Hello! My name is Sean Murray. As a myeloma patient marching lockstep alongside you into the daily battle, I am grateful to The Myeloma Beacon for allowing me to share some of my thoughts, experiences, musings, and ‘a-musings’ with you via this new monthly column.

My aim in joining The Myeloma Beacon’s efforts is to offer a patient’s perspective on this extraordinary journey upon which we have embarked.

Perhaps there is something that I have learned along the way that will help you better navigate through this often times dizzying maze of numbers, tests, images, protocols and treatment plans, medications, side effects, and the like. I also look forward to hearing your unique stories as they will, no doubt, enrich me beyond measure.

In October of 2008, I went to see my family physician to seek relief from an excruciating backache that just would not go away. A lot of you, no doubt, know that kind of myeloma-induced backache all too well. Mind you, I was not the kind of guy to rush to the doctor at the drop of a hat, but I was at my wit’s end.

Through a rather quick process that I will describe in a future column, I was diagnosed with Stage III multiple myeloma - whatever that was!

I had never heard of myeloma. Heck, I’ll admit that I inadvertently called it melanoma for a day or two before the words myeloma would easily roll off my tongue. I’m afraid that now I probably mutter the word myeloma in my sleep!

Here I was, a busy 49 year old creative consultant, writer, and producer of live musical entertainment, husband and father of two young children, and I was staring down the loaded double barrel shotgun of a cancer that, at first blush, was going to take me away from everything that was near and dear to me on this Earth. How inconvenient!

However, after catching my breath, and by doing some solid research and beginning treatment, I came to intellectually and emotionally realize that there was hope. There were options available. This was no time to give up. In fact, it was time to circle the wagons, get focused, and take charge.

Fast forward eighteen months later, having endured several rounds of high dose chemotherapy, two stem cell transplants, blood clots, pulmonary embolisms, more broken bones than I care to count, several kyphoplasties, a dozen bone marrow biopsies and aspirations, PET scans, CT scans, MRIs, hundreds of vials of blood cheerfully donated, putting up with debilitating fatigue, and to date, having completed 26 weeks of a 156 week maintenance chemotherapy plan, I find myself in complete remission.

The only sweeter words to hear would be, “Sean, you are cured.” My attitude and belief is that it could happen.

What does ‘Burgundy Thread’ mean?

My wife Karen and I are blessed to have adopted two beautiful girls from the People’s Republic of China. In our travels to Asia, we were introduced to an ages-old notion known as The Red Thread. Red often symbolizes good fortune, happiness, and joy. This is the concept:

"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break."

I propose that we myeloma patients, our courageous caregivers, doctors, nurses, technicians, researchers, families, friends, and all whom are touched by multiple myeloma are inexorably connected together with an invisible ‘burgundy thread.’ Burgundy, the unofficial color of myeloma, graces the ribbons and wrist bands of our battle.

We are each other’s biggest cheerleaders and confidants. We celebrate the big and little successes and shed tears through the tough times. And though this disease takes so much away, the love and support that I have felt compels me to give back to those with whom I am connected through the Burgundy Thread.

My hope is that this column, in some small way, gives you something that you will find helpful and hopeful.

Until next month, take courage my friends out in Myelomaville. My thoughts and prayers are with each one of you!

Sean Murray