Fire chief battles cancer with stem-cell transplant

There's a clarity that comes from staring down death as cancer refuses to give up its grip.

Dave Sipe knows that now.

After a year of battling non-Hodgkins Stage 2 lymphoma with endless rounds of chemotherapy and a stem-cell transplant, the longtime Whitefish fire chief says he's not the same person he was a year ago when cancer came into his life.

"I've changed in how I look at life," Sipe said. "Some things are just not that important any more. You learn there is another life after work."

After a few moments of contemplation, Sipe quietly added: "I'm not afraid of death like I was."

AS THE 59-year-old fire chief spends a quiet Thanksgiving at home with his family, there will be ample time for prayers of thanks and gratitude for the progress Sipe has made in fighting his cancer. He finished his last round of radiation treatment in late September, but won't know the final results until December.

"They feel confident of the outcome," he said. "Overall I know I'm improving."

It was Nov. 19, 2006, when Sipe's life as he knew it came to an end.

He was carrying a fan up an outside stairwell when he slipped and fell against the railing. X-rays showed nothing was broken, but three nights later the pain was still bothering him on his right side.

Further testing showed a malignant mass the size of his fist in his abdomen area, in front of his spine. Sipe had shown no symptoms of ill health and in fact, at 6 feet, 4 inches and 245 pounds, was the epitome of a physically fit firefighter.

That would quickly change.

At the height of his cancer treatment, Sipe's weight dropped to 181.

"I was pretty wimpy," he recalled.

Initial rounds of chemotherapy shrank the tumor to half its size, but progress halted abruptly when the cancer created antibodies that fought against the treatment. Doctors then prescribed Rotuxin, a drug that continued to shrink the tumor and allowed Sipe to proceed with a stem-cell transplant at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle.

"I had a 40 percent chance of living when I got to Seattle and I thought, 'Let's go for it,'" Sipe said.

SIPE SPENT four months in Seattle, first doing the exhaustive testing and procedures such as total body irradiation that accompany such a transplant. It took three days to harvest seven million stem cells from Sipe's body. Stem cells are unspecialized, immature cells in the bone marrow from which all types of blood cells originate.

Since Sipe's blood and bone marrow showed no sign of cancer, he was able to use his own stem cells. As a backup, though, every one of his six brothers sent in blood to see if they would be matches for a donor stem-cell transplant.

"My brother Richard in Kalispell was the only match, and you would have thought he won the lottery when he found out," Sipe said with a laugh.

Support from family and friends helped Sipe keep his sense of humor throughout the ordeal. He laughs now as he tells how he fell asleep in his chair during the first rounds of chemotherapy and awoke to find his entire mustache lying on his shirt.

"My wife laughed at that," he said.

Sipe's wife, Jennifer, stayed in Seattle for the duration of his treatment, temporarily giving up her job as secretary at United Methodist Church in Whitefish.

"She was a rock, so steady through all of it," Sipe said. "That's what I love her for. She kept me encouraged."

The couple's pet, a black-and-white Shih Tzu named Ripley, also relocated to Seattle for the duration.

With steady support from his wife and a constant flow of other family members visiting, Sipe was in high enough spirits during the stem-cell transplant to joke with the medical staff.

"It was pretty uneventful, actually. They came in with their little Igloo cooler" and then hooked up equipment to transplant his cells back into his body.

"They had told me the stem cells would smell like garlic or creamed corn, and they did," he said. "It's the preservative they use."

Sipe spent 15 days in the University of Washington hospital after the transplant.

"It turns the body around and cleans it up," he said, explaining the stem-cell transplant. "It's a rebirth of your body. Your skin gets soft again like a baby and you have to get all your childhood immunizations again."

SIPE WASN'T out of the woods yet, though.

Not long after his transplant Sipe developed atrial fibrillation, a heart condition stemming from the cancer treatment. That meant more medical attention and more pills in his cancer-fighting arsenal.

Follow-up CT (computed tomography) and PET (positron emission tomography) scans showed a remaining trace of the tumor, so doctors ordered more spot radiation. Those are the results Sipe is still awaiting.

Though there's no way to know how or why Sipe was stricken with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, there is a history of cancer in his family. His father died at 41 from a malignant brain tumor and his grandfather died of leukemia.

"I always wondered who in my family would get cancer," he said.

He marvels at the caliber of the oncology programs both here in the Flathead Valley and in Seattle. He's also eternally grateful for the constant support he got from the Whitefish area community, his fellow firefighters and other fire departments.

Sipe started work again two weeks ago, but is under strict orders: No firefighting.

It's a tough blow for a guy who has spent nearly three decades in a profession he loves.

"I loved fires. I miss kicking doors in," he said. "I miss sizing up a fire and going in. But the doctors said no firefighting from here on out."

On a recent Saturday evening, when the fire and ambulance department had four calls going simultaneously, it was difficult for Sipe not to join in the action.

"I wanted to jump up so bad," he said.

He admits to his workaholic tendencies, but says those days are behind him.

"I'm not going to be tied to my job like I was," he said.

There are still difficult days. The treatment left Sipe with neuropathy that requires a brace on his left leg; he walks with a cane.

"My leg will give out sometimes and buckle," he said. "I still get frustrated, but my wife calms me down.

"But I am thankful. It's all a matter of enjoying every day. Every day is a gift."

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by e-mail at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com