron32
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Wait, isn't it Dr. Radic over at the vineyard, the husband (if I recall correctly) of Dr. Radic from Mercury?
Melissa Martinez5 said:My brother-in-law had surgery for throat cancer about a month ago.
He had a laryngectomy—they took everything out—so he can't talk anymore...
He’s got a breathing tube in his neck and still has to eat through a feeding tube in his nose...
They should be giving him something else today, I'm not quite sure what, something to help him swallow, and if all goes well, he might be home in about ten days...
Radiation is also scheduled for this month...
I was wondering if anyone here has experience caring for patients like this?
We’re going through a very similar situation. It’s my uncle, and we’re pretty much all hands on deck since there isn't anyone else to look after him—no wife, no kids.
He had his surgery two weeks ago. From what I gather, they removed everything just like you described. There was some concern about a growth at the base of his skull, which would have changed the whole prognosis, but thankfully it turned out to be benign.
It’s pharyngeal cancer that spread to the larynx.
Anyway, my uncle can already drink tea and coffee normally, but nothing else. He still needs to go through radiation, but supposedly the prognosis is actually quite good.
The bigger hurdle is that he has to kick certain habits that likely caused this in the first place—alcohol and smoking.
We’re just relieved he actually made it through surgery. Honestly, I don't think he could have handled chemotherapy. He’s diabetic, has liver damage from the drinking, he's incredibly thin, and his thyroid isn't great either. The ENT Specialist he saw initially didn't even feel comfortable operating, but he was very fair about it; he recommended a specialist at a different hospital who he said was excellent, suggesting that if she could perform the surgery, it would be the much better option.
In any case, the doctors told us not to expect major complications during treatment and to stay optimistic. I don't know how things are looking on your end—what is the surgeon saying?
I had the same thought, honestly, but that comment about the prognosis being grim if it turns out to be malignant really spooked me. You’d think once you cut it out, that whole problem would just be solved, right?
Thankfully, the surgery went smoothly. Now we’re probably stuck waiting a week or two for the biopsy results to come back.
It’s been a heavy blow for us, especially after losing my grandfather to lymphoma just two months ago. He was my dad's father. Most of his life, he was a heavy drinker and a smoker, but deep down, he was such a kind, gentle soul. This cancer hit him harder than anything else ever did, and for a second, we actually felt optimistic—like maybe this would be the wake-up call he needed to finally turn things around. For the first time, he actually admitted he had to quit drinking. And now, having to face the reality that it might already be too late for that change... it's a lot.
On the bright side, he's in great hands with an excellent ENT and a top-tier surgeon; they’re truly giving it their all. It’s just hard not to feel this lingering anxiety, wondering if they'll take every possible step if it turns out to be something serious.
Thankfully, the surgery went smoothly. Now we’re probably stuck waiting a week or two for the biopsy results to come back.
It’s been a heavy blow for us, especially after losing my grandfather to lymphoma just two months ago. He was my dad's father. Most of his life, he was a heavy drinker and a smoker, but deep down, he was such a kind, gentle soul. This cancer hit him harder than anything else ever did, and for a second, we actually felt optimistic—like maybe this would be the wake-up call he needed to finally turn things around. For the first time, he actually admitted he had to quit drinking. And now, having to face the reality that it might already be too late for that change... it's a lot.
On the bright side, he's in great hands with an excellent ENT and a top-tier surgeon; they’re truly giving it their all. It’s just hard not to feel this lingering anxiety, wondering if they'll take every possible step if it turns out to be something serious.
My uncle had throat surgery yesterday. It was a squamous cell carcinoma. It had spread a little bit, but based on the scans, it looked contained to the neck area, so they decided to go ahead with the removal and try to bypass chemo altogether. But, while they were in there, they found something near the base of the skull and sent it off for testing. According to the doctors, if that turns out to be malignant, things aren't looking great.
Does that mean the tumor might have spread to the skull or the brain?
Does that mean the tumor might have spread to the skull or the brain?
Nicholas Myers, sorry for being so informal here, but 🙂
Yeah, those lymphocyte counts were what really had me spiraling. Even though my primary doctor, my hematologist, and my anesthesiologist all told me the results weren't actually cause for concern. But, obviously, things get messy when you start digging through the internet looking for answers and stumble upon stuff like HIV being a possibility.
