My Walden

"I should not talk so much about myself if there were any body else I knew so well. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my experience."
Henry David Thoreau

Summer's pushing back at Fall once more, although Fall's rot is in the air. I'm writing this from the Adirondack chair perched at the top of my front lawn. All I see are trees and sky. If this suddenly goes blank, it's because an acorn knocked me unconscious.

My transplant doctor once referred to the transplant journey as a Year of Isolation (my caps), and so it is. Except for trips to Boston to go to the clinic once a week, I venture no further than my mailbox, or on energetic days, down the street and (maybe) around the corner on dog-walking expeditions.

It's a good thing I don't mind solitude.

Yesterday, I managed to iron a pair of pants, a testament to my vanity as well as slowly gaining strength to perform non-essential tasks. While I was at it, I ironed a shirt, too, just to push my limits. Then it was off to Boston for my weekly blood draw and visit with the transplant team. The waiting room was filled with transplant patients in various stages of recovery, most wearing masks and gloves, all accompanied by a caregiver. Sitting in that sea of immuno-compromised people it would be easy to get depressed. But hey, we were all living, at least in that moment, second-chancers (and perhaps third and fourth as well.)

My blood counts remain low, but they are slowly drifting in the right direction, and were high enough that I needed no transfusions. Dr. A. seems to think I can make it to next week's appointment without intermediary blood draws like I had last week. All seems to be going well, and I was reassured that my physical complaints and limitations are normal. Of the 14 vials of blood they extracted, one will be used to do a chimerism test to determine which of the two cords is winning the survival battle. Apparently, the fittest grows stronger, while the weaker fades away. So next week, I may know whether the blood of an Australian or Coloradan male runs through my veins. Kinda interesting to contemplate, no? This should make for some insightful commentary among the faithful, I'm sure.