Welcome to the Cancer Counter-Culture
Going through a bone marrow transplant is one of the most intense and personal experiences of my life. It tested my body, my mind, and my spirit in ways I never expected—but it also revealed how strong and supported I truly am. As I moved through the pre-transplant process, the hospital stay, and the long recovery at home, I realized how valuable it is to hear from someone who’s been there.
That’s why I’m sharing my story, openly, honestly, and with the hope that it can ease someone else’s fear, answer a question, or simply make them feel less alone. Whether you’re preparing for a transplant yourself, caring for someone who is, or just looking for insight into what this journey can look like, you’re welcome here. This is real life. And we don’t walk it alone.
November 2024: Pre Harvest Treatments and Work Up
Bone Survey
Echocardiogram
Blood Draw and Labs
Pulmonary Function Tests
November 18, 2024: PICC Line Placement
Getting a PICC line placed in my neck wasn’t something I ever imagined I’d go through. It’s a quiet procedure—no dramatic scenes, no pain really, just numbing, prep, and pressure, but it hit me hard in a different way.
Lying there, knowing they were threading a line toward my heart, I realized just how real this had all become. This wasn’t just blood draws or checkups anymore. This was big. This was serious. This was a body being prepared for battle.
Afterward, the discomfort was manageable, just soreness, tightness when I turned my head, but the emotional weight lingered longer than the physical. I could see the line taped to my neck, feel it tug slightly when I moved. It was a constant reminder that I wasn’t just sick, I was in the fight of my life.
And even though it scared me, I showed up. I stayed still. I let it happen. Because this was another step toward healing. Another step toward life.
Zarzio Injections
Zarzio (filgrastim) is often given before a bone marrow transplant (BMT)—especially an autologous transplant (where your own stem cells are used)—to help mobilize stem cells from your bone marrow into your bloodstream, where they can be collected more easily for transplant.
Before a BMT, your care team needs to collect healthy stem cells from your body. But normally, those cells live quietly inside your bone marrow, deep in your bones. To get enough of them into your bloodstream for collection, your body needs a little push.
That’s where Zarzio comes in.
🧬 What Zarzio Does:
Zarzio is a growth factor—it tells your bone marrow to make more white blood cells, especially the kind called neutrophils. But more importantly for transplant prep, it coaxes hematopoietic (blood-forming) stem cells to leave your bone marrow and circulate in your blood.
This process is called stem cell mobilization.
Your transplant team will collect these stem cells through a procedure called apheresis (like a blood donation, but with special filtering). The more stem cells in your bloodstream, the easier and more successful the collection will be.
Without Zarzio, your blood might not have enough stem cells available for a good harvest.
In some cases, Zarzio is given with a drug called Mozobil (plerixafor) to improve mobilization, especially if your marrow is slow to release enough cells.
You’ll take Zarzio for a few days (usually 4–6) leading up to your stem cell collection.
You might feel bone pain or fatigue—that’s a common sign that your marrow is busy producing and releasing cells.
Zarzio helps get your stem cells moving. It turns your quiet bone marrow into a stem cell factory and floods your bloodstream so your care team can collect the best possible dose of cells for your upcoming transplant.
Giving yourself Zarzio (filgrastim) injections—also known as G-CSF or granulocyte colony-stimulating factor—can feel intimidating at first, but many people manage it safely and confidently at home. Zarzio is used to stimulate your bone marrow to produce more white blood cells, usually after chemotherapy or before a stem cell transplant.
Here’s a simple, step-by-step description of what it’s like:
Room temp Zarzio stings less—don’t skip this step.
Take it slow. Rushing the injection can cause more discomfort.
Bone pain = white blood cell growth—some find Claritin helps relieve it (ask your doc).
If you feel overwhelmed, ask your nurse to supervise your first injection at the clinic or by video.
Apheresis wasn’t just a long day, it took a real toll on my body.
By the middle of the session, I was already feeling fatigued, like my energy was draining minute by minute. Just sitting there felt like a workout. My body was still, but it was working overtime behind the scenes.
I started to feel dizzy, not enough to pass out, but enough to make everything feel off balance. Even small movements felt like too much.
Then came the tingling in my fingers and toes, a weird buzzing sensation that wouldn’t stop. It was from the drop in calcium levels, something they warned me about, but still strange to actually experience.
At one point, I got muscle cramps, especially in my hands and jaw. It was uncomfortable and made it harder to relax. The nurse was great and gave me calcium chews and adjusted things, but it reminded me how intense this process really is.