As far as my immune system goes, I’d say I’m pretty much just your average person, sitting right in the middle of the bell curve.
I was under an insane amount of stress during that stretch. It wasn't even so much the endometriosis—that's a manageable condition you deal with routinely—but more about this "hematoma" that wouldn't go away, an enlarged lymph node in my groin (which they later attributed to lymphedema; the node cleared up once the lymphedema did), and a weird ECG reading. All these bad, strange results hit me within a single month, and I've always been someone prone to panicking.
Thanks for the info. I might head back in for another blood panel, but I'll probably sleep on it. The numbers aren't actually bad, and honestly, I don't have any symptoms suggesting anything is actually wrong with my health.
Yeah, those lymphocyte counts were what really had me spiraling. Even though my primary doctor, my hematologist, and my anesthesiologist all told me the results weren't actually cause for concern. But, obviously, things get messy when you start digging through the internet looking for answers and stumble upon stuff like HIV being a possibility.
As far as my immune system goes, I’d say I’m pretty much just your average person, sitting right in the middle of the bell curve.
I was under an insane amount of stress during that stretch. It wasn't even so much the endometriosis—that's a manageable condition you deal with routinely—but more about this "hematoma" that wouldn't go away, an enlarged lymph node in my groin (which they later attributed to lymphedema; the node cleared up once the lymphedema did), and a weird ECG reading. All these bad, strange results hit me within a single month, and I've always been someone prone to panicking.
Thanks for the info. I might head back in for another blood panel, but I'll probably sleep on it. The numbers aren't actually bad, and honestly, I don't have any symptoms suggesting anything is actually wrong with my health.
So, here’s the short version:
Female, 26 years old. I was scheduled for laparoscopic surgery to deal with endometriosis on my left ovary. They pushed the procedure back because of a suspicious ECG—not to dwell on it, a follow-up heart ultrasound confirmed everything is fine, just an atypical ECG—and something on my thigh that looked like a hematoma that wouldn't clear up. Regarding that last bit, I'm still running final tests, but an ultrasound showed it’s actually lymphedema in the fatty tissue, which is responding to Elocom.
What I’m really looking at are the blood results. The first set was done prep for the surgery, and every single value was within the normal range except for the white blood cell count.
Lymphocytes were 13% (ref: 20-46), and segmented granulocytes were 77% (ref: 44-72).
After they looked into the "hematoma," they ran a much more detailed blood panel. My Hematology specialist—who is truly top-tier, and I have immense respect for her because she handled a family member's case brilliantly—said the findings aren't bad.
Anyway, I’m only listing the values that deviate from the norm since the full report is massive and it’s a hassle to photograph the whole thing right now.
MPV 10.6 (6.8 - 10.4)
Lymphocytes 0.92 (1.19 - 3.35)
though the lymphocyte percentage is back to normal now (25%)
PT - INR 1.16 (2.0 - 3.5)
Urea 2.5 (2.8 - 8.3)
GGT 7 (9 - 35)
ALP 37 (54 - 119)
From the serum protein electrophoresis:
Total proteins 85.4 (66-81)
Hematology noted this is a state of mild leukopenia (White blood cells were 3.59). I did have a virus a few days before this second blood draw (severe sore throat, slight fever, and sinus issues).
To be honest, those low lymphocyte numbers are what actually spooked me. I've heard that if these enzymes are low, it doesn't matter, but everywhere you look, the explanation for low lymphocytes is some terrible disease.
Should I be worried, or can this just pass as a normal result?
I don't really have any major symptoms; my immunity is decent. I catch a little bug every winter, but nothing long-lasting or heavy, and nothing involving the lower respiratory tract... I wouldn't say I stand out from the crowd in that regard.
If I need to show the full report, I can scan it at work.
Thanks in advance 🙂
Female, 26 years old. I was scheduled for laparoscopic surgery to deal with endometriosis on my left ovary. They pushed the procedure back because of a suspicious ECG—not to dwell on it, a follow-up heart ultrasound confirmed everything is fine, just an atypical ECG—and something on my thigh that looked like a hematoma that wouldn't clear up. Regarding that last bit, I'm still running final tests, but an ultrasound showed it’s actually lymphedema in the fatty tissue, which is responding to Elocom.
