December 2025
Holy Shit Balls
by Stephanie Kemp
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A Late(r) Day in December, 2025
4:29pm/Hospital/Parking Lot
Notes from the Actual Doctor (and not just me* overthinking and feeling and hoping I am right):
I came prepared and without my father in law (the oncologist), because I need to somehow normalize this so it doesn’t take up so much emotional and mental space...(especially since the scans are still clear and I am a grown up).
I arrived early to get my bloodwork done, and to make sure they had the vials for the clinical trial in addition to the regular tubes for the (more) common panels. The clinical trial order is a la carte and has proven to be a little wily on appointment days.
It has been nine months since I rang the bell upon finishing chemo. Six months since I joined a clinical trial and heard the words, “The blood test indicates that your lymphoma is 90% likely to recur in the first year post treatment. The second year drops to 50-60%. After that, it’s 5-10%, basically just like everyone else in the world.”
My scans are still clear.
My head is still on fire.
My emotions are hot (alternating with frozen) lava.
I go to bed every night wishing I wasn’t worried about this clinical trial. I wake up every day so fucking grateful I am in it.
In addition to all of my scans still being clear, my gut (instinct and literal, as my tumor was in my abdomen) tells me I am fine, so here was the big question I had for my doctor right off the bat today:
“Should I be grateful that I wasn’t randomized into the treatment arm of this trial? I would have gotten all that additional chemo and Car-T for a lymphoma that might not be coming back?”
Lucky for me, my doctor is no bullshit and cut right to it, before I even finished the words coming back:
“So, I just got back from a conference last night, and it does look like you might be part of a subset of patients who do not relapse. The longer you stay in remission, the less likely the lymphoma is to remain active or recur.”
“You are the exact reason we need a control group.”
“We have already learned alot from this study and some of the results are set to be published this summer.”**
“There are no guarantees, but you could probably take your port out now.”***
And then, because he is actually a very nice man in addition to being a really good doctor:
“I know this has been hard.”
“We’ll see you in three months.”
Mother.
Fucker.
(Please believe me when I say that I mean these words in the best, most optimistic way they can possibly be combined.)
__________________
*And by “me” I mean Adam. I have been too worried overthinking and feeling and hoping to be right about any of this (or anything else). This is why we also need a support group (and really good friends and to write things down).
**I will share more when the results are published, I swear..(but will be swearing less, starting now.....right after I call my father in law.)
***$#!@&/
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
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ps. I bet no one will even notice my fucking hair.❤️
Holy Shit Balls
by Stephanie Kemp
A Late(r) Day in December, 2025
4:29pm/Hospital/Parking Lot
Notes from the Actual Doctor (and not just me* overthinking and feeling and hoping I am right):
I came prepared and without my father in law (the oncologist), because I need to somehow normalize this so it doesn’t take up so much emotional and mental space...(especially since the scans are still clear and I am a grown up).
I arrived early to get my bloodwork done, and to make sure they had the vials for the clinical trial in addition to the regular tubes for the (more) common panels. The clinical trial order is a la carte and has proven to be a little wily on appointment days.
It has been nine months since I rang the bell upon finishing chemo. Six months since I joined a clinical trial and heard the words, “The blood test indicates that your lymphoma is 90% likely to recur in the first year post treatment. The second year drops to 50-60%. After that, it’s 5-10%, basically just like everyone else in the world.”
My scans are still clear.
My head is still on fire.
My emotions are hot (alternating with frozen) lava.
I go to bed every night wishing I wasn’t worried about this clinical trial. I wake up every day so fucking grateful I am in it.
In addition to all of my scans still being clear, my gut (instinct and literal, as my tumor was in my abdomen) tells me I am fine, so here was the big question I had for my doctor right off the bat today:
“Should I be grateful that I wasn’t randomized into the treatment arm of this trial? I would have gotten all that additional chemo and Car-T for a lymphoma that might not be coming back?”
Lucky for me, my doctor is no bullshit and cut right to it, before I even finished the words coming back:
“So, I just got back from a conference last night, and it does look like you might be part of a subset of patients who do not relapse. The longer you stay in remission, the less likely the lymphoma is to remain active or recur.”
“You are the exact reason we need a control group.”
“We have already learned alot from this study and some of the results are set to be published this summer.”**
“There are no guarantees, but you could probably take your port out now.”***
And then, because he is actually a very nice man in addition to being a really good doctor:
“I know this has been hard.”
“We’ll see you in three months.”
Mother.
Fucker.
(Please believe me when I say that I mean these words in the best, most optimistic way they can possibly be combined.)
__________________
*And by “me” I mean Adam. I have been too worried overthinking and feeling and hoping to be right about any of this (or anything else). This is why we also need a support group (and really good friends and to write things down).
**I will share more when the results are published, I swear..(but will be swearing less, starting now.....right after I call my father in law.)
***$#!@&/
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
ps. I bet no one will even notice my fucking hair.❤️