I can’t tell you the exact date cancer rooted itself at the heart of my family; not because I don’t remember, but because I was never told. When my mother was diagnosed with leukemia in 2001, she initially left me out of the loop. Fearing that “her little superhero” would be crushed, she deemed it best not to inform me. Her plan didn’t last long. Nine year old Mark was an oblivious creature – sure – but when the most important person in my life started decaying, I noticed.
-“Mom, what is wrong?”
-“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m just a little tired that’s all.”
It went like that; my interrogations incessantly deflected by half-truths. We repeated some variant of that conversation multiple times daily. Until finally, she cracked. She sat me down after a Sunday at my grandparents’ house and dropped a bombshell.
“The doctors say I have cancer.”
She gave me a hug and said it would be okay. In retrospect I find it inexplicably ironic that she, the terminally ill victim was comforting me. Over the next few years of my life, she faced every obstacle with that same attitude. Gritting her teeth behind a grin, the amazing woman's inner bulwark only grew.
Later, specialists identified my mother’s disease as chronic myeloid leukemia, for which the only viable option at the time was chemotherapy. Try though I did to ward off images of a balding and frail looking maternal stranger, scary post-chemo images inevitably permeated my imagination. What happened next is nothing short of a deus ex macchina; the type seldom witnessed outside of fiction.
Almost parallel to the progression of my mother’s diagnosis, a new miracle drug called Gleevec emerged fresh out of experimental trials. Approved by the FDA in May 2001, the imatinib mesylate tablets promised better results and drastically fewer side effects than standard chemo products. Instead of annihilating large groups of cells, which may or may not be cancerous, Gleevac picks specific mutated targets. By blocking ATP receptors, the drug inhibits protein synthesis, and in turn cell division.
Unfortunately, our insurance company withheld financial backing of the treatment, instead urging my mother to begin well-established forms of chemotherapy. Bald and frail nightmares returned, but only briefly. Novartis, (Gleevec’s corresponding pharmaceutical company) offered my mother a chance to be amongst the first batch of field subjects, free of charge for six months. Of course my mother promptly accepted in the hopes it would ease her struggle. Meanwhile her oncologist, Dr. River, began fighting a different kind of battle.
George Lambert River MD had been practicing oncology, hematology, and internal medicine for over 50 years in Tulsa, Oklahoma when my mother approached him. He had heard about Gleevec mere months prior, and made it his personal call of duty to ensure my mother received the treatment. Upon the insurance company’s disapproval, countless arguments ensued. The man transcended medical professionalism, once going as far as to say “I hope one of your employees’ family members gets CML, that way you can begin to understand how difficult it is.” Apparently his unorthodox methods paid off because ultimately they agreed to pay for Gleevec. My mother was effectively cured…temporarily.
Within 5 years, she began to remiss; her chromosomes had mutated such that they resisted Gleevec. Novartis to the rescue (again)! They had anticipated such an occurrence, and again, in a very timely fashion produced a follow-up prescription named Tasigna. It overpowered the Gleevec-resistant cells and my mother’s health was back to normal. Ten years later, and she is still going strong.
A recent photo of my mom
If you take just one thing away from reading this, I sincerely hope it is a more profound appreciation for awareness. With seemingly every month dedicated to a different disease or relief group, it can certainly diminish people’s perception of urgency. Aid societies grow daily, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need your help too. You may surprise yourself, and be the one who makes a difference. After all, if it weren’t for Dr. River knowing about Gleevec, today I might not be celebrating the life of another survivor.
-Mark Pate
-Mark Pate
