Post-Transplant Day 4

The gray shroud that hid the dome of the Oklahoma capitol building early this morning faded back a little to the north, but the dreary haze lingers, and it matches my mood. I have mentioned how I detest complaining and negativity. Heaven knows, I have enough reminders from well-meaning medical staff, family, and friends about the importance of remaining positive. As I have also said, sometimes, you just don’t feel that way.

A big culprit has been my digestive system, which tends to not work too well for me when I’m traveling or simply away from home, regardless of the reason. Maybe you can relate. Add a hefty dose of chemotherapy and all bets are off. Not to gross anyone out, but I’ve been on stool softeners for several days, and this morning, they finally did their trick. I think the first wave hit me around 3:30. It doesn’t help that my legs protested my efforts to get them to move out from under the covers, as though they had minds of their own. Who could blame them, all cozy under the covers, suddenly being thrust into the stark, air-conditioned room, to have the feet at their ends planted on the cold tile floor while the rest of my body made haste to get to the porcelain throne? My apologies for the description, but you can’t possibly get the full picture unless I try to paint it for you. It’s not that I want anyone else to feel the way I do this morning. Rather, it’s an effort to give homage to all of those who suffer from some health issue that causes discomfort or pain, whatever it may be. It’s a blessing, I suppose, because without it, how would we know what normal feels like, and how could we appreciate good health?

I have no appetite—none. I look at the “Communication Board” that hangs on the wall of my room several times a day. “Day + 4.” That’s our current status. The gathering storm within

my body has not manifested itself as yet, even as miserable as the bouts of diarrhea have been this morning. My understanding is that what’s possibly to come between days 6 and 10 is much worse. Last week one of the nurses remarked that “half the patients on the floor has fevers.” They were all ahead of me in their treatment, but I can’t assume all had stem cell transplants. Nevertheless, I envy them. I just want to get it over with. In my head, I have told myself such stuff as, maybe it won’t be so bad for you because you’re younger and you’re in better overall health than most; or you’ll be the one who makes it out of here in record time! There is no reason to believe it; it’s simply different for everyone, I suppose.

Probably the strangest thing about this “transplant” is that word itself. When people think of transplants, they picture scalpels and sutures, surgeons in scrubs, beeping heart monitors, and teams of anesthesiologists. This transplant is very, very different. It would be better described, I think, as a transfusion, which is more like what it is, but the process and purpose of it are far more complicated than one would associate with a transfusion.

When I think of the word “transfusion,” I am carried back to the early 80’s to the AIDS epidemic. I was living in Tempe, Arizona at the time, and everyone had heard that this deadly new virus could be spread through blood transfusions. I admit that memory remains a harbinger of scary things for me. Screening processes and other advancements have made the risk of transmission through blood transfusions very low, but something that traumatizing—as the AIDS/HIV epidemic has been—doesn’t fade from memory easily. Neither should it. Blood transfusions are often necessary for stem cell transplant patients. I am hoping my own “blood factory,” as Dr. Joudeh calls it, will come roaring back in a miraculous way so that I won’t have to worry about such things.

On a completely different note, I need to do my laundry. That will be my productivity goal for today. That, and maybe a couple of walks, although I don’t feel up to doing either at the moment.

Thank you, again, for your thoughts and prayers for me.