Running on Empty, But Running

My endorphins are flowing today. I feel truly mellow, and here's the reason why: my doctor said I could start running again. Wasting no time, or very little, I donned my jogging togs this morning and ran a whopping .6 miles, or 1k as I prefer to call it. Obviously, I survived.

Wait, it gets better. The doctor also said I could have fried eggs over-easy. Since my transplant, I've only been able to eat rubberized scrambled eggs or hard-boiled ones. No runny yolks to wipe up with my toast due to possible salmonella poisoning. Harry suggested we have a fried egg party last night, but I managed to hold off until this morning, after my petit jog. Just to be safe, I washed the shell (that's right, I only had one egg--I don't want to throw all caution to the wind) with anti-bacterial soap before cracking it open, since it's the shell that possibly harbors the nasty microbes. Naturally, this is an extremely delicate operation, and works better with brown eggs due to their slightly tougher shells. Do I need to tell you my breakfast was delicious?

But wait, there's more. My Raynaud's Syndrome is now cured! For those of you who've never heard of Raynaud's, it's a circulatory problem that prevents blood from flowing to fingers and toes, causing these extremities to turn white, blue or red. Pain's not far behind, although in my case it was more of an annoying discomfort than actual pain. Raynaud's is thought to be an auto-immune issue, so it's not my new blood that's worked the cure, but my new immune system. As weak as it is, it's somebody else's, and that person doesn't have Raynaud's. Wonders never cease with this transplant business.

That's the good news, along with the fact that my bloodwork continues to shine. In the less-than-exciting-news category, my doctor says I must still remain sequestered for a long time. I was hoping that after I reached the 100-day milestone (on December 16, but who's counting?) I might be able to relax some of the strictures placed on socializing. This is not to be. An outdoor barbeque might be okay, but that's not going to be possible any time soon. My doctor advised that I avoid groups of people indoors, and I plan to follow his advice because I've followed it to the letter so far (except for those bagels and slice of imported swiss) and not been sick. He said there's always next year.

Next year. I like the sound of that.