What I’m really looking at are the blood results. The first set was done prep for the surgery, and every single value was within the normal range except for the white blood cell count.
Lymphocytes were 13% (ref: 20-46), and segmented granulocytes were 77% (ref: 44-72).
After they looked into the "hematoma," they ran a much more detailed blood panel. My Hematology specialist—who is truly top-tier, and I have immense respect for her because she handled a family member's case brilliantly—said the findings aren't bad.
Anyway, I’m only listing the values that deviate from the norm since the full report is massive and it’s a hassle to photograph the whole thing right now.
MPV 10.6 (6.8 - 10.4)
Lymphocytes 0.92 (1.19 - 3.35)
though the lymphocyte percentage is back to normal now (25%)
PT - INR 1.16 (2.0 - 3.5)
Urea 2.5 (2.8 - 8.3)
GGT 7 (9 - 35)
ALP 37 (54 - 119)
From the serum protein electrophoresis:
Total proteins 85.4 (66-81)
Hematology noted this is a state of mild leukopenia (White blood cells were 3.59). I did have a virus a few days before this second blood draw (severe sore throat, slight fever, and sinus issues).
To be honest, those low lymphocyte numbers are what actually spooked me. I've heard that if these enzymes are low, it doesn't matter, but everywhere you look, the explanation for low lymphocytes is some terrible disease.
Should I be worried, or can this just pass as a normal result?
I don't really have any major symptoms; my immunity is decent. I catch a little bug every winter, but nothing long-lasting or heavy, and nothing involving the lower respiratory tract... I wouldn't say I stand out from the crowd in that regard.
If I need to show the full report, I can scan it at work.
Thanks in advance 🙂
Unfortunately, we just buried my grandfather last week. It was Burkitt lymphoma. He actually held up incredibly well considering the diagnosis, handling his chemo—which was pretty mild, mostly just maintenance rather than curative—really well. His blood work was excellent, too.
Then pneumonia hit. He’d always been prone to it, but ever since he was treated for gammaglobulinemia and they cleared out the bacteria in his lungs causing the issues, he hadn't dealt with any of that for the last five years.
So, he ends up in the hospital. Things stabilized, then he developed fluid in his lungs, which also cleared up, but ultimately, missing those chemo sessions because of everything else just let the lymphoma tear him apart. Thankfully, he wasn't in pain; he was just endlessly exhausted. My mom was with him when he passed, and honestly, I can't tell you how relieved I am about that.
Since Mom came down with a nasty flu the day after the funeral, I haven't even had a chance to properly process the loss. I don't think I truly realize yet how much I'm going to miss him. We had such a special bond, especially over these last five years. He was the one who taught me how to read and write; he was there cheering me on when I took my first steps, basically raising me alongside my grandma during those early childhood mornings.
Now, my uncle has been diagnosed with cancer. He hasn't wanted to be specific about what kind (we have a complicated relationship with him). His medical history is all handwritten and the script is absolutely illegible, though one referral lists "ca planocellulare" as the working diagnosis. He had some sort of benign tumor on his nose, but from what I gather now, it’s involving the throat or sinuses. He’s a chronic smoker and a heavy drinker. He felt a lump on his neck that really spooked his doctor. I have no idea what the prognosis is, but he's refusing treatment because he’s had bad experiences with doctors in the past. He's hard to reach, and sometimes I'm not even sure if I want to reach him, because there are things regarding my grandfather that I just can't forgive him for. At least, not yet.
Anyway, just needed to vent here for a bit. I wouldn't call it a tragedy—Grandpa was 85 and lived a very full, good life—but you're never really ready to say goodbye to someone you love.😢
Then pneumonia hit. He’d always been prone to it, but ever since he was treated for gammaglobulinemia and they cleared out the bacteria in his lungs causing the issues, he hadn't dealt with any of that for the last five years.
So, he ends up in the hospital. Things stabilized, then he developed fluid in his lungs, which also cleared up, but ultimately, missing those chemo sessions because of everything else just let the lymphoma tear him apart. Thankfully, he wasn't in pain; he was just endlessly exhausted. My mom was with him when he passed, and honestly, I can't tell you how relieved I am about that.
