"This will come as a shock."

A brief timeline, for the curious.

• Late 2004, I was rejected while trying to donate blood due to anemia. Upon further inspection, all my blood counts were low, and I was diagnosed with aplastic anemia by doctors at the University of Chicago. This was most likely a side effect of a medication (sulfasalazine) I had been taking since 1988 to control ulcerative colitis. The condition wasn't so severe as to require treatment, but it did merit careful watching. Went off sulfasalazine, blood counts improved, though they never came all the way back.
• Late 2010, my regular blood test raises a red flag, which leads to a consultation with a hematologist at Carle, which leads to a referral back to the University of Chicago. No noteworthy symptoms.
• January 3 --  Meet some doctors at U of C. Based on history and most recent blood work, a biopsy is in order. Maybe the aplastic anemia is getting worse, maybe it's something else. Not super urgent. The next biopsy opening is January 18, and the next followup appointment opening (Mondays only) is January 24. The lack of urgency is comforting.
• January 4 -- Call from U of C. They now have a biopsy opening Thursday or Friday. I take one. I'm thinking, "How convenient."
• January 7 -- Biopsy. Typically there's no analysis over the weekend, but we can and do move the followup appointment up one week to January 17. Later that night, call from the doctor telling me that they will be analyzing the biopsy over the weekend after all, and so we could follow up the coming Monday if I want to. I'm thinking, "What fantastic customer service," though it occurs to me that perhaps things are more urgent than the doctors are letting on. Jan will be out of town on business, but (coincidentally) my mom is in Chicago visiting her brother. This means I will have a second person with me to receive the diagnosis.
• January 10, afternoon -- "This will come as a shock. You have acute leukemia." They started suspecting leukemia based on the January 3 bloodwork, and it was confirmed by the bone marrow biopsy. The doctors were pretty surprised, but not as surprised as I was. I feel fine! "You could enter the hospital tonight." Umm, I definitely need a little more time to get ready, and I have a teenage son alone at home. It was great to have my mom there, though unfortunately the "kiss the booboo to make it better" cure was not deemed effective. 
• January 10, evening -- The drive home alone to Champaign was not as rough as I thought it would be. For the first time in my life, I had reason to say, "Sports talk radio is a blessing." The hosts and the callers were all so certain about the outcomes of the upcoming NFL playoffs that it's a wonder we even need to play the games, and as long as I paid attention to them, I was fine. When I started visualizing the difficult conversations I was about to have when I got home, I got a little shaky. But then Brian from Bolingbrook would weigh in why the Bears had better be careful about the Seahawks, and I would be under control again. Maybe I should look into developing an app that plays sports talk, to be used therapeutically as a mental and emotional anesthetic.
• January 12 -- Admitted to the hospital.
• January 13 -- Starting chemotherapy, 10 days after my first consultation.

I'll describe the treatment plan in another post.