Supporting the Groths through Lymphoma

Hi there,

I wanted to start this page so that the people who love Bradley and Ranjani could gather to support them in a tangible way. Brad and Ranjani will be walking into a decrease of pay as leave will be taken during treatment and it will impact their take home salary. I know that their loved ones want them to feel cared for and not have to worry about finances during this difficult time, so this donation page seemed like a great avenue for support. Please feel free to donate and share as you see fit!

 

Brad and Ranjani are so loved by so many. Thanks for being here.

 

 

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Please read Brad’s latest update on what’s going on with his health down below:

 

First Update and Some Thoughts on Suffering

Journal Entry by Bradley Groth — September 8, 2021

 

Hello Friends!

 

I know it's been a while since my diagnosis and start of treatment for the relapse of my Hodgkin's Lymphoma, but I wanted to start this and try to make regular updates for those who want to share in my progress. I'll "briefly" catch you up on my story thus far, and then where I am at right now in my treatment plan, and also my thought processes about my situation. I'm not the best writer, so forgive me as I may take you through a rollercoaster of dramaticism and realism.Either way, it'll be authentic. Also, forgive me for the length as a lot has happened in the past few months, and some of y'all don't want me to spare any details.

 

Back in June I felt a pain in my chest that was reminiscent of a chest pain near my heart that I felt when I had a cancer scare back in 2013. Before even visiting the doctor, I had this sinking feeling that my cancer was back. Ultimately, after visiting my family doctor, I was referred to Texas Oncology. This was a disaster of an experience. Mind you, this was my first time experiencing cancer in an adult facility. Apparently the lack of empathy and slow moving inaction is par for the course in the adult world. It took over 6 weeks to schedule a PET scan-- and once that took place I was told I would have the results in 3 weeks. Knowing that in 2009 when I was first diagnosed that I went from no cancer to stage 3B in two months, this was extremely worrying.

 

At the same time, as a sort of professional courtesy, I had emailed my childhood oncologist to let him know of the news that I was likely experiencing a recurrence of my disease. He followed up with the great news that even though I'm a 30 year old man, I was a well established patient and that I could actually go back and receive treatment at Cook Children's where I originally was diagnosed and treated. He assured me that I would still receive world class care and the same treatments that I may receive at a place like MD Anderson or UT Southwestern. So I returned to a family I knew and loved and who loved me back.

 

From here, things started moving very fast. Pediatric care is much quicker in their approach and response to things than adult care. I had surgery to remove a mass from my groin that confirmed my disease was back. Less than a week later on a Wednesday I had a medi-port (this is a central line that can be accessed much easier and reliably than say an IV in your arm) placed in my chest. Two days later I had my first chemo treatments.

 

My treatment plan is as follows:

 

- 2 rounds of chemo. 1 round is 3 consecutive weeks. No breaks between the rounds.

- Followed by stem cell collection in between rounds 1 and 2. I receive shots that encourage stem cell production in my bone marrow, they harvest that, then they'll put that back in at a later date. This is called an Autologous Stem Cell Transplant.

-PET/CT scan to see if the disease has been defeated. If the disease still shows signs of growth I will have more rounds of chemo. Fingers crossed.

-Proton Therapy. Assuming the disease has been killed, this will be what ultimately delivers the final blow that from my understanding, shrinks and dissipates the cancer. Proton therapy is a much more advanced version of traditional radiation therapy.

-Cancer Free!

 

That first treatment went relatively well. They did have some trouble accessing my port as I still had swelling in my chest from the surgery of placing it, but other than that, my wife and I just sat there for about 8 hours while I received my treatment. I went home a little weak, a little tired-- but for the most part feeling ok. Unfortunately, not but two days later that Sunday, I came down with a fever. Now a fever in most people is fine, but a fever of 101 or higher while undergoing treatment is an immediate trip to the ER. Infection is such a huge risk factor for cancer patients, so when a fever occurs, no stone is left unturned.

 

This ER visit turned into an almost 2 week stay at the hospital where I encountered the most pain I've ever been in. The official diagnosis was that I contracted cellulitis, which is an infection of the skin, in the area of where the surgery to implant my medi-port took place. While most surgeries go off without a hitch, there is always the risk of infection, and I drew short straw.

 

The first week of my stay, I was nearly completely bed-ridden, as I had constant fevers from the infection and a hellish amount of nerve pain. The nerve pain is a byproduct of one of my chemos. While apparently rare for this specific chemo (Vinorelbine), it can cause significant nerve pain. Again, I drew short straw. Luckily there is a medicine that negates those side effects, however it takes 2-3 days to kick in. In the meantime, if you're in hospital at least, you have morphine as your best friend. By the end of that first week, Vinorelbine had kicked into overtime and I was experiencing a substantial amount of nerve pain that would start in my pelvis and work its way towards my head and toes simultaneously. Between that and the aches and pains that come from constant fever for nearly 5 days straight I was simply exhausted. However chemo doesn't care how you're feeling, and once that train starts, it keeps going...