This wasn’t some quick blood draw, it was hours of my body being pushed in a way I’d never felt before. And even though it was rough, I got through it. One step closer to transplant. One step closer to healing.
Getting the high dose of IV Melphalan was one of those moments that felt heavy with fear and uncertainty. I knew it was coming, part of the plan, but knowing didn’t make it easier. Sitting in that bed, hooked up to the chemo, I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. What would it do to my body? How bad would it get? And yet, to my surprise, I didn’t feel too bad in the moment. The nurses were calm, my wife was there, and I held onto that sense of support. It was a strange mix, fear in my chest, but a quiet strength starting to rise beneath it.
Transplant Day: More Chill Than Epic
So after all the build-up, chemo, PICC lines, apheresis, exhaustion—transplant day finally arrived. You’d think it would be this huge, emotional, cinematic moment.
Instead… it was weirdly quiet. Kinda awkward, honestly.
The most exciting part? A small cryo cart rolled in, fogging slightly from the liquid nitrogen, like a magician had just entered the room. That little puff of smoke was the main event. The rest? Just a bag of stem cells dripping into my line like any other infusion.
The doctors tried to make it feel special. They called it my “new birthday,” counted down, smiled a lot. I appreciated it, but I was just lying there, tired, slightly dazed, wondering, “That’s it?”
No lightning bolt. No dramatic shift. Just quiet. Simple. Underwhelming in all the ways that matter, and yet, completely life-changing.
Funny how healing doesn’t always look the way you expect. Youtube Video
There were some dark days during my bone marrow transplant, days that tested me in ways I’m still learning how to process. I’m not quite ready to share all of that just yet, and that’s okay. Some healing happens quietly, in its own time. What I do know is that those hard moments didn’t break me, they’re part of the reason I’m still standing today, and when I’m ready, I’ll share them. Until then, I’m holding on to hope and taking it one day at a time.
Hair started falling out on Friday the 13th.. ready, but not really ready. With the help of my wife and nurse , I shaved off what was left of my hair. The first time I looked in the mirror afterward, I barely recognized the person staring back at me. It was a sudden, raw moment, like seeing a stranger wearing my face.
Hair loss brings a whirlwind of emotions, shock, sadness, even a sense of loss. It felt like I was losing a part of my identity, shaking my confidence and changing how I seen myself. There was frustration and vulnerability, but also moments of acceptance and strength as I faced the change head-on. It’s a deeply personal journey, full of ups and downs, where every reflection in the mirror tells a new story.
Losing hair is tough for any guy. It can hit hard, makes you feel different, maybe less like yourself. It’s normal to feel frustrated or even a bit lost at first. But over time, you get used to it and find strength in facing it head-on. It’s just part of the fight, and it doesn’t change who you really are inside.
Ringing the bell after my bone marrow transplant was supposed to be a triumphant moment, similar to what you see in movies, full of smiles and celebration. But the real-life version was raw and painful. I was exhausted, nauseated, and barely able to stand, but I rang that bell with every ounce of strength I had left. I did so very sarcastically, I didn't want to ring it, I felt undeserving and I was still very pissed off at the world, but still, I did it. Not because I felt great, but because I made it through hell and back, and I was still standing. Bell rung. But the story’s not over. This is the truth about cancer recovery, unfiltered, emotional, and powerful.
I just got my 6-month labs back following my stem cell transplant, and here's where things stand:
My immune system is holding steady — white blood cells, neutrophils, and lymphocytes are all within normal range, which means my body is still fighting off infections like a champ.
Red blood cells, hemoglobin, and hematocrit are still a bit low, so yes, that nagging fatigue is real. It’s called mild anemia, and it's a common post-transplant challenge as the bone marrow continues healing and rebuilding.
Platelets are also on the lower side. This can make bruising a little easier and cuts a little slower to clot, so I’m staying mindful. Again, this isn’t unusual, it just means my marrow is still finding its rhythm.
But here’s the bigger picture: my counts are stable, there’s no sign of active infection or serious immune suppression, and I’m grateful for every cell that’s showing up to do its job. Healing takes time, and progress isn’t always flashy, but this is the quiet kind of victory that matters.
Whether you're just starting treatment, in remission, or anywhere in between, you're not alone. Every lab, every ache, every little number tells part of your story, but it doesn’t define your fight. Keep going.