Chuck Offenburger is being treated for non-Hodgkins follicular lymphoma cancer, which was diagnosed July 10, 2009. To read Chuck's full column with that news, click here. Carla Offenburger wrote about it from the perspective of a wife whose husband has cancer, and to read her column, click here. But we received another jolt this spring – Carla underwent surgery on April 26, 2010, for removal of a jaw tumor which was found to contain adenoid cystic carcinoma cancer. She underwent six weeks of follow-up radiation in June and July, and continues under close medical observation.

Update for August 25, 2010

Chuck says:

It is, in many ways, a very frightening time for us with what’s ahead in my battle with cancer. On the other hand, I have never felt more warmth, encouragement, support and prayer than what Carla and I are receiving now.

We are beginning a whole new phase of cancer treatment, more intensive, more aggressive, something that my oncologist Dr. Michael Guffy tells me “has to be the focus of your life for the next three or four months.” It will be, even as we try to meet our normal commitments as best we can. We start on Thursday, August 26, with an examination and consultation with the physicians and staff of the Adult Blood & Marrow Transplantation team at the University of Iowa Hospitals in Iowa City.

In my last posting, I told you that a new growth had been found in the area of my tailbone. I had minor surgery and an overnight stay on August 18 at Mary Greeley Medical Center in Ames, during which spine surgeon Dr. Sarkis Kaspar took a piece of the growth, for a biopsy. He was also able to clear a path through that growth, so that it would stop pressuring a nerve that was sending pain from my left hip down my thigh to my ankle – and hallelujah that seems to have been successful!

The biopsy, however, confirmed what we feared, that I now have a different form of lymphoma than I’ve been under treatment for the past year. That had been non-Hodgkins follicular lymphoma, a non-aggressive small-cell type of cancer, and we were able to get it under control. But this new growth, says Dr. Guffy, is “large-cell lymphoma” that is more dangerous and faster-moving, and thus the immediacy in starting treatment for it. “This is an uphill climb,” he said, “but we think we can get back on top of this.” So, is there any hope? “Oh, certainly, there is hope,” he said. “The treatments we’ll be considering are well-tested and frequently-used. We have confidence in them.”

Just what that will include is not yet determined. On Thursday, I’ll meet Dr. Roger Gingrich and his crew on the blood & marrow transplantation team. After an exam, they’ll give me a heavy sedative and draw bone marrow for testing – they warned me I’ll be too balmy to drive back home Thursday afternoon, so Carla will handle that.

Whether there is lymphoma in the marrow will help determine how I am to be treated in the near future.

The possible treatments include some radiation and some conventional chemotherapy, both of which could still be done at McFarland Clinic in Ames; and high-dose, intensive chemotherapy, which would be done at the U of I Hospitals. The latter might include the “rescue” and sequestration of my own stem cells, or stem cells from a donor, then the heavy chemotherapy, then replanting the stem cells to help in the rebuilding of my immune system after the chemo.

This all has rattled me, and yet, I think I’ve done a fairly good job of preparing for all the possibilities.

I took great comfort from a “healing service” that Central Christian Church, which Carla attends in Jefferson, had scheduled for last Sunday evening, August 22, in Kelso Park, with the public invited. Believe me, Carla and I were first in line to receive hands-on prayer and anointing with oils from Rev. Deb Griffin, of Central Christian, and the co-pastors of First United Methodist Church, Revs. Bill and Sheri Daylong, who were assisting Pastor Deb. There were very spiritual prayers and songs, with people using hand-drums and Pastor Bill playing various flutes. It was so soothing and beautiful, I wish there’d been hundreds there to enjoy and benefit from it.

Wednesday afternoon, August 25, I was tired after not sleeping well the previous night. I also felt myself becoming afraid as I thought about what I’m facing. So I poured a cup of coffee, grabbed a still-warm ginger snap cookie, went out on the front porch to the rocking chair, pulled out my rosary, took some deep breaths, and started through the prayers. You know, within just a couple of minutes, I couldn’t believe how calm and reassured I’d become again. I’ve got to remember that.

I know I’m getting great care from the best cancer centers in Iowa. I’ve got Carla, our two kids, all our families and hundreds of friends right with us. Spiritually, I’m right where I need to be – all “prayed-up,” as they say. Now, Thy will be done, O Lord.


Carla says:

Stop the train, I want to get off!

That’s about how I feel this week. I’m not sure if I’m just so at peace with all of this, and that’s why I’m so calm, or if I’m just numb to it all. Probably the latter. But, I trust, I’ll come around and grasp the current situation a bit better after I hear what the plan of action is. In the meantime, I’m just floating through the necessary motions.

I need to be thankful first that my own recovery from cancer surgery and radiation is coming along well. I am regaining my sense of taste, appetite and energy level. I have a follow-up appointment next week with my radiation oncologist Dr. Joe Rhoades to see how I’m doing, but I feel positive about it. I’ve also decided to keep-off the 20 pounds I lost during and after surgery and radiation, but I’ll always be glad I had them to lose.

The latest development with Chuck’s new diagnosis is a lot to take in, when you were just at the brink of believing you might have a cancer-free autumn. And I guess that’s how this thing works in the long run – always just one step ahead of us.

I told Chuck the other night, it’s more than grasping the cancer situation and the treatment, it’s the household things that still have to get done, the bills that need to be paid, the job that needs to be kept, the “daily living” that can get in the way of serious cancer treatment.

How do we all get through it?

One-day-at-a-time is my guess. But just in case, I’ve spent the last few nights getting caught up on the daily living responsibilities so I can breathe easier in the next few days when I start fretting about what has to get done.

Traveling to Iowa City is actually quite an adventure for me. When we were discussing where exactly we were going, it occurred to me that I’ve been going to Iowa City for years – to athletic events, concerts, cultural events, political events and visits to the wonderful Prairie Lights Bookstore – but I’ve never had a need to visit the University of Iowa Hospitals. Thursday, August 26, will be a first for me. For Chuck, too.

I can’t stress how grateful I am for all the prayers and support we are receiving.

There’ve been a few times in the last week, when I’ve had to reflect on what I wrote a few weeks ago, when I told you all what Stephanie Cook Stockton, who grew up in Shenandoah with Chuck, told me – “when things get tough, just close your eyes and picture all the people who are praying for you.” She also suggested, “When you get so sick or tired, or whiney - and just don’t feel like praying, know that someone else is carrying you through!”

I’ve been closing my eyes a lot this week. And I’m grateful to know that others are “carrying me through.”

Thank you!


The best we’ve heard from you and others:

Thank you for that report. I am collecting stories of people who are doing fine after this kind of – what seems – way-out procedure. If the sedative makes normal people balmy, I wonder what it’s going to do to you since you have been balmy ever since I’ve known you, except for the last days of your first two marriages. There is much to be optimistic about even in the face of this serious development.