My doctor walked into the examination room all smiles. I'm making red blood cells, and even more than doubled my platelets since last week. He wanted to know if I had started running yet.
I pulled out the list of dietary prohibitions I've been following since August to see if we could move the traditional 100-day lifting of restrictions to Day 88. I can now eat fresh and uncooked fruits and vegetables; I can eat take-out food; I no longer have to boil my tap water.
What about my catheter, can I get that yanked? My doc arranged to have it done before we left Boston. I do not miss that tube hanging from my chest. Having a catheter or external port is convenient if you are receiving chemo, certain medications and blood products, but I have never been able to get beyond the Frankensteinian creep factor.
We arrived home after 7 pm, pizza in tow (yes! from a pizzeria) and settled in to watch the World Series. Even napless, I managed to stay up until the end.
When I woke up this morning, I could think of one thing: a fried egg over easy with the yoke running. Oh, how I've craved this in the past few months. My doctor said it was fine, although he couldn't understand how an egg is cooked is important in any way.
It was perfectly cooked, a river of yellow (which briefly reminded me of a nasty liquid med I take twice a day) oozing onto the plate and begging to be sopped up with a toasted poppy bagel.