Blair Kerkhoff: A leukemia diagnosis means this year’s present is the gift of life
Donating blood was something I’ve tried doing once a year or so. Late this past summer, I showed up for my appointment but didn’t get to give. The Red Cross folks said I had a low platelet count. Hmm.
The next month, I mentioned this at my annual physical. The doctor had me lie down, felt my abdomen and noticed an enlarged spleen. Off to the specialist, and the news no one wants to hear:
Cancer.
Specifically, a rare form of leukemia called hairy cell leukemia, named for how it looks in the bone marrow under a microscope. Some 61,000 are diagnosed annually with leukemia. Fewer than 800 cases of hairy cell leukemia are identified in the U.S. per year. Some exclusive club.
This was on Nov. 8, and since then everything has changed. It had been a fall of covering Chiefs games and news conferences. The college basketball season, including the highly anticipated Kansas-Missouri game, was about to begin.
I would attend none of those games. Instead, I have watched them from a hospital bed or at home, with about enough energy to get through the game before zonking out.
It’s strange. Everything about life felt normal until a few weeks ago. On a recent Saturday, my wife Karen and I had gone out with friends for the first time in more than a year because of COVID and enjoyed the bar scene when Kansas upset Texas on the final play.
Work was busy, which is how you want it. There was something interesting to report every day. The Chiefs were struggling offensively but starting to win regularly. The Star’s daily SportsBeat KC podcast allowed me to speak to our staff reporters and columnists on a weekly basis, which I’ve loved doing.
I was planning out how to cover the College Football Playoff’s championship game around the NFL playoffs. This was my good normal.
Then came the diagnosis. Hairy cell leukemia is a chronic form of cancer and never completely goes away. There’s no known cause. But it can be managed with a lifetime of treatment.
Of course, the news was devastating. There’s been nothing like it in our family history. All you can do is maintain a positive attitude and approach, and for me that started during chemotherapy.
During my sessions, hooked up among others at the cancer treatment center, I brought my laptop and worked. I thought I’d knock out chemo and get back to my job.
Instead, chemo knocked me out. A couple of days after my last session, my body crashed. Karen has asked me what I remember about those days. My honest answer? Absolutely nothing. My hospital stay lasted nine days. For the first time in my life, I missed voting for the Heisman Trophy. Slept right through the day.
My white blood count was so low I was placed in a special room with neutropenic precautions. Nobody could enter without a mask or gloves. I was that vulnerable to any kind of infection. Asked why I couldn’t go home after a couple of days, a doctor said, “because you’ll die.” OK, let’s get that white blood count up.
As that was happening, an issue caused my arms and hands to swell, and we soon realized my wedding ring would eventually cut off circulation in my finger. There was no sliding it off. I bet I’ve taken my ring off no more than a handful of times in nearly four decades. Now, a hospital official was cutting it off. We’ll go shopping for a new one sometime in the spring.
Everything is a new normal for me now as I hope to one day feel like my old self again. I have some odd dietary requirements. No fresh fruit or vegetables, for one thing. It has to do with the cleanliness of the food. Canned fruit is preferred. No salad bars (sigh).
And I need to drink the equivalent of a swimming pool in water each day.
A nice bonus: We bought Thanksgiving dinner from one of our favorite restaurants, The Belfry, but couldn’t eat it. Into the freezer it went, so we’ve had a couple of Thanksgiving dinners now in mid-December.
Milkshakes are encouraged, too. Bravo.
My eventual return to work — I’m 62 and have spent 41 years as a sportswriter, including 32 at The Star — will be different, as well. No press boxes, airports or crowds of any type for a while.
Whatever it takes, we’ll get this done, and I already have a major advantage. Karen didn’t leave my side in the hospital. She took notes, questioned the doctors and since we’ve been home has made me her mission. She is our rock.
So, it’s our battle and one we have every intention of surviving. We hadn’t told many people about the specific illness, but folks notice when bylines are missing or no podcast is posted, or when I’ve simply been absent at an event I’d typically attend.
Thank you to everyone who has reached out, and here’s wishing you make this your best holiday season. For us, we’ve already been blessed to have received the gift of life.
This story was originally published December 16, 2021 at 5:00 AM.