I can’t wait to get out of the negative days, the naysaying days of chemo leading to transplant. Tomorrow I break even at Day 0. Transplant Day.
Those minus symbols in front of days can really set the tone, especially when you know that the traffic of tubes you can see leading to your body are filled with injections meant to sicken. It’s not natural to lay here and allow toxins consume your body, wiping out your immune system. My survival sense wants to fight the noxious contradiction.
“You’re doing really well,” said Dr. Arndt this morning. “Better than most?” I asked. “Yes, better than most.” That’s really great news for me. I’m trying.
Between my year’s worth of experience with chemotherapy and the packets upon binders of information they’ve given me this time around, I like to know where I stand. But knowing all the things that could happen, it can be difficult to separate those that won’t, and keep those expectations out of mind.
True to form, my Mayo calvary showed up again this morning in full gear, with news that my counts had in fact plunged. I now have no trace of neutrophils, the white blood cells that fight off infection. So I’m officially tethered to my room and imposing extreme-neat-freaked-ness on all who come by. I’m much more tired and weak today too because of low red blood counts, so they’ll transfuse this afternoon. My counts will continue to belly flop over the next week as my body realizes all the chemo it’s received. Let’s just say I’m now up to a double IV pump, a medication waiting line my nurses ever so skillfully keep synchronized.
Tomorrow we’re expecting a late-night transplant. My donor’s procedure is in the morning. From there, they’ll fly the bone marrow to Rochester airport and have a special courier hand-deliver it to the hospital. The doctors are thinking a start time of about 9-10 p.m. The transplant can last up to four hours depending on how much bone marrow they can collect from my donor and how well I like it.
More on that tomorrow, but today, please think and pray for my donor. She’s having a surgical procedure on behalf of a stranger. I’m beyond grateful and humbled. She deserves all the love she can get.
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