ON Feb. 4, 2010, Fran Waldman was drinking her morning coffee when the doctor called to give her the results of a battery of tests. She was 62.
He said there was good news and bad news, and which did I want first? Waldman says from her home in Los Angeles. I said, give me the bad news.
You have acute myeloid leukemia (AML), which is generally fatal, the physician said. The good news is that its curable if you have a bone marrow transplant.
Waldman hung up, went to the family room and plugged in an electric Chanukah menorah. I whispered, A great miracle happens here, she says. I dont know why. It just hit me.
Then she went upstairs and shared the dire news with her husband Harvey. They hugged each other for a long time and fell into a mutually troubled sleep.
I had a dream, says Waldman. I was walking through a tunnel. Toward the right, I saw a white, blinding light. On the left, there was a cave with no light at all. I kicked the white light away and said, Im not ready yet.
I woke up and knew I was going to be OK.
A month later in Evergreen, Colo., Jane Weinfeld, who joined the Colorado Bone Marrow registry in 2000, received an unexpected call.
Tish Maccagnan, senior coordinator of Be the Match registry, which is operated by the National Marrow Donor Program, informed Weinfeld that she was a potential match for a patient with leukemia.
She wanted to know whether I was still interested in donating, Weinfeld says.
I answered, Of course!
Weinfeld, then 46, submitted to additional blood tests. They told me it would take about six weeks to get the results and not to worry if I didnt hear anything back. Finally they sent me a letter telling me my marrow wasnt needed.
Discomforting ideas raced through Weinfelds mind. Maybe the patient was no longer a viable transplant candidate, or had died.
But a few months later, they did need me, for the same person, she says. I was a definite match. All they told me was that the recipient was a 62-year-old woman with leukemia.
On Aug. 4, 2010, Weinfelds stem cells were extracted at Presbyterian-St. Lukes Hospital, rushed to California and transplanted into Waldmans depleted body.
The National Marrow Donor Program is voluntary. For that reason, the identities of donors and recipients are not disclosed until one year post-transplant. However, they may write to each other anonymously through the program.
We exchanged letters in the beginning, Weinfeld says. In my first letter I wrote, Im going to call you Lily. I never had children, but I always thought that if I had a daughter, Id call her Lily. This is my way of giving birth to you.
Waldman, a retired Jewish educator who has returned to her job as a special education teacher, falters as she remembers those words. Its true. So true.
Weinfeld and Waldman will finally meet face-to-face at the Andy Beck Memorial Marrow Donor Drive on Sunday, Dec. 4, 10 a.m.-2 p.m., at the Loup JCC.
They will hug, cry and talk about miracles that spring from one womans decision to donate her marrow to a stranger.
IN February of last year, Waldman was informed that even with a bone marrow transplant her chances for surviving this aggressive form of leukemia were about 50-50.
Without the procedure, it might go away after chemo and radiation but would probably come back, she says. If I had the transplant, Id have 50-50 odds actually a 45-55 split of licking it.
I just said, Where do we go from here?
Her oncologist ordered four rounds of chemotherapy to knock the leukemia into remission. After the second round, he referred her to the donor transplant team at Kaiser Permanente.
She then went to City of Hope for additional blood draws that were distributed to donor organizations across the country.
Siblings typically make the best matches, but Waldman did not have brothers or sisters. So she entered the Match Unrelated Donor (MUD) program and waited.
MUD called her on March 26, 2010 her husband Harveys birthday and said close to 100 matches had been located.
One of them was Jane Weinfeld.
Contrary to conventional wisdom, 70% of people with blood cancers or other diseases must rely on a stranger, Weinfeld explains. And the best way to be a match is to share ethnicity.
Both women are descended from Eastern European Jewry a crucial connection they wouldnt discover for more than a year.
As soon as doctors concluded that Weinfeld was the best match, Waldman prepared for the transplant. She was placed on an intensive chemotherapy regimen designed to take me to the brink. It destroyed every bit of marrow in my bones.
Doctors wanted to try a new radiation treatment that, if successful, might benefit other patients. Waldman agreed.
She was encased in a bleak bubble like a mummy, unable to move for up to three hours. I chanted, recited brachot, put myself in another place. You have to distract yourself.
Eight calculus points used in targeted radiation were etched into her body. I now have eight tattoos, Waldman says. The staff asked me whether I was OK with that, because Im Jewish and they were aware of Judaisms objections to tattoos.
I said it was fine because they were saving a life and now all my friends ask, Fran, can I see your tatts?
You have to find the funny things. Humor keeps you going.
