By Anup Kumar Trikannad
The doctor says, “It’s myeloma.” Oh Oma, my doom’s diploma!
I came with back pain, now that’s my new aroma.
Lytic lesions, cryptic confusion,
Is it my spine’s grand disillusion?
Anemia knocks, my blood’s running thin,
“Let’s transfuse,” they say—well, where do we begin?
Creatinine rises—my kidneys are vexed,
Calcium soars—my bones feel hexed.
“Proteins are wonky,” the doc does insist,
Light or heavy, can’t we just coexist?
A 24-hour urine, oh what a delight,
Hours in the bathroom—it’s my new nightlife.
PET scans beckon, CT beams glow,
MRI spins tales of marrow below.
Plasma cells, once the soldiers of might,
Now traitors, waging a clandestine fight.
Oh chemo, my dear, you’re a hell of a fling,
VDT-PACE sounds like a sprint in the ring.
“Transplant’s next!” they cheer with zeal,
“Stem cells in a plant?” Now that’s surreal!
CAR-T sounds fun, like a circus act,
I hope it’s more science and less acrobatic fact.
“Bi-specifics,” I demand, “Be clear in your pitch!”
Doc replies, “Tec and Talq—isn’t that rich?”
They sound like new cars or maybe a drink,
But they’re my lifeline—or so doctors think.
Oh, myeloma, you’re a curious foe,
What’s your purpose? I really must know.
You twist my cells, but I’ll twist you too—
Mai Mai, this war’s not yours to construe!
So here’s my plan, let’s make it satiric:
If you’re here to stay, let’s make it historic.
I’ll dance through transfusions, laugh through the scans,
Because myeloma, you’ve got no chance in my plans!
Anup Kumar Trikannad, M.D., is a practicing myeloma hospitalist with a strong interest in pursuing a fellowship in hematology and oncology. Outside of medicine, he enjoys playing pickleball and exploring the world through photography.