Since Mom came down with a nasty flu the day after the funeral, I haven't even had a chance to properly process the loss. I don't think I truly realize yet how much I'm going to miss him. We had such a special bond, especially over these last five years. He was the one who taught me how to read and write; he was there cheering me on when I took my first steps, basically raising me alongside my grandma during those early childhood mornings.
Now, my uncle has been diagnosed with cancer. He hasn't wanted to be specific about what kind (we have a complicated relationship with him). His medical history is all handwritten and the script is absolutely illegible, though one referral lists "ca planocellulare" as the working diagnosis. He had some sort of benign tumor on his nose, but from what I gather now, it’s involving the throat or sinuses. He’s a chronic smoker and a heavy drinker. He felt a lump on his neck that really spooked his doctor. I have no idea what the prognosis is, but he's refusing treatment because he’s had bad experiences with doctors in the past. He's hard to reach, and sometimes I'm not even sure if I want to reach him, because there are things regarding my grandfather that I just can't forgive him for. At least, not yet.
Anyway, just needed to vent here for a bit. I wouldn't call it a tragedy—Grandpa was 85 and lived a very full, good life—but you're never really ready to say goodbye to someone you love.😢
I have to say, the hematology team at Mercury is top-notch. Specifically Peter, though honestly, the whole crew deserves a shout-out.
There’s an elderly man who’s been their patient for over 20 years; he wouldn't even be here if it weren't for them. They do these incredibly thorough screenings before starting any treatment, hold intense consultations, and they take the time to patiently explain everything to him and to us. I still vividly remember Dr. Martin, who spent a solid 20 minutes walking me through exactly why certain medications were being prescribed when my grandfather was being discharged. Later on, whenever we had questions, I’d give them a call, and they always made time to answer.
So, after nearly three months and four rounds of chemo, my grandfather is subjectively doing much better—which is saying something, considering he’s 85 and battling aggressive Burkitt lymphoma along with five or six other hematological issues. His lymph nodes have shrunk, and his blood work is almost back within normal ranges (he’s still dealing with some mild anemia and immunoglobulinemia). Every three weeks at his check-ups, they tweak his dosages based on the latest results. He’s also slowly tapering off the corticosteroids following their specific instructions. Even though Peter isn't officially overseeing his case anymore, she still checks in on him every time he comes into the outpatient clinic for a check-up or chemo to go over his labs. For someone fighting this kind of illness, and for his family, those small gestures mean everything.
There’s an elderly man who’s been their patient for over 20 years; he wouldn't even be here if it weren't for them. They do these incredibly thorough screenings before starting any treatment, hold intense consultations, and they take the time to patiently explain everything to him and to us. I still vividly remember Dr. Martin, who spent a solid 20 minutes walking me through exactly why certain medications were being prescribed when my grandfather was being discharged. Later on, whenever we had questions, I’d give them a call, and they always made time to answer.
So, after nearly three months and four rounds of chemo, my grandfather is subjectively doing much better—which is saying something, considering he’s 85 and battling aggressive Burkitt lymphoma along with five or six other hematological issues. His lymph nodes have shrunk, and his blood work is almost back within normal ranges (he’s still dealing with some mild anemia and immunoglobulinemia). Every three weeks at his check-ups, they tweak his dosages based on the latest results. He’s also slowly tapering off the corticosteroids following their specific instructions. Even though Peter isn't officially overseeing his case anymore, she still checks in on him every time he comes into the outpatient clinic for a check-up or chemo to go over his labs. For someone fighting this kind of illness, and for his family, those small gestures mean everything.
I know this might have been touched on already in this thread, but I wanted to double-check.
How much can you actually tell about the progression of Burkitt lymphoma just by physical exams—like feeling for lumps—and looking at blood work?
So, my grandfather (he's 85) was diagnosed with Burkitt lymphoma back in early October (he’s posted about this before). On top of that, he’s always dealt with megaloblastic anemia, thrombocytopenia, and immunoglobulinemia. We've kept those issues mostly under control with B12 shots and getting IV immunoglobulin infusions once every two months. Usually, he's doing fine, barring the occasional virus or whatever.
When he was last admitted to the hospital—right when they caught the Burkitt—he was feeling pretty rough, exhausted, and had this massive lump on his neck. As soon as they started him on corticosteroids, he felt better overall and that lump shrank down, though there were still a few palpable nodes left.
