Wednesday, June 24, 2009

They really mean business with this quarantine/cleanliness thing. At check-in -- in the lock between the hallway and room -- the nurses disinfect everything. Nothing goes in the room that's not sterilized. Can't just schlepp in the suitcase. No, sir. Ya gotta unload onto the dolly all your packed clothes (all had to have been washed at 60 degrees C and packed in fresh plastic bags). They then proceeded to wipe down the laptop, router, iPod, BBerry, all the cables, the Fender, the books, the DVD cases and every single one of about 100 DVDs (so thoroughly, it probably puritanly purged the movies of any and all dirty scenes). Then you leave your street clothes at the door, and are supposed to enter the room dressed as on the day you entered this good world. Correctly interpreting the "?!" on my face as American-born timidity, the good nurse kindheartedly handed me a pair of my boxers. (Otherwise, man, what a humbling way to make a first impression on your new roommate... "Howdy, stranger. I'm Buck. Buck Naked. We're right obliged to make yer acquaintance." )

The doc had said yesterday that my roommate was "nice" and that "we'd get along well." (Of course, they're never gonna tell ya, "Guy's a total wank; good luck putting up with him.") Turns out, he's indeed a good fella with a fine sense of humor and positive attitude toward his predicament. He's about my age. Been there just over a week, and is already stir-crazy but already feeling fine after having just gone through the exact same chemo regiment + own stem cell transplant as I'm getting. So, of course, I asked what I was in for....

According to the doc's plan [and the roomy's ensuing scoop on the effects]: First day, one chemical, 60-min runtime, done [Roomy: nausea is not bad as they give you plenty of shots to counteract]. Days 2-5, two chems, each given mornings and afternoons, 30 mins each [ditto on the 'queasy-light']. Day 6, one chem, 60 min ["Oh boy, that last one.... no fun"]. On Day 7, as the Scriptures dictate, He rested ["Brother, hope your Day 7 goes better than mine did."] Transplant Day, stem cell dose runs a couple hours. Worst part docs had told me is the taste and smell of the "defrosting" fluid they use on the frozen stem cells [All hype; didn't notice it at all.] Thus, all in all, not a big deal. Essentially, nothing I haven't done before. The bad stuff is quick and dirty. The worst part is the slow and the clean.

But with a cool roomy, friendly staff and plenty of books and films, I'll bide the time well. Staff really are good people, 'Best-Care-Anywhere' people, and many of 'em know me well from previous stays, and they pamper me. Example: I ran out of time yesterday to prepackage and freeze the burritos, but brought the fixins. As I wasn't allowed to go into the kitchen (due to the wonder germ that got me this room) to wrap 'em up, the nurses said they'd gladly make 'em for me -- as I informed them that all I can eat after chemo are burritos and Cheerios. So either they're just real sweethearts; or I'm a real charmer, or just heartbreak, puppy-eyed pathetic; or they simply prefer a bit of burrito wrapping over dealing with having to IV-feed me. Or all of the above.

And they agreed to let me back out of the room for the afternoon and evening as I'm done with a half-day of various tests, not hooked up to anything yet and wish to enjoy one more eve of physical freedom and a Last-for-a-while-Supper of food that doesn't taste like plastic. Kind of a pain for them because they gotta go thru the whole re-entry thing with me later tonight. (Won't be a pain for me; I'll be drunk.) For now, I'm enjoying sunshine and partial clouds over a Cappuccino and a BlackBerry keypad, and will soon take what'll be about an hour stroll around the campus, and then a little Italian dining and wining.

Enough of my blabbering for now. Time for a call with Sammy, who's being a real brave trooper about the whole ordeal. Had a great talk with her while putting her to bed last night, and she'll be talking to mama tonight, and surely over the next weeks, about how she feels. And I'm thankful for said mama, and for Sammy's friends and ours (said friends' parents), with whom she'll be enjoying the days, keeping occupied, and just plain feeling comforted and safe. Oh, and she's heading off next Monday for her first class outing -- and first extended stay away from family -- five days in a town two hours away, along with teachers, chaperones and classmates. Quite an emotional load for such a wee soul to carry. So don't worry 'bout me; I'm peaches -- Please send your thoughts, blessings, and prayers for strength Sammy's way.

For me, time to walk the walk. It's a beautiful eve for it.

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Update: Back in room. Not drunk, just tipsy. Now posting, then catching up on Daily Show/Colbert, crashing, and heading into tomorrow and the weeks to come with the attitude of that little mouse in the little ditty that I just was singing to myself on the walk back "home." From dad's ol' Air Force drinkin' song book...

Welllllllllll, the liquor was spillt on the barroom floor
And the bar was closed for the night
When out of his hole peeked a little mouse
He crept in the pale moonlight

Welllllllllll, he licked up the liquor on the barroom floor
Then on his haunches he sat
And all night long you could hear him roar,
"Bring on yer goddam cat *hic* cat *hic* cat!"