Inspirational Stories

On November 3, 2014, I drove to work and, upon arrival, knew that something was seriously wrong with me. I called my love, Holly, and informed her that I could not drive myself home as I was afraid of hurting someone else. She came to my work to pick me up and told me we were going to go to my primary care physician to demand a complete blood panel workup. At this point, I was told by my primary care physician that I was suffering from systemic gout. I was prescribed multiple rounds of steroids and a pill that was supposed to break up the shards that were affecting my joints. Unfortunately, nothing of this particular diagnosis made sense.

On our way to the doctor's office, Holly called a doctor who worked with her over the years in her career. He spoke with me for five minutes and informed me that he would challenge my doctor to his face that I had been misdiagnosed. He explained that I needed to go to the emergency room immediately and that I should not be surprised if they were to do a bone marrow biopsy. Upon hearing this news, Holly called a friend who happened to be the hospital's emergency room manager. I was taken right back, and blood was drawn immediately. 

After a half hour, the doctor came in and asked if I'd been in an accident recently, to which I replied no. He then asked, “Do you have any problems when you go to the bathroom?” Again, I answered no. I asked him why he was asking, and he said, “In the hospital when a person's hemoglobin drops to 8, we do blood transfusions. Your hemoglobin is a five. We're not sure where your blood has gone.” He then stated he would have his supervisor speak to me, which I thought was awfully odd, as one doctor gave way to another. I knew it had to be serious when the supervising doctor arrived. He informed me that he believed I may have blood cancer and that the only way to be sure was to do a bone marrow biopsy. At that very moment, my mind exploded because that's exactly what I was told by a doctor that I had never laid eyes on me.

I was also told that I was extremely lucky that I came in that day as my body had begun to shut down. I was in renal failure, and if I had not made it on that particular day, I would soon have started to experience a complete shutdown of all my organs and eventually death. Soon after, I was admitted to the sixth floor of the hospital, which was the cancer ward. I would be seen by every doctor under the sun with a particular body part under their expertise. We would then have to fire the doctor assigned to us because of our relationship with my primary care physician. Holly took this job on personally.
After that was completed, I was assigned an oncologist. She informed me that she would be doing my bone marrow biopsy, to which I asked if it would hurt. She replied I would feel a pinch from the needle, maybe a little pressure from the extraction, but other than that, all should be well. I told her it was important that she be honest with me as we were getting ready to start a journey together. I knew it would take time and that honesty was most important. She did not lie. On November 5, 2014, she returned to my room where I was surrounded by my mother, my sister, and Holly. Once she came in, she had a binder in one arm and a pamphlet in the other; she was also flanked by a resident doctor. She asked how I was doing and then proceeded to let me know that they had confirmed their suspicions that I indeed did have cancer, specifically multiple myeloma (MM). If that wasn't bad enough, she also informed me that it was a rare, aggressive form with no cure and that if I were lucky, I would live nine months to two years. Upon hearing that news, I replied that I needed a 40-year plan as I was getting ready to celebrate my 40th year on earth and that knowing what life was all about, my next 40 would be my greatest.
She turned to me and said, "Merton, I understand this information I've shared with you is very heavy and may need time processing because, unfortunately, there is no cure or 40-year plan." 

I informed her that I did not come to this hospital because my ears were broken, nor did I have a problem with cancer, however, I did have a problem with the prognosis and my future. I asked her again to open the binder and show me the 40-year plan because I had life to live and love to give! I told her I knew that a cure starts with one person, and if I had to be that person and make her famous for doing so, then so be it. I asked her then what was the next course of action for us, to which she replied we could start chemo within the hour, and that's precisely what we did.

Upon discharge from the hospital after a week, I was sent home for the holidays, preparing for this new disease that I would become very familiar with. My first outpatient chemo came on my 40th birthday, and it was the time when I met my nurses and supporting team. I was blessed with so much love from friends and family who wanted to share time with me in the infusion room or at a doctor's appointment. To say I was blessed is an understatement. Treatment lasted a few months, during which numbers plateaued, and no real major movement was happening. During my check-up with the doctor and in my hypersensitivity state, I heard her tell me there was nothing more they could do.

I was already on clinical trials, and the remainder of my visit was like listening to a Charlie Brown cartoon. I could see her lips moving but could not make out the words she was saying. When she left the room, I called Holly and told her what had happened. Holly could not believe what she said, and she told me she would call my nurse. A few minutes later, Holly called back and said that that's not what she said. In fact, she was just explaining that this particular treatment course wasn't working. However, there were other avenues we could explore. They were actually happy that I did because they streamlined a second opinion doctor appointment. That's when I would meet my doctor and multiple myeloma specialist.

While in the waiting room, I sat for nearly 3½ hours waiting to be seen. I was in extreme pain and, to be quite honest, very tired of all the doctor's visits, treatment, etc. I exclaimed to my family that I just wanted to go home as I couldn't sit there any longer. About that time, I heard a commotion behind the doors and didn't quite know what was happening. I could hear the noise getting louder and closer and closer until finally, the door swung open, and a young lady, flanked by her nurses, walked up to a bell and rang it! I asked out loud what was going on, and a fellow peer turned to me and said she had finished treatment, and she was cancer-free. At that moment, I knew I wanted to ring my bell. No sooner had this occurred than my name was called, and I returned to see my doctor. When he walked in, he looked me straight in my eyes and said, "Merton, it's bad, but it's not the worst." When I told him that the next 40 years of my life were going to be my best, and I needed a 40-year plan as I had life to live and love to give, he told me we would swing for the fences.

He then prescribed three 100-hour sessions of chemotherapy continuously administered, followed by 28 days off in between each session. After 300 hours from the bombardment of various chemo, my numbers dropped so much that I was taken off of the clinical trial list, and now a stem cell and or a bone marrow transplant were possibilities. Two of my siblings were identical markers, however, I chose to do an autologous stem cell transplant.
On May 26, 2015, I entered the hospital to begin my stem cell transplant. I asked the nurses what the shortest possible stay was, to which they said 12 days, and I informed them I would walk out on the 12th day, and that's exactly what I did within six weeks of discharge. I was fully recovered from my stem cell transplant which was the fastest that they had ever seen. Even after my stem cell transplant, I still had cancer cells in my body. My doctors tried to explain to me that I could live a long time with my cancer, to which I told them for me to be cured, I could not have cancer in my body anymore, so that plan did not work for me. I continued chemotherapy sessions for the next couple of years. Finally, on March 30, 2017, some 878 days after my diagnosis, I was able to ring my bell!

Complete molecular remission were the words my doctor said to me. I went to the hospital to find her on the sixth floor to give her a hug and let her know how much I cared that she believed in me as a fellow human. I also went to the transplant unit so I could share my experience with the loved ones of those who were entering or in the battle of their stem cell transplant.

For years, I've tried to help those needing positivity and hope. As a result of my diagnosis, I have experienced love unlike anything before. So many people poured their love into me that I felt it was essential to give back to all those who gave to me and those I may not even know. I've been a Light The Night (LTN) speaker and a part of The Patti Robinson Kaufmann First Connection® Program for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS). I've just passed my 10th anniversary since being diagnosed, as well as celebrating my 50th birthday. I am still in complete molecular remission, and I've never been in better shape or felt better in my entire life. I am blessed, I am loved, and I will die living.