February 18, 2013

ONE DAY, TWENTY HOURS, NINE MINUTES AND FOURTY THREE SECONDS

A slow Monday morning.  Pauline walked the dogs, piddled some and went back to bed to lay down for a bit before getting ready for lunch with a friend.  I’ve been fiddling with the new laptop; a bit of new music; ordered a keyboard light.  We had a marvelous dinner with a group of close friends Friday night. Three of them came in from out of town.  One drove four hours; two drove six hours.  How cool is that !!  Last night we relaxed a home. Tomorrow night we are having dinner with our oldest and bestest friends.  Tomorrow morning at 7:30 we report for the clinic for Pre-Admit.  Wednesday at 10:00AM I report for admission to the transplant unit and the chemo begins. That is one day, twenty hours, nine minutes and 43 seconds from right NOW.  And now it’s even closer. 

 

I’m still feeling good and doing okay. Pauline is about the same. Her feet are bothering her.  She can fill you in on the details if she wishes.  For me the strange thing is that I feel fine and I will continue to feel fine until two days from now when I will, of my own accord, be made sick as a dog.  It gives me some perspective on women who choose to have a mastectomy in order to avoid breast cancer.  They have, if anything, a harder choice because in my case the odds of both options are not great. They are not guaranteed that they will get cancer.  I already have it and the BMT offers the best odds of survival.

Of course I have moments when I’m really down but I’ve come the point that I think I’m ready to get started.  I’ve gotten done most of the stuff I wanted to do to get prepared.  I’ve been eating pretty well and getting some exercise. The choice has been made and I’m not going back.  I think maybe mostly I’m scared to death and this waiting ain’t especially easy either.

I’ll leave you today with something that made me feel really good.  I have a friend who went through a BMT some years ago.  His cancer was different, not as rare as what I have and the BMT had better odds.  On the other hand his transplant only put the disease in long term remission whereas mine, if it goes perfectly, will cure the disease and, as noted, my psoriasis. But cancer treatment is all about odds and no matter what your particlar odds are it is still scary.  Just ask your friend, everybody has at least one that has dealt with it.

Anyway……..my friend brought me the box of charms that he kept with him while he was in the hospital.  It contains three bottles of holy water as my friend is a practicing Catholic.  I haven’t touched that yet because I’m a bit afraid that it might burn.  There were three laughing Buddhas, one for Joy, one for Health and one for Hope.  There is a piece of the Berlin wall, complete with spray paint, that a friend of his brought back from Germany.  It is quite an honor to hold something like that in your hand.  Pauline said that it was like holding a moon rock.

When my friend drew the last item from the box he held up to me a ring box.  He opened it and showed me his Saint Peregrine Laziosi medallion.  Mr.  Laziosi is the Patron Saint of Cancer and Running Sores.  I held the medallion in my hand and a huge smile spread over my face.  I felt better already.  I may have cancer but at least I don’t have Running Sores.  That would really suck.

 

By the way the items are on loan and I would never think of keeping them anyway; at least unless a piece of that rock breaks off.  So if one of you Catholics out there wants to get me a Saint Peregrine Laziosi medallion.  I will wear it proudly.  I may not be religious but I’m not stupid either.  I’ll take all the help I can get.

 

Boone