 

So I was set to receive chemo that Friday! Towards the end of that 6 hour chemo session, I started to feel just bleh, and my chest started to hurt a bit as well. Come to find out, the needle they used to access my port was too small and the chemo had just been pouring into my chest cavity instead of into my veins like it was supposed to. This ended up with me getting an antidote and shivering uncontrollably and painfully for a few hours to round out the night. Somehow, the following evening, I was released-- only to have a fever the next day and get readmitted into the hospital.

 

This second week stay was easily the most painful week of my life. At this point, because I'd been bed-ridden nearly an entire week on the famously comfortable hospital beds, I'd really irritated an old back injury. This caused some fairly severe muscle spasms that lasted into the next day. This was just a taste of what was to come.

 

At this point in my treatment, as aforementioned, I was between rounds 1 and 2 and needed to harvest stem cells for my eventual stem cell transplant. In order to encourage the growth of these stem cells, I received a number of shots of a drug I only know the abbreviation for, GCSF. My oncologist said for a number of reasons, he had never given anyone such a large dose before. Weird flex, I know.

 

For the uninitiated, when the insides of your bones are essentially revving their engines past the redline, bone pain ensues. The only thing I can compare that bone pain to is if my bones were slowly breaking, but never quite break. Much like the nerve pain before, this originated in my pelvis (where it seems that a lot of bone marrow production takes place), traversed up my spine like a gymnast up a climbing rope, and pounded in my head. Simultaneously, and unannounced, that beast I thought was conquered; the nerve pain showed up again. I was a few days out from the last chemo session and a lot of symptoms from chemo take a few days to show up.

 

Due to covid restrictions, I was allowed 2 visitors my entire visit. This specific evening, my wife was unavailable, so my mother was by my side. There I lay, nearly convulsing in pain from what could only be described as my nerves being lit on fire and my bones breaking inside of my body-- and my sweet, helpless mother looking down at me crying.

 

The following section relates to my faith as a Christian and how I as a Christian understand the role of suffering. Feel free to read or move to the next section.

 

Before moving on, I want to touch on suffering in general. To preface, there have been actual Saints that have thoroughly broached this topic, and I implore you to read them. This is just a retelling of what was going through my head as I was experiencing suffering.

 

Oddly enough, earlier that same day I had spoken to my brother about my own suffering, and then how we as Christians can, or rather should, respond to it. To paraphrase, historically how the Church has viewed suffering is that this is an opportunity to suffer alongside Christ on the cross. While I'm still trying to fully understand what this means and the implications therein, what I do know, is that in my suffering I'm given the gift of offering my suffering up as a sacrifice. My suffering, exclusively by the actions of Christ on the cross, now has meaning. Much like when ancient Jews offered a fattened calf as an offering unto the Lord, I too can offer my suffering unto Him as well.

 

I definitely intend to explore this further as I no doubt will suffer in some form or another during the remainder of my treatment. Until my next post I've included some words from both the Bible and Saints. For a more complete reading on suffering and the Christian life, I encourage you to read Salvifici Doloris-- an apostolic letter specifically on suffering, written in 1984 by then Pope, and now Saint John Paul II.

 

Therefore, brethren, I implore you by the mercies of God to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and acceptable to God—a spiritual act of worship. -Romans 12:1

 

In the Cross of Christ not only is the Redemption accomplished through suffering, but also human suffering itself has been redeemed,. Christ, - without any fault of his own - took on himself "the total evil of sin". The experience of this evil determined the incomparable extent of Christ's suffering, which became the price of the Redemption. -St. John Paul II

 

O Mother, it’s very easy to write beautiful things about suffering, but writing is nothing, nothing! One must suffer in order to know! I really feel now that what I’ve said and written is true about everything ... It’s true that I wanted to suffer much for God’s sake, and it’s true that I still desire this ... All I wrote about my desires for suffering. Oh! it’s true just the same! And I am not sorry for delivering myself up to Love. Oh! no, I’m not sorry; on the contrary! -St. Thérèse of Lisieux

 

And I saw the river over which every soul must pass

to reach the kingdom of heaven

and the name of that river was suffering:

and I saw a boat which carries souls across the river

and the name of that boat was love.

-St. John of the Cross

 

 

 

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Luckily, after a few rounds of morphine a couple hours apart, the pain finally subdued sometime in the middle of the night.

 

The following day I had the harvesting of cells. This process is called Apheresis. It really just looks like I'm hooked up to a dialysis machine, but on one end you're able to see a little baggie being filled with what looks like unfiltered apple juice or muddy water.

 

By that Thursday we luckily had all my pain under control, the infection was subsiding, and things were looking up! That Friday I had chemo without a hitch, and Saturday I was allowed to come home!

 

I'm about a week and a half separated from all these events. I've had some very minimal side effects from the chemotherapies, but aside from these small hiccups, I'm in decent health and I'm trying to go to work as much as my body allows. I'm at a great company with a great manager and team that takes care of me.

 

Expect updates about my journey a bit more regularly and definitely shorter in the future.

 

Love,

Bradley