In Denver, Weinfeld prepared to donate her marrow. It wasnt what she expected in a very nice way.
When I joined the registry, I was under the assumption that they were going to stick a big needle in my hip and draw out the marrow, she says.
But theres a new procedure called peripheral blood stem cell donation that is used in about 75% of bone marrow donations. It makes the whole thing so much easier.
For five days at P/SL, Weinfeld took injections of the drug Neupogen to increase the production of stem cells in her marrow.
My veins are small and they had to put a central line in my jugular vein, she says. They asked me, are you sure you want to do this? I couldnt believe they asked me that.
All I could think of was that I was offering someone a second chance at life.
ON the fifth day Aug. 3 doctors withdrew Weinfelds stem cell-rich blood through the central line. The blood was packaged and spirited away to California.
The transplant took place on Aug. 4.
I was so out of it, Waldman recalls. I had no energy. Suddenly 12 nurses came in with protective masks and sang happy birthday to me during the transplant.
She emerged literally reborn. Iwas put back together again.
After the donation, Weinfeld resumed her life. A software consultant, she hiked, mothered her two cats, went to services at Beth Evergreen and constantly wondered about the woman in California struggling for her life.
Waldman, who remained at City of Hope until her numbers reached an acceptable level, had to rebuild her endurance and immunity from the ground up.
THE transplant destroyed her saliva glands. I lost my desire for chocolate, which was amazing, she laughs. Today only scrambled eggs, salsa and mangos stimulate her compromised taste buds.
Friends from the Jewish community and all over the world visited round-the-clock, taking her for gentle walks and filling in when Harvey was at work.
It takes 18 to 24 months to get the chemo out of your system, says Waldman, whose hair grew back striped orange after the first round of chemo and now is a lovely shade of gray.
Graft-versus-host disease (GVHD) is relatively common following a bone marrow transplant. Differences in the donors cells and the recipients tissue often cause the recipient to perceive these new cells as foreign and reject them.
Rates of GVHD vary from 30-40% among related donors and recipients, to 60-80% between unrelated individuals.
As Waldman describes it, Jane is the disease and I am the host. Instead of a bunch of reactions, I only had a few mild ones. Otherwise, I wouldnt have survived.
One day, the doctor gave Waldman some startling news.
Her blood type had changed.
I was A-positive before the donation, she says. Now Im AB-positive, which is Janes blood type. The donor takes over your body.
WALDMAN sent her donor a thank-you note after the transplant. A little while later, she sent another, and another.
One of her two daughters said, Enough, Mom. You dont want to be a stalker.
I called Jane Iris in my letters, Waldman says. Irises were one of the flowers I meditated on. And Jane called me Lily. The coincidence does not escape her.
One year post-transplant, both women signed consent forms releasing their personal information.
In August, 2011, Harvey Waldman answered the phone in Los Angeles right before Shabbat.
It was Jane.
Harvey put his wife on the phone.
Is this Fran?
Is this Jane?
Yes, its Jane. I hope Im not disturbing your Shabbos.
When she said that . . . Waldman ploughs through tears choking her strong, steady voice. When she said that I realized we were both Jewish.
They cried for about 45 minutes and reluctantly said goodbye.
Before I knew who my donor was, I used to thank G-d for that unknown angel He put in my life, Waldman says. Being a donor is an awesome responsibility.
In some ways I feel that Jane has a divine spirit, because she created life.
Weinfeld, a tireless advocate for bone marrow donation, says giving her marrow was a no-brainer. Anybody would have done the same thing if they had the chance.
Thats what I want to tell people. The process has changed. I dont blame someone for not wanting a huge needle stuck in his or her hip. But its so easy now. I wonder what the face of these diseases would look like if more people joined the registry and gave others the opportunity to live.
Although Weinfeld is healthy and active, she understands the fragility of human existence. One day she might need a bone marrow donor. I certainly hope someone will be there for me.
And if youre Jewish, chances are you will need to find a Jewish donor.
Like a beacon, Waldmans Chanukah menorah has blazed 24/7 since Feb. 4, 2010 and it will stay on for the rest of my life.
POTENTIAL bone marrow donors must be between the ages of 18-55, in good health and consent to a simple cheek swab. Informational meetings for the bone marrow drive will be held Tuesday, Nov. 29, 7 p.m., at B’nai Chavurah and Thursday, Dec. 1, 7 p.m., at Beth Evergreen. Information: Susan Marcus, (303) 526-7330
Copyright © 2011 by the Intermountain Jewish News
