Hello, my name is Steve Mohr. I am 57 years old, and I was diagnosed with monoclonal gammopathy of undetermined significance (MGUS) in December of 2011, which was quickly revised to a diagnosis of multiple myeloma in April of 2012.

After reading this website almost daily since my initial diagnosis, I feel that, per­haps like every columnist who writes for The Beacon, I may be able to offer a helpful perspective to others with multiple myeloma, especially those newly diagnosed with the disease, and those about to undergo treatment.

As was the case for many of the columnists and Beacon readers, my diagnosis came as a complete sur­prise. And like many, I had never heard of the disease.

It all began in September of 2011, when I started to experience moderate pain through my hips and pelvic region after being on my feet for long periods of time. When the pain continued for several weeks, I finally saw my family doctor in November that same year. I fully expected him to tell me that being a three-sport athlete through high school and playing college football had caught up with me, and that arthritis had set in.

I was somewhat taken aback, but not overly concerned, when an MRI revealed a lesion on my left pelvic area. My doctor referred me to the James Cancer Center (commonly referred to as The James) in Co­lum­bus, Ohio, and assured me he just wanted to be sure that it was insignificant.

Additional tests were run at The James. I met with an orthopedic cancer specialist in December, who told me that the test results indicated that I had the myeloma precursor disease MGUS.  I was told that it could linger for years and possibly never materialize into active multiple myeloma.

The orthopedic cancer specialist did not think the pain I was experiencing was in any way associated with MGUS or multiple myeloma. Instead, he gave me an exercise regimen to work on, and he planned to mon­i­tor my status with tests every three months.

Three months later, in March 2012, I returned for my first check-up. I was still experiencing the pain in my legs and pelvic area, though it was not as pronounced as before. This time, I met with an oncologist. He was bothered by the fact that I was still experiencing pain.

A couple of weeks later, he unexpectedly called me and said that he wanted to get to the bottom of my con­tin­u­ing pain (he’s persistent!).

He ordered a bone biopsy, and on April 20, 2012, I received "The Call.”

The lesion on my left hip was cancerous, identified as a plasmacytoma.  A follow-up bone marrow biopsy confirmed that I had stage I multiple myeloma.

My doctor suggested taking an aggressive approach initially to eradicate the plasmacytoma.  I remember him telling me that we were going to “radiate the hell” out of it.

I was surprised at how "routine" the 25 radiation treatments were. They were administered over a five-week period in May and June of 2012, and were determined to be successful in killing the tumor.

At the first three-month check-up post radiation treatment, my lab results showed that my M-spike had in­creased, despite the successful treatment of the plasmacytoma. It continued to rise over the next three months.

At that point, in January 2013, my doctor suggested that we should consider treatment.

However, we decided to continue to watch and wait, even though this approach went against my nature of proactively – and aggressively – tackling problems head on.

Numerous factors led to this decision.

First of all, the fact that new treatments were looming on the horizon gave cause for delaying treatment.

Secondly, I looked and felt good, and apart from occasional mild fatigue, my quality of life had not changed since my diagnosis.  The knowledge that the side effects of treatment would definitely impact my quality of life could not be overlooked.

Most importantly, my two children would be entering their senior years of high school and college, and I did not want the burden of their dad undergoing life-altering treatment hanging over their heads during this special year.

And yet I must admit that, as convinced as I was that to continue watching and waiting was the best course of action, I had moments of doubt.

On more than one occasion, I told my wife, "This just doesn't make sense. I have an incurable cancer and thus, in all likelihood, a terminal condition. My numbers are getting worse despite 25 radiation treat­ments on the plasmacytoma. There are cancer cells percolating in my body, and we are going to ‘watch and wait’?"

And, on numerous occasions, I had tried to explain to family and friends that yes, I have an incurable cancer, but no, I was not undergoing treatment and that we were "watching and waiting." One friend seriously asked, "Watching and waiting for what ... death?"

Nevertheless, we had been watching and waiting for 16 months, and I am glad we did.

I also want to make one thing very clear: I trust my doctor completely. I owe my very survival to him. Without his persistent and caring personal approach to first find out what was wrong with me and then blessing me with his expertise and care, who knows what my condition would be today.

Watching and waiting has ended, as I started treatment last October.  My check-up in September revealed numerous new lesions on both hips, my femur, and on my fourth vertebra.

So, why am I glad that we watched and waited?

Over the 16 months, I have been able to learn about this disease. While I will never be one who is able to discuss this disease on even a fundamental basis like other contributors – the science part of living with this disease just doesn't interest me – I am now much more aware of the treatment options that exist post watching and waiting. I have had the opportunity to talk to others who have fought this terrible disease.

In short, because we watched and waited, I am much better prepared to face treatment and all that it entails.

The time during these 16 months that I was able to spend with my son, working with him to earn a starting position on one of the finest football programs in the state, likely would not have been possible had I been in treatment -- especially had I undergone a stem cell transplant, which is now planned for later this year.

Had we not watched and waited, I would not have been able to return to my passion of coaching basketball.

And, finally, my efforts to live under a new credo of "loving deeper, speaking softer, and being the friend a friend would love to have" would have been sorely tested with the change in the quality of life that would have occurred had I started treatment in April 2012.

"Watch and wait" is now replaced with "uncertain certainty."

The certainty of finally treating this disease is, surprisingly, a welcome relief. No more living from three-month check-up to three-month check-up and the anxiety that goes with waiting for test results.

However, the certainty of action and accompanying relief is tempered by uncertainty and many questions.

Will the treatment end the constant bone pain that I am now experiencing? What side effects will I experience during treatment: constipation or diarrhea, muscle cramps or rash, fatigue or neuropathy, or, worst of all, secondary cancers? As one who has suffered through insomnia for decades, how will I handle dexa­meth­a­sone ^[1] (Decadron)?

Will I go into remission, and if so, how long will it take to get there, and what form of remission will it be? How will treatment affect my ability to work? Most importantly, how will my family be affected by all that is involved in treatment?

The coming months will certainly come with many more questions and much uncertainty. But I am happy with where I am now.

As uncertain as this certain treatment plan may be, and as convinced as I am that watching and waiting was the best course of action to pursue, in a perverse sort of way, I prefer the uncertain certainty of treatment to watchful waiting.

I look forward to sharing my perspectives on these experiences with the readers of The Myeloma Beacon.