Day Plus Two

Since we’re basically in wait-and-see mode, I likely won’t post every day. Soooo, assume no news is good news. Or, at the very least, not overly concerning news. In fact, just now the nurse said, “Well? I guess I could get some vitals on you or somethin’.” The way I see it, if Amy has to think hard to come up with something to do for Dad, he’s doing jussssst fine.

Day Plus One (yesterday) brought just a couple of minor hiccups—low grade fever, nagging headache, and aggravation of a completely unrelated-to-CMML issue. But by the end of the night, everything got resolved, and when I texted Dad this morning to ask how he was doing, his response was, “Grreeeeat!”

To those of you who’ve been praying or meditating or sending good juju into the universe, thank you. And don’t quit, okay? It’s working.

Day Minus One

Quick update on today: Dad’s doing super-great. He ate three meals, walked 16 laps around the floor, rinsed with saline three times (to avoid getting mucositis, which causes nasty mouth sores), used his spirometer (to exercise his lungs and prevent pneumonia), and started working on a puzzle I brought.

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Day Minus Three

This morning, two doctors and a couple of nurses told Dad that yesterday was the worst of it. Dad wasn’t buying it at all, and I was only cautiously optimistic. I don’t know why we doubted what they were saying; these people simply don’t engage in sugar-coating. If it’s going to suck, they say so. So when they say, “Today will be better,” we should know they mean it.

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Day Minus Five

Random Thought 1: Since Facebook became a Thing, I’ve had loads of friends post about all manner of health (and other) struggles. I need to confess that I’ve not always given my complete attention to those posts. So many of them have big words and long explanations, and besides, I’m rather easily overwhelmed by others’ suffering. And now, hello, I’m posting the same sorts of updates. I’m humbled and deeply grateful for your willingness to keep up with me. I can’t tell you how helpful it is to dump all this into the universe and receive waves of well-wishes in return. Thank you.

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Day Minus Six

Okay, so far? The stem cell transplant process involves a lot of sitting around, frequently interrupted by sundry wonderful people: nurses, nutritionists, housekeeping staff, physical therapists, doctors, and doctors-in-training. More than once today, I’ve said, “That person was, like, 12.” (I am, like, solidly 40-something, and I’m astounded by how young medical professionals are these days.)

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On the Occasion of My 25th Wedding Anniversary

It was January 25, 1992. I was barely 21 years old, seven months away from receiving my bachelor’s degree, and, on that night, I was wearing an impossibly puffy, disastrously sparkly, stupidly expensive gown. I begged my bridesmaids to tell me jokes as they fussed with my gigantic hair and smoothed my over-indulgent train. “I’m going to throw up. I really, really am.”

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