Fast forward to today: he's at the hospital for a checkup while on cyclophosphamide, and they couldn't feel any nodes at all. They're also really happy with his blood counts.
We asked how long the chemo—they call it immunochemotherapy—will last, and they told us if things keep going this well, it won't be much longer; they'll decide based on his labs. They haven't mentioned any extra testing yet, just the blood work.
Honestly, we're thrilled. He feels great. He’s less tired and way more energetic than he was two months ago. He’s even back to doing stuff around the house and out in the yard on his own.
We've also cut back on the starch in his diet, which the hospital staff suggested was a good move.
If it helps, I can post his full blood work from today once we get the results after this round of chemo finishes.
To me, it seems logical that the fact those nodes aren't palpable anymore has to mean things are moving in the right direction.
How much can you actually tell about the progression of Burkitt lymphoma just by physical exams—like feeling for lumps—and looking at blood work?
So, my grandfather (he's 85) was diagnosed with Burkitt lymphoma back in early October (he’s posted about this before). On top of that, he’s always dealt with megaloblastic anemia, thrombocytopenia, and immunoglobulinemia. We've kept those issues mostly under control with B12 shots and getting IV immunoglobulin infusions once every two months. Usually, he's doing fine, barring the occasional virus or whatever.
When he was last admitted to the hospital—right when they caught the Burkitt—he was feeling pretty rough, exhausted, and had this massive lump on his neck. As soon as they started him on corticosteroids, he felt better overall and that lump shrank down, though there were still a few palpable nodes left.
Fast forward to today: he's at the hospital for a checkup while on cyclophosphamide, and they couldn't feel any nodes at all. They're also really happy with his blood counts.
We asked how long the chemo—they call it immunochemotherapy—will last, and they told us if things keep going this well, it won't be much longer; they'll decide based on his labs. They haven't mentioned any extra testing yet, just the blood work.
Honestly, we're thrilled. He feels great. He’s less tired and way more energetic than he was two months ago. He’s even back to doing stuff around the house and out in the yard on his own.
We've also cut back on the starch in his diet, which the hospital staff suggested was a good move.
If it helps, I can post his full blood work from today once we get the results after this round of chemo finishes.
To me, it seems logical that the fact those nodes aren't palpable anymore has to mean things are moving in the right direction.
feralridge3, I’m really glad to hear that 🙂
I hope you and Dow Chemical have a great time celebrating.
I hope you and Dow Chemical have a great time celebrating.
neonheron32 said:Well, here I am. Unfortunately, I’ve ended up on this thread too, even though I was really hoping I wouldn't have to.
So, I was at the hematology clinic yesterday and they dropped some heavy news about my grandfather. Turns out he’s dealing with a malignant lymphoma. They gave me the specific name, but honestly? My brain just hit a wall. I completely blanked on the exact term—I've never even heard of it before.
He’s dealing with thrombocytopenia, megaloblastic anemia, and hypogammaglobulinemia. It’s been quite a ride—he actually ended up with all these diagnoses because doctors misdiagnosed him with TB. Turns out he didn't have TB at all; it was just some kind of lung lesion. Once they cleared that up and ran the full battery of tests over at the hematology department, everything came to light. He’s been managing these conditions for nearly a decade now, and honestly, he's kept them under control quite well. He’s 85, but still pretty spry. His EKG is always steady, and his blood pressure sits right around 120/80.
Two months ago, everything looked fine at his regular checkup. Results were solid. Then, out of nowhere, this massive lump shows up on his neck. They did a biopsy, and it turns out it’s lymphoma. He’s also been running a fever—around 100.4—but there isn't an infection or any inflammation in sight to explain it. The doctor says it's a pretty aggressive type of lymphoma, but we're looking at two different paths. Option one is heavy-duty chemo, though they aren't sure he can handle that kind of hit given his age. Option two is a milder chemo regimen meant to just keep the lymphoma under control, whatever that actually means in practice. Either way, they’ll remove that lymph node and put him on corticosteroids to bring down the fever, because the temperature spikes are absolutely draining him. Apparently, steroids are also helpful in treating the cancer itself.
