Monday, June 29, 2009

Greetings from Isolation Row. I may not yet know why the caged bird sings... but I do got a hunch as to why the caged chimp flings poop.

Am now on my fifth day, or, as the docs call it, "Day -3" (until transplant, which is "Day 0"). Long past the B chemo, only one more evening jam session tonight with the E and A chemos. Tomorrow the M, last chemo day, yoo-hoo!

Chemo's been yucky, but not the worst part of this deal. Already by yesterday, I was over what I imagine believe to be the worst part. That being this weird, sudden feeling that engulfs you, a blend of total hopelessness and unbearable restlessness, a sense of detachment from all you are and all you know and the overwhelming urge to grab it all back at once. The feeling came in sporadic waves throughout the first couple of days. Fortunately, it was nothing that couldn't be beaten back with a swift, mental 2x4. Any of you who've done hard time will know the feeling.

Tomorrow I'll have been here as many days as my roomy had been when I arrived. It then seemed an impossible, distant future. Today, though, flew on by. Pretty much slept right through it.

When not sleeping off the dregs, we've been passing the time well. In the humor market, trading's high on jokes about "having time" or "not having time." E.g.,
Doc/Nurse: "Time for next chemo/shot/IV/pill"...
Roomy/Me: "Hold on, lemme check my calendar, see if I can squeeze it in here... yup, ok, just need to push back my 4:30." No matter how many times a day, it never ceases to amuse either of us. Comical asides on nausea and discomfort are the nearest runners up. E.g.,
Doc/Nurse: "Weight?"
Roomy/Me: "60"
Doc/Nurse: "Temperature?"
Roomy/Me: "36.5"
Doc/Nurse: "Pain?"
Roomy/Me: "No, thanks." Or, "Maybe later, when I've finished my nausea/general discomfort."

Sammy is reportedly doing well on her class trip, feeling chipper and having fun. So that's the big relief of the day. No phone calls with her until Friday. Those have really helped perk me up. Yesterday, she sang over the phone all of the songs the kids'd be singing on the bus ride. In the eve call, we read together a good night story from Dr Seuss.

D'oh. Here comes the nurse, so I'm gonna have to tell her I've got no time for chemo, what with how late it is and all, and, er, I've got a very pressing film to watch, and I'd love to get up and help her feed me but see I've got this string in my leg, and, and, and...