A Staggering Sum of Incredible Coinage

Last night I was able to access my health insurance profile on line. I'd had to jump through a number of hoops earlier in the week, and then wait for my activation code to arrive by snail mail, and then try to remember yet another username and password I'd created, forgotten and fortunately had had the foresight to write down even though we are told to NEVER do such a perilous thing. (Is anyone else driven mad by all the crap they have to remember, especially these secret codes?) Truthfully, I wasn't sure I wanted to find out how much cash had been spent on my illness. I knew it had to be a lot. Mordant curiosity got the better of me and I clicked. The first figure I saw totaled all the charges billed in the last 6 months. That would include my transplant. Going back 24 months, I could see how much had been billed since my diagnosis, which will be 2 years ago next month. Billed but not payed, because the insurance company never pays what's billed. Still. I'd better survive this thing. And then go on to save the world or something anything to prove I was worth it.

I don't really look at it that way, of course, but I'll admit to being bowled over. If I didn't have health insurance would I even be writing this?

Guess I'd better start looking and feeling like a million bucks.

Diary of a Mad Housewife

Those of you checking in to see how I'm doing health-wise have probably noticed I've been writing about the more mundane issues of daily life lately. I hope you are as relieved as I am. I've thought about folding this blog, or just letting it lie fallow for a while. I don't want it to degenerate into navel-gazing, and I hesitate to fill this space with mad ravings, recipes, running times, dream narratives, teenage-angst stories, weather reports and the like.

That said, I will tell you that Mark's running injury appears to be a minor one (see what I mean), so he'll celebrate his 17th birthday tomorrow running the 1500m, 1000m and possibly a leg of the 4x800m relay. Since the meet is indoors and will be jammed with possibly infected people, I'll have to miss it. Don't cry for me, blogsters. Outdoor track's around the bend and I'll be there.

Does dreaming about cows in your house mean anything?

Light Reddish Chestnut

My son Mark helped me pick out a hair color yesterday. For a moment, Patty Hearst crossed my mind. Didn't she dye her hair black? That Tania. Anyway, Mark wanted a plum shade that I thought was a little too too, so I went with "light reddish chestnut." I'm excited about ditching the gray and changing my hair color, but Prudence made me read the directions which advised testing first for an allergic reaction. Normally I'd poo-poo such caution, but I realized I have no idea what I'm allergic to. My new immune system seems to be okay with peanuts, but who knows how I'll react to things like pollen, cats, dust mites, hair dye. An allergic reaction is something I don't want to provoke, so I'm being careful (for a change) and doing the test patch on my arm. So far, nothing.

Mariel arrived safely in Quito and aside from being tired (possibly due to the altitude), she's settling into her new home. She has a view of the mountains from her bedroom window. Her host family consists of parents, children and grandchildren, so it's a busy place. They all got together for a big lunch yesterday featuring one of her favorite dishes, arroz con pollo.

After the dye job, I'll try to post a picture.

Ash Blond Wednesday?

My transplant nurse just emailed me to say I can stop taking the magnesium pills. I hate those suckers because they're uncoated and always catch in my throat, plus I have to take them 3 times a day. At this rate, I may be able to reduce the size of my pill organizer.

More exciting though is that I'm free to color my hair, what little there is. Actually, I have less gray now than I did pre-transplant (gotta love that baby blood) but I'm vain enough to want to get rid of it.

So the question is, should I go with my natural color (medium brown), go darker, go blond, or do something punk? By that I mean black or some unnatural color. It's already short and spiky.

I hope I can stand the excitement.

Bleak Day in Bean-Town

The nasty weather was the only negative in today's trip to Boston. After dropping Mariel at the airport, we had breakfast with some friends from our Costa Rica days. They still live in Costa Rica, but have an apartment in the North End. My friend Karen stays there with her son while he attends Milton Academy as a day student. Her husband Rob was housemates with George W. at Yale before he (GW) gave up booze and found religion.

My visit to the Dana-Farber clinic was uneventful. My blood counts hold steady; my liver is a happy camper; my kidneys are nonpareil. My doctor doesn't feel my chapped lips and general itchiness are attributable to gvhd. He also reiterated his belief that the graft versus leukemia effect (good) is in force without the presence of graft versus host disease (bad). So, I remain disease-free on all levels. If a chapped lip is my worst ailment, it's cause for celebration. Bring on the O'Douls.

Busyness

Tomorrow's a busy day. Just thinking about it makes me even more tired than I already am. Marty, Mariel and I had a mini super bowl party and then watched House when Mark and Harry came home. 11:45 pm is way past my bedtime.

Mariel has more to do than I do, but in typical teenage fashion she's still sleeping. We're dropping her off at Logan Int'l Airport in Boston tomorrow morning around 7:30-8. She'll have a full day of travel ahead of her, arriving in Quito at 10:30 pm. We won't see her again until May 18. Since she's been home for 5 weeks now, I'm used to having her around. I'll miss her.

After we drop her at the airport, Marty and I are going to have breakfast with some Costa Rica friends in the North End. Then it's on to Dana-Farber where I'll be drained of many vials of blood and meet with my oncologist. Depending on my immune status, we may go out for lunch.

At least we don't have to worry about getting stuck in a victory celebration in Boston tomorrow. A pall hangs over New England this morning, and instead of world champion jerseys, Pat's fans are reaching for their hair shirts. Being tranplanted New Yorkers (me on more than one level), we rooted for the Giants. Mark and Harry couldn't wait to get to school today to enjoy the depressed atmosphere. Marty was a little worried about going to work, since his co-workers knew he was cheering for the Giants. Mariel and I were actually a little sad that Perfection was denied.

Nobody's perfect.*

*The first person to identify the film in which this final line is spoken wins a Pat on the back.

Young Blood

Could it be that my baby bone marrow is a fountain of youth?

I read two articles this week about aging and exercise. Both basically said that exercise slows the aging process, which isn't all that surprising. However, the one that really fascinated me discussed how exercise seems to influence aging at the cellular level. Researchers compared the length of something called telomeres in the white blood cells of active and inactive adults. Telomeres are sections of DNA at the end of chromosomes, and they shorten as a person ages. Inactive adults have shorter telomeres than active adults, suggesting their cells age and die off at a faster rate. The researchers concluded that adults who are physically active are biologically younger than sedentary individuals by up to ten years. All I can say is: Woot!

My excitement isn't due to the fact that I am a slave to exercise. No, I'm wondering if my five-month-old white blood cells with their long telomeres further reduce my biological age. This would be a good thing because having leukemia probably shaved decades off my life at a psychological level and the chemo no doubt undid all the positive effects of my exercise regimen over the years. For all I know, I have the internal organs of a 90-year-old.

Let's do the math: Exercise gave me 10 years (I'll be generous), Leukemia stole 20, baby bone marrow gives me another 10. Hey, I'm still 54.

Gotta run ...