Can you believe it? I'm on my own after four weeks in the hospital and four at home. Now I understand why they recommend having a caretaker when you're discharged. I sure needed one, and I was even able to do many things for myself. Some transplant patients come home in much worse shape. I'd like to thank (pay homage to?) the people who helped this invalid reach today's milestone: Dianne; Esther; Karen; Chris. I will do my best to keep myself healthy, fed and in clean laundry.
It was a busy weekend, and I probably overdid it. Today I'm determined to be as sloth-like as possible, moving at a rate of 8 inches in 3 hours. We'll see. I spent much of Saturday in Goddard Park watching my boys run in the Brown Invitational Cross Country meet. It was chilly to begin with (for me) but the sun came out later and warmed me up to the point where I only had to wear three layers. My body temperature is only in the 97 degree range, so I get cold easily. Even though I brought a folding chair and sat for most of the time I was there, I still did plenty of walking across the field to try to get good vantage points. Both boys PR'd, Harry cracking the 20 minute mark (19:36), and Mark slipping into the high 15's (15:49).
There was hell to pay Sunday, though. The first part of the day was slow slogging. I was queasy, tired, and frustrated that I wanted to do so many things but could not, either because it's illegal (raking leaves) or because my batteries were dead. Mariel had agreed to prune some bushes and dead-head perennials for me, but she was leaving to fly back to school in the early afternoon, so I dragged myself out of the comfy recliner, and went outside to supervise. I think the fresh air revived me because I suddenly felt up to giving Harry and Mark haircuts on the deck. You'll be relieved to know I didn't cut anyone, including my low-platelet self. Actually, the haircuts came out quite good, considering my relative weakness and slight scissor-hand tremor. Brave boys.
That was it though for the rest of the day. All I could do was nap and read the NY Times. Ah, what a life.
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Adirondack Mountains, Feb. 2007
Tale of a Cord Blood Transplantee Who Relapses and Goes on to Have a Matched Unrelated-Donor Transplant
The Weight
Adirondack Mountains, Feb. 2007
ABOUT ME
In March 2006, I was diagnosed with a blood cancer called Acute Myelogenous Leukemia (AML). Life as I knew it came to a crashing halt. After enduring a month in the hospital where I received intense chemotherapy, I was declared "in remission." I had three additional treatments and remained cancer-free until May 2007, when I relapsed.
My only shot at survival was to have a stem cell transplant. However, my brothers' immune markers didn't match mine, and an international search of bone marrow registries found no perfect matches. A transplant using the blood from two umbilical cords was recommended. I grasped at this straw in September 2007. It seemed to work.
This blog tells the story of my transplant and recovery, replete with outrageous slings and arrows. The expression "blood is thicker than water" has new meaning for me. I remained alive due to the blood of strangers, two of them, both male. Thanks guys.
The plot thickened when I relapsed 19 months into my new remission and had to go through the same rigamarole once more. This time, I received stem cells from a matched adult donor who was identified last go round but didn't fit into the necessary time frame. Charles Dickens could have fun with this, the stuff of pulp fiction.
I remain in remission 4 years later. My donor keeps leukemic cells in check but finds interesting ways to attack my body. Chronic graft versus host disease keeps me firmly entrenched in the medical world. And so it goes.
My only shot at survival was to have a stem cell transplant. However, my brothers' immune markers didn't match mine, and an international search of bone marrow registries found no perfect matches. A transplant using the blood from two umbilical cords was recommended. I grasped at this straw in September 2007. It seemed to work.
This blog tells the story of my transplant and recovery, replete with outrageous slings and arrows. The expression "blood is thicker than water" has new meaning for me. I remained alive due to the blood of strangers, two of them, both male. Thanks guys.
The plot thickened when I relapsed 19 months into my new remission and had to go through the same rigamarole once more. This time, I received stem cells from a matched adult donor who was identified last go round but didn't fit into the necessary time frame. Charles Dickens could have fun with this, the stuff of pulp fiction.
I remain in remission 4 years later. My donor keeps leukemic cells in check but finds interesting ways to attack my body. Chronic graft versus host disease keeps me firmly entrenched in the medical world. And so it goes.
1 comment:
You should re-create the Macauley Culkin Home Alone picture: screaming with your hands on your cheeks. :)
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