So, his hematologist is coming by this Monday. We trust her completely—honestly, she’s been incredible at digging through all this to figure out what's actually going on with him. By the time she gets here, that final pathology report should finally be in, though the doctors are pretty much certain about the diagnosis already. The hospital staff mentioned that because he’s been under her care for thirteen years now, they’ve built up this really strong bond through all the intense exams and checkups. Because of that connection, she’s the one who will be breaking the news about the disease to him.
I get it, really. On one hand, I know they're getting up there in years, but when someone is still that full of life, it’s just hard to wrap your head around a diagnosis like this. It doesn't sit right. Honestly, I'm just holding out hope that there’s some kind of way for them to keep living a normal life, even if it's just for a little while longer.
So, I finally got discharged today. I’ve got my discharge papers right here, and they actually go into a bit more detail than usual... Not sure if I should dump everything here, but I'll probably just outline the main points:
Burkitt lymphoma / diffuse large B-cell non-Hodgkin lymphoma C83.7.
Hypogammaglobulinemia D84.8. Just one of those things you find yourself staring at on a lab report, wondering what it actually means for your day-to-day. It’s a mouthful, sure, but it basically boils down to your immune system being a bit short on its usual supplies. Not exactly the news anyone wants to see, but there it is.
So, we’re looking at anemia tied to neoplastic disease—specifically under that D63.0 classification. It’s one of those things where everything feels connected, but the connection is messy. You have the underlying malignancy, and then you have this secondary struggle where the body just can't keep up with the red blood cell count. It’s exhausting, really. Not just for the patient, but for anyone trying to make sense of the labs. When you see these numbers dropping, it isn't just some random fluctuation. The cancer itself, or the treatments used to fight it, essentially hijacks the system. It's like a resource war happening inside your own veins. One minute you think you're on solid ground, and the next, the iron levels or the erythropoietin response just falls off a cliff. It’s frustratingly straightforward in theory, yet incredibly complex when you're actually staring at a patient who can barely walk to the kitchen without feeling winded. Everything is just... heavy.
Megaloblastic anemia (D51). It’s one of those things you read about and think, "Okay, sounds manageable," until you actually start looking into the mechanics of it. It’s basically a glitch in how your body builds red blood cells—they end up too big, too immature, and just plain ineffective. Usually, it comes down to a deficiency in B12 or Folic Acid. Simple enough on paper, right? But dealing with it is another story entirely. You spend half your time staring at lab results and the other half wondering why your energy levels feel like they've completely bottomed out. It’s a slow burn.
Hemolytic anemia, D59.9. Just that on its own. It’s one of those things where you see the code and everything just sort of stalls out for a second. Dealing with this kind of stuff... it's a lot.
Immune thrombocytopenia (ITP). D47.3. Just stating the facts.
Chronic gastritis. K29. Just one of those things that stays with you. It’s a constant, low-level background noise in your life. You think you have it figured out, then you don't. Always back to square one.
Atrial fibrillation (I48). Just one of those things. It’s basically when the upper chambers of your heart lose their rhythm and start quivering instead of pumping properly. Not exactly ideal. It can lead to all sorts of complications if you aren't careful, mostly because that irregular beat increases the risk of blood clots. If a clot decides to travel up to the brain, you're looking at a stroke. So, yeah, it's something people take seriously.
New developments on my end. Just got hit with diagnoses of Burkitt lymphoma, anemia related to neoplastic disease, and atrial fibrillation. It’s a lot to process.
Still thinking about that vacation...
We kicked off initial therapy with dexamethasone, which actually did the trick—the patient’s general condition improved, the fibrillation stopped, and those lymph nodes started shrinking back down. Given the patient is 85, we opted for a regimen of prednisone and cyclophosphamide; he received 1 gram via IV on October 18th. During the stay, atrial fibrillation popped up again, but we got the rhythm under control using bisoprolol. We also had to deal with some hypogammaglobulinemia, so he was given 15g of IVIG on the 19th. On top of that, there was megaloblastic anemia in the mix, so we went ahead with 1000 mcg of Vitamin B12 IV along with four units of packed red blood cells to get those levels back where they need to be. He handled the treatment well. He’s being discharged now in satisfactory condition.
