My new doctor got sick so my appointment was postponed. This afforded me the opportunity to figure out how to do laundry, which involved adding funds to my wash card and other technical challenges. The rest was just schlepping. Being a washerwoman is hot work. I'd rather be poked with needles.
Today I'm making curried lamb meatballs for Mecca and Peter who made me so many yummy lamb dishes when I was visiting them in France this summer. I look forward to an afternoon of cooking and cleaning. Mainly, I want to attack the walk-in closet before it attacks me.
My dog Turbo has gone back to his old naughty self, dining from the bathroom garbage pail and re-visiting other gross habits. I take this as a good sign because he hasn't done these things since his soulmate Asta died last summer.
It is a gorgeous late summer day in Nueva York. All I can see from my window is more buildings. As my apartment is right next to Ground Zero, there's a lot of construction out there but I hear very little of it from my 8th floor aerie. A cool breeze wafts in, no doubt laced with asbestos and other carcinogens.
Somethings gotta kill you.
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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:
Enjoy your reprieve and try not to inhale too deeply of the asbestos laden air. :)
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