Christine M. Kopsho
My name is Christine and at age 39 in 2003, with four children – one as young as 16 months – I was diagnosed with Acute Myelogenous Leukemia and given a 5% chance of survival; but that is a whole different story. I will share a bit of it with you now. At that time, we lived in San Marcos, CA. My husband, Max, travels a lot for his job. Joe (my youngest at the time, 16 months old) and I picked Max up at the airport and we went to have lunch on our way home. I told my husband that I felt funny, like I was getting a cold or something. I woke up with a bad headache the next day and started to run a fever. During the course of a week, we went to my primary care physician three times. Each time, I was told to go home and rest and diagnosed with the flu. I was given Vicodin for my headache but it did absolutely nothing to alleviate the pain. All I could do was lay on the couch or in bed while my husband worked and tried to care for our children. It’s been some time now but Mike was 14, Amanda was 13, Matt was 10 and Joe was 16 months old. On the third visit to my doctor, Max had to wheel me into the office in a wheelchair with Joe riding on my lap. The doctor asked me if I wanted antibiotics to take home with me or go to the hospital. For some reason, I said “hospital” without hesitation. The rest kind of gets blurry. I know we went to the ER, had an MRI of my head, got admitted. I remember being awakened in the middle of the night to sign for blood transfusions and in my daze, thought to myself, that is NOT good. In the morning, some strange doctor whom I never met before, came in and told me I had leukemia. (Months later, we found out the MRI at that time showed a leukemic tumor in my head.) Leukemia? Isn’t that cancer? But the doctor told me not to worry because he thought my leukemia would be ALL (acute lymphocytic leukemia) due to my young age which can be curable. I remember trying to dial my home and tell my husband over the phone that I had cancer. It was probably THE worst moment in my life. That afternoon, I was transported via ambulance to UCSD Thornton Hospital in San Diego because they had a reputation for caring for ‘younger’ cancer patients. I was more than blessed to get Dr. Ed Ball as my hematologist and the best nurse, Jodi Garrett, who I am still close friends with today. Thus, began the roller coaster of my treatments. You must have an induction treatment where most people go into remission. I did not. I was also told that I had AML and not ALL. AML has NO CURE! I had another treatment called FLAG chemo all of which are 7+ days in the hospital in rooms which air flow is reversed and are germ-free. I finally got a remission. After blood tests confirmed that my cytogenetics did not have a ‘favorable’ outcome – meaning I would die – it was decided that I would have to have a bone marrow transplant. For the months following, I had consolidation rounds of chemo and when I came home, I always got an infection and returned to the hospital for care. I spent over 160 days in the hospital in 2003. My children rarely were able to visit due to my health issues and when they did, they had to wash, gown and glove up. My nurses at the hospital were the absolute best. I will always be grateful for them and their assistance. After months of searching the National Marrow Donor Program lists for a possible donor, only 3 showed up and none matched! It is important to have 10 alleles match for a better chance of survival. My donor turned out to be an unmatched, unrelated donor who saved my life. Again, I am 7 years in remission and believe it or not, I just gave you a very general outline of what occurred. Believe me, it was much more than this.
Due to my treatments for the leukemia, I developed diabetes and above average liver enzymes. Due to the elevated liver enzymes, my doctor ordered an ultrasound of the liver. At the end of the ultrasound, they compare the size of the liver to the size of your kidney. This seemed to be the longest part of this test. On my drive home, I received a phone call from radiology and was told to turn around and come back for a CT scan. Immediately, I had goose bumps and knew in my heart that I had kidney cancer. You see, my mother died at age 46 of metastatic renal cell carcinoma and all my life, I just knew that I would get it. Silly, I know. Especially since all the doctors agree that it is not hereditary. After the CT scan, I begged the technician to tell me the results; but, of course, they are not allowed to do so. I then told her about my leukemia and my mother and asked, ”Did you see anything?” She nodded. The next day, I was referred to a urologist who prescribed an antibiotic and said that we shouldn’t rush into surgery or anything drastic. He said all this very seriously without even looking at the scan! Both my husband and I went home, and, due to my cancer history, we agreed that we didn’t like the “watch and wait” suggestion of the urologist. So, the following day, we went to see another urologist. She took one look at the scan and said that she believed it was cancer, that it was contained, and recommended I see a surgeon. She ordered an MRI for a closer look and we saw a surgeon later on in the week. Everyone agreed it was cancer and that the only option I had due to the tumor’s position was to have a nephrectomy. I had absolutely no symptoms. The surgeon (Dr. Scott Miller) suggested a laparoscopic removal of the kidney and that was done on September 6, 2006. Since then, I found Nephrologist Dr. Paxton at Emory Johns Creek Hospital in Suwanee, GA. His only follow-up is to ensure my kidney functions numbers are “good” and to have annual CT scans. I see him every 6 months. I’ve had 4 annual CT scans with no evidence of disease. One more scan next March and I’ll be considered cancer-free! I celebrated a BIG birthday this year. I turned 46 in April but I will be so very glad to turn 47.
I have participated in “Stay in the Game” with Don Sutton for the Kidney Cancer Association for the past three years when they are at Turner Field for the Atlanta Braves game. I volunteer a lot of my time to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. We currently live in Sugar Hill, GA, a suburb of Atlanta.
Christine M. Kopsho
Sugar Hill, GA
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