So, his current meds list includes Zypnatol, Euthyrox—which he’s been on for a while now—plus Folic Acid, Diflucan, Allopurinol, Concor, Decortin, and Advil. I didn't bother listing the dosages here, but if anyone actually needs them, just let me know. He’s just heading into the hospital next week for a quick check-up and a B12 shot, then in three weeks, he starts his next round of cyclophosphamide.
Up until now, he’s been getting B12 once every three months and gammaglobulins once every two months.
He hasn't actually felt terrible after yesterday's cyclophosphamide treatment yet. His appetite is back, and he seems more rested than when he was first admitted to the hospital. That lymph node is definitely palpable now, but it's much smaller.
What kind of prognosis are we looking at with this setup? The doctors told us they're really happy with how things are going so far. We're just hoping they're right. 😢
Thanks in advance
Well, unfortunately, I guess I’m joining this thread too, even though I really hoped I wouldn't have to.
Yesterday at the hematology department, they told me my grandfather has malignant lymphoma. They gave me the specific name, but honestly, I just blanked on the exact term—I've never heard of it before.
He deals with thrombocytopenia, megaloblastic anemia, and hypogammaglobulinemia. He ended up with all those diagnoses after being mistakenly treated for TB, which turned out he didn't even have; it was actually some kind of lung lesion that the specialists at the Mayo Clinic caught during detailed testing. He's been managing these conditions for nearly a decade now, and he's doing okay. He's 85, but pretty spry—his EKG is always steady, and his blood pressure stays right around 120/80.
Two months ago, during a routine checkup, everything still looked fine. Then, out of nowhere, this massive lump appeared on his neck, and a biopsy confirmed it was lymphoma. Along with that, he started running a fever—around 100.4—but there's no sign of infection or inflammation. The doctor said it's a fairly aggressive type, but they're looking at two paths. First, there's heavy chemo, though they aren't sure he could handle it given his age. The second is a milder chemo meant to keep the lymphoma under control, whatever that actually entails. Either way, they'd remove that lymph node and put him on corticosteroids to manage the fever, since it's wearing him down (they also mentioned steroids are helpful in cancer treatment).
On Monday, his main hematologist is coming by—she's the one we trust implicitly because she worked so hard to figure out what was going on with him. By then, the final pathology results should be in, though they're already pretty certain about the diagnosis. The hospital staff mentioned she'll be the one to break the news officially; she and my grandfather have built a real bond over the last 13 years of treating him.
On one hand, I get that he's in his twilight years, but when someone is still so full of life, it's hard to wrap your head around a diagnosis like this. I'm just hoping there's an option that lets him live a relatively normal life for a while longer.
Yesterday at the hematology department, they told me my grandfather has malignant lymphoma. They gave me the specific name, but honestly, I just blanked on the exact term—I've never heard of it before.
He deals with thrombocytopenia, megaloblastic anemia, and hypogammaglobulinemia. He ended up with all those diagnoses after being mistakenly treated for TB, which turned out he didn't even have; it was actually some kind of lung lesion that the specialists at the Mayo Clinic caught during detailed testing. He's been managing these conditions for nearly a decade now, and he's doing okay. He's 85, but pretty spry—his EKG is always steady, and his blood pressure stays right around 120/80.
Two months ago, during a routine checkup, everything still looked fine. Then, out of nowhere, this massive lump appeared on his neck, and a biopsy confirmed it was lymphoma. Along with that, he started running a fever—around 100.4—but there's no sign of infection or inflammation. The doctor said it's a fairly aggressive type, but they're looking at two paths. First, there's heavy chemo, though they aren't sure he could handle it given his age. The second is a milder chemo meant to keep the lymphoma under control, whatever that actually entails. Either way, they'd remove that lymph node and put him on corticosteroids to manage the fever, since it's wearing him down (they also mentioned steroids are helpful in cancer treatment).
On Monday, his main hematologist is coming by—she's the one we trust implicitly because she worked so hard to figure out what was going on with him. By then, the final pathology results should be in, though they're already pretty certain about the diagnosis. The hospital staff mentioned she'll be the one to break the news officially; she and my grandfather have built a real bond over the last 13 years of treating him.
On one hand, I get that he's in his twilight years, but when someone is still so full of life, it's hard to wrap your head around a diagnosis like this. I'm just hoping there's an option that lets him live a relatively normal life for a while longer.