When I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in 2005, my specialist told me that my disease fell into the category of smoldering myeloma.

This meant that, while I had abnormal myeloma cells in my bone marrow and abnormal protein in my blood, the myeloma wasn’t yet harming me. I didn’t have any other symptoms, such as anemia, bone damage, or kid­ney involvement. I’d have my blood tested every few months, but I didn’t need any treatment.

My first reaction to the smoldering diagnosis was one of intense relief. After a month of tests, doctor appointments, and constant Internet searches, I had imagined the worst. Now I was finding out that my con­di­tion – while still serious – was not nearly as serious as it could be.

I’d been given a reprieve! Time to par-tay!

A friend pointed out that “smoldering myeloma” sounded awfully, well, sexy.

“Don’t mind me,” I’d say, leaning against the veranda as steam drifted from my bodice. “My myeloma is smoldering.”

At that point, I hoped I would smolder forever.

As the months went by, however, I realized this smoldering thing wasn’t that sexy or that fun. A diagnosis of smoldering myeloma put me in cancer patient limbo. Yes, I was a cancer patient, but there wasn’t anything I could actually do about the cancer. I wasn’t exactly fighting cancer; I was trying to peacefully co-exist with cancer, to not tick the cancer off.

Every two or three months, I would have a checkup with the doctor, and I would watch my M-spike slowly climb higher. The doctors reassured me that I was still okay, but I was starting to get freaked out.

I started to live my life in two- to three-month sections. After each checkup, I’d breathe a sigh of relief that I was okay – for now – but I knew that everything could be very different in three months. I didn’t like to plan anything in advance.

Plan a family trip to the zoo this summer? Hmm. I’d better wait and see how my May appointment goes. Help plan a surprise party for my mom in December? I can’t commit until I get my November results.

I worried constantly. What would happen once my myeloma became active? What were the treatments like? I would read every word posted online by patients and caregivers. I learned about the awful side effects that other patients experienced. I knew that, as soon as I quit smoldering, everything would change. I’d be too sick to live a normal life, and I’d no longer be able to care for my baby, who was growing into an active toddler.

I only imagined the worst-case scenario. I imagined the cancer cells multiplying. I knew that every little twinge was a broken bone. I pretty much made myself nuts.

Finally, it happened. In March 2007, about a year and a half after I’d been diagnosed, my blood tests showed that I was becoming anemic, that my white count was below normal, and that my M-spike was continuing to rise. My myeloma specialist told me it was time to start treatment with Revlimid ^[1] (lenalidomide) and dexa­meth­a­sone ^[2] (Decadron).

I was terrified. I thought this was the worst thing that could ever happen. I’d thought I would smolder for years; this was just unfair. I cried. I threw up.

I knew that life as I knew it was over.

And that was eight years ago this month. And I’m still here. And I’m okay. And life is good.

I’ll be honest: That first year of treatment was challenging and difficult, especially dealing with side effects from the dexamethasone, learning how to navigate the elaborate Revlimid prescription process, and under­going a stem cell harvest.

But there were also good moments, like when I got the results of the first blood test I had after starting my drug regimen. I was amazed to watch my M-spike drop dramatically, after watching it rise all of those months.

I was finally fighting cancer, and I was actually winning.

Looking back, I can see that the months I spent smoldering were the most stressful since my myeloma diag­nosis. While I told myself I was relieved to not need treatment, I spent a year and a half constantly feeling helpless and worried.

I guess the lesson I took away from my “smoldering time” is to focus on what’s happening with the myeloma in the present, to not worry too much about what could happen in the next few months or years.

I know now that I can never know exactly what’s next, and I tell myself that that’s okay. I once took the big step from “smoldering” to “active” myeloma, and I made it through. I can handle whatever is next – even if it isn’t sexy.