I got out of the hospital this morning after an uneventful day and evening yesterday. I was hospitalized for pains that turned out not to be a big deal. Better to be precautionary these days. I landed the same room of the transplant unit with the same beeping IV pole, the same mid-night and early morning wake-ups, the same unwilling menu, but the same smashing team of doctors and nurses (minus Dr. Arndt, plus Dr. Rodriguez, that is). My mom and I were so grateful to enjoy the sunshine-y day today in the outdoors, not behind the thick pane of our window.
Only at the Transplant House: Earlier this week I walked by my ol’ neighbor Joe on the way out of my room. He had just returned from the hospital earlier that morning after receiving a stem cell transplant.
“You smell me?” he asked.
I leaned in and sniffed, but I didn’t have to inhale much. “Yeah. What is that?” I replied.
“Smells like creamed corn, eh?”
I considered, not wanting to admit that the scent was uncannily similar to my Aunt Sue’s renowned Thanksgiving creamed corn. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. What’s the story, Joe?”
Apparently when stem cell transplant recipients are treated with stem cells harvested from their own body to treat a disease (don’t ask me how that works), they smell like creamed corn for a few days after their transplant. It has something to do with the preservatives they use to store the cells.
We both kept walking in opposite directions and sure enough, there was a trail of Del Monte-esque canned cream corn wafting down the hallway.
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