Submissions to "Patients' Stories" cannot be verified for their accuracy.  They do not necessarily represent validated medical research.  The reader should understand that these stories represent only the opinions of the authors and not the Hairy Cell Leukemia Research Foundation.

I was a 14 year old freshman in high school back in 1991.  My grandma had been diagnosed w/ pancreatic cancer in December of 1990, not too good of a Christmas present.  We received the news, and tried to deal with it the best we could being that she was only given six months to live.  Time went by, and before you knew it, it was February already.

        My father and I were never very close, so I found it out of character when he showed up in his truck to pick me up from school one cold Kansas February day.  As I got in his truck, I noticed what looked like a tear coming from his eye.  Being country folk from Kansas, a tear coming from someone’s eye usually means something bad happened.  The only thought that I had was that my Grandma had passed away.  When I asked, he said he said that Grandma was okay, but that he had something wrong with him.  Being in the physical condition that he was, I did not know what could possibly be wrong, that was when he told me he had cancer.

        Come to find out, it was Hairy Cell Leukemia.  He had been having flu like symptoms for some time, and was getting light red splotchy marks on his face.  He went to the doctor for the flu, but nothing they gave him helped him get better.  He went back to the doctor, and they took some blood.  A few days later, he was at a cancer specialist in Wichita, KS.

        He was prescribed interferon, and had to get chemo, I believe, three times (give or take a few).  Seeing the man that you always viewed as the statue that could not be moved go through chemo was horrible.  Having to drive him 45 minutes to get chemo wasn’t the bad part.  It was pulling over on the way back so he could vomit that really got to me.  Not to mention that my Grandma unfortunately did pass away in March, living 3 months of a given 6 months.

        He gave himself the shots in the leg the needed times a week, and did everything he could to try to get better.  It just amazed me how he could get hurt doing the smallest little things.  He was in the hospital for a week after slightly bumping his leg on my aunt’s picnic table.  After quite a few months of recovery and interferon, he was better.

        I not being a Christian at the time, prayer really played no part in his recovery, but now I do praise God for saving his life and for saving my father.  He has been in remission for 14 years now, and is getting ready to become a grandpa for the first time in December.  My wife and I are getting ready to have our first daughter.  I do think that this battle was a hidden gift.  Not only as a test of his will and strength, but also as a gift from God to make him and I closer.  I love my dad, and am thankful that he pulled through this pretty much unscaved.

Jeff Fife

Jeff.d.fife@wellsfargo.com