My story begins in December 2004. That year I had been losing weight. Being a little overweight in general, this change was much to my delight, plus I felt fairly good. I went for my annual physical in early December with Dr. Timothy Howard in Huntsville. Dr. Howard was concerned with my lab results and sent my to see Huntsville oncologist Dr. Philip McGee. Dr. McGee ran a number of tests. On January 6, 2005, I was told I had mantle cell lymphoma, a relatively rare form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

When I was first told I had cancer, I had the feeling of being terribly alone, shocked, and depressed. Dr. McGee told me this type of lymphoma does not respond well to current chemotherapy treatments—that the doctors could get cancer into remission for a couple of years, but it would return. Then he told me about a clinical trial of a new treatment for mantle cell lymphoma, and he sent me the next day to UAB to see Dr. Andres Forero to determine if I would be eligible for the trial. On January 19, study coordinator Jeanne Grimard Connor called to inform me that I had been accepted into the trial. I was elated. A week later I received my first infusion of chemotherapy.

In addition to chemotherapy, I received a monoclonal antibody called Rituxan, which attaches to the mantle cell and destroys it. I completed the last of my 21-day chemo cycles on March 30 and then received Rituxan. On November 7, Dr. Forero told me that my lab work and scans showed no evidence of cancer. He said I would have to return for checkups every three months for two years, then every six months for three more years, and then annually.

I have been, and continue to be, the recipient of the time, talent, effort, motivation, caring attitude, professionalism, and compassion of a number of medical professionals in the UAB system. I wish I could personally thank everyone who had a role in my care. Since I can’t, I decided to design a medallion coin as a token of thanks to honor everyone who provided me the best care the world has to offer. One side reads “determination” and “hope” in white letters, surrounded by “compassion,” “medical excellence,” and “patient health.” The other side of the coin reads “Monoclonal Antibody Radioactive Isotope,” because that’s what I was treated with.

I gave out a few of the coins myself to people I personally know, including my doctors and nurses. I’ve also given them to others in hopes that as they meet with colleagues, peers, researchers, and staff they will give them a coin for their excellent work. If they come in contact with a patient who seems to be alone or depressed, they might want to give that patient a coin to let them know that someone else has been there and has done well—and that there is hope.

 — Adapted from Crossroads, the magazine of the UAB Comprehensive Cancer Center