Today is Day Twelve.

For those who have been through a stem cell transplant, you know exactly what that means. 

"Thankful" doesn’t begin to express my feelings for the researchers who work tirelessly and have brought about the medical advances that make these myeloma treatments possible.

My sister Deana, who was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in April, was admitted to the hospital on Monday of Thanksgiving week to undergo a stem cell transplant.

I was right there with her.  Correction: Me and my 150 pounds of luggage, filled with books, magazines, hats, t-shirts, and other items that I needed to effect daily themes during my sister’s hospital stay (for example, ‘Life is Good’ Day, ‘Choose Happiness’ Day, Beach Day, Steelers Night, Cowboy Day, to name a few). 

As I mentioned in a previous column, it is a challenge to get the same answer twice when talking with the various doctors, nurses, and other health care personnel involved with my sister's case. This is to be expected, since multiple myeloma presents itself differently in each patient, and medical professionals are also individuals and express the same ideas in different ways.  We are getting more used to this as we continue on the journey.

With the above caveat in mind, I’ll share our experience with the thought that it might be of help to those out there who are pre-transplant and wondering what to expect.

After we unpacked and settled in, Deana received a dose of melphalan (Alkeran) on Monday evening and then another on Tuesday evening.  At this point, she was feeling fine and had the freedom to do just about anything she desired, so long as we didn’t leave the hospital grounds.

On the morning of transplant, we asked the doctor to order a myeloma panel because we wanted to know what Deana’s IgA protein was.  The doctor was a bit hesitant to comply, as he was concerned that if the number wasn’t what we were looking for, we might be deflated.  We assured him we’d handle whatever result came our way.  To our delight, Deana was at 379, within the normal range, thus, she was in remission.   Thanksgiving came a day early for us.

The transplant was scheduled for 10 a.m. Wednesday, but was then bumped to 1 p.m. because there were a lot of transplants that day.   The things I take for granted – I would not have imagined there would be a backlog of transplants.

Our sister Darrie was planning to bring Deana’s older children (Andrew, 12 and Clare, 8) along with her daughter (Kate, 10) shortly after 1 pm for a visit.  Since this schedule was not akin to a train departure, the situation lacked precision, and as it would happen, the children were sitting in the room when Deana was transplanted.

When I first heard “transplant,” I imagined Deana would be in surgery and all that goes along with that.  Obviously, as we learned more about stem cell transplantation, I was amazed that the procedure would occur in her hospital room.

Darrie had planned for us to be in our Texas A&M maroon, since it closely resembles the myeloma burgundy, and she suggested we have A&M music playing for motivation.   Two songs went by – the alma mater and the war hymn (aka fight song) – and, in less than seven minutes, the transplant was done.

Deana said that she thought at one point she might pass out. (I’m so glad she didn’t for that certainly would have had a bad effect on the children.) She also reported tightness in her jaw.  From where I stood, it looked like the transplant went off without a single hitch.  I couldn’t believe that this event, which I had focused on for seven months, was over so quickly.

While the actual transplant went quickly, the waiting game is a bit more tedious.  Each day after the transplant, the doctor came by on rounds and shared that Deana looked really good.  We (or maybe just I) enjoyed hearing that assessment. 

On Day Seven, Deana started to experience severe throat pain which limited her ability to eat and drink, and she said talking was uncomfortable.  The doctors and nurses said that this was all to be expected as her blood cell counts dropped, so we were glad this was nothing out of the ordinary.  One doctor suggested no solid food, another said she should eat and drink all she could.  She wasn’t able to do much of either, so thank goodness for the IV and the hydromorphone (Dilaudid), which allowed her to sleep much of the time.

My visit ended on Day Eight when I flew back home to Georgia.

Darrie reported last night (Day Eleven) that Deana’s blood cell counts are climbing, she is no longer neutropenic, and she was able to eat and drink a little bit.  For us, it seemed like there were three very difficult days of throat pain, which, while not pleasant, seem a small price to pay to knock myeloma into remission.

We have been told many times that this is a marathon, not a sprint.  It is quite true.  At the moment, we have completed a critical part of the race, but there is more to come.  Thanks to the many resources available, including the many excellent columns and research updates provided by The Myeloma Beacon, we are well prepared to continue running.

For anyone wanting a day-by-day account of Deana's transplant, it can be found at Deana's CaringBridge site.  We took lots of photos, and there are journal updates each day.