D+13 -- Not At All Unlucky

It's nice sleeping without being tethered to an IV pole, although I have not had too much trouble with it. Only a few times have I wrapped the line around myself while sleeping. And visiting the bathroom is simpler. Initially, and for quite a few weeks, I made it harder on myself than it needed to be, by keeping the pole plugged in and navigating the five-footed pole around the power cord, to the bathroom and back. Inevitably, on the way back, I would end up maneuvering the pole's feet around the cord in such a way that I arrived at bedside with the lines wrapped once or twice around the pole. Then came the epiphany that just as I could unplug the pole and go for a walk, or run on the treadmill, I could do the same for these much shorter walks from bed to bathroom. (My mom always said I was smart.) I would have felt smarter if I had figured this out in week one, and I wouldn't have had to be smart if someone had passed along this tip when my IV life started.

Anyway, it's nice sleeping without the IV. Unfortunately, after an untethered 1:30 trip to the bathroom -- and you would be surprised at how happy that sliver of freedom made me -- I am not sleeping at 2:00 a.m. Instead, I am designing (in my head) an online system that would help Illinois Marathon entrants find available rooms in our area and surrounding communities. As it is, all of the race's partner hotels are telling callers that they are full, though we have some (probably outdated) information that a few of them, and some additional places, have rooms. So I'm building a system in my head in which area hotels directly update an online directory of availability, instead of the current weekly phone survey that is obsolete by the time we get the results. (My mom always said I was smart.)

But this isn't what I want to be doing at 2:00 in the morning. I realize I forgot to ask for my A&A (Ambien and Atavan) before going to bed. (Smart, but forgetful.) I get them now, and sleep until 7:30 with a brief interruption around 5:00 for vitals and a blood draw from the arm. Monday and Thursday mornings are the arm draw days. I'm almost wistful -- this should be the last blood draw from my arm while in the hospital.

Is it my imagination, or does the air constantly pumped into my room, air that is normally dry to the point of causing nose bleeds, seem a little more moist today, and smell vaguely like spring? Could just be me anticipating breathing fresh air in a few days, for the first time in nine and a half weeks. Or it could be that some trace of the warm, moist spring air outside survives the filtering process. I'll go with the latter, since it's a more real connection to spring.

A good breakfast, a good morning of work, back on the IV for two hours (magnesium).

My dad brings in another lunch. Food Service is going to wonder if I'm on a hunger strike. More work.

I have a new attending today; they stay with a unit for about four weeks. He's not totally up to speed with all the details of my case, but he is able to answer some questions. So, I learn that, barring complications, I can travel by public transportation (bus, train, plane) by the middle of June. I can shave with a regular razor when my platelet count reaches 30 (thousand) for sure, and my supervising physician might even be OK with 20. When I get home, I should try sleeping without any chemical aids for a few days before deciding you still need the help. (This was my plan anyway.)

"Can you tell me my counts?"
"Counts? They don't really matter anymore, now that you're past 4000. I think is was 5000 something... maybe 5800..."

Counts don't matter?! I have a graph to update! As soon as he leaves, I request a copy of today's bloodwork results.

5100! (But I guess the specific number no longer matters.) My platelets and hemoglobin are also slightly higher than yesterday, without the benefit of transfusions, so I'm creating the various types of blood.

Because I have reached the magic number (4000), I no longer receive Neupogen shots. Going forward, this means I can expect my blood counts to drift down before they climb again. For example, the WBC might go as low as half of its Neupogen-induced peak. The doctor says this is normal.

A little more work, some blogging, a walk, dinner (grilled tuna steak on a salad, McClintock fig bar for dessert), a shower.

I am (almost certainly) going home on Saturday. Once I'm home, the pace of blogging is likely to slow down. There will be fewer changes from day to day, and I will have more responsibilities. But it's still a different-than-normal life, so I will post something every few days. If something interesting comes up, I'll post more often, but I'm hoping it's all pretty boring for months and months and months.

5100! 5100.