D+11 -- A Joyful Pain

After midnight vitals, I have trouble getting back to sleep. This has been common, though the anti-dynamic duo of Ambien and Atavan have been fairly effective in the past, and I went to bed with both of them this night.

The problem this time is that I have these small aches, all over, but mostly in my legs. "Now what? Oh, wait... I've read about this... side effects Mara might (did) experience as the Neupogen puts stem cells into overdrive, and the marrow becomes crowded with new cells. That would be awesome!"

The pain isn't bad, but it's enough to keep me awake. Tylenol to the rescue, followed by a good, long sleep (by hospital standards).

When I wake up, I do some work for the race.

Breakfast is from Food Service, enhanced from the pantry: oatmeal with fruit cocktail (ordered peaches -- close enough), dried cranberries, walnuts, whipped topping (because I'm a small-time hedonist); orange; hard-boiled egg; grape juice. I don't drink the grape juice straight -- too sweet -- but a little of it in a glass of ice water is refreshing.

Almost makes you wish you were, right?

Some work, by phone and computer.

A call from my supervising physician. She sounds happy. She tells me my counts are looking great. Today's WBC is 1400. (200, 300, 700, 1400...) It's looking likely that I get to go home this weekend. (!) Another bit of good news is that, contrary to my expectations, my only guaranteed return visits to clinic are Monday mornings. I may need to return more often if complications (such as an infection) appear, or if the regular Monday bloodwork turns up something that requires further testing. 

A nurse comes in and tells me we are starting to shift some of the IV medications to tablet or capsule form, another necessary step before being able to leave. The countdown has definitely begun, though it is less determined than a rocket launch. It could go, "4, 4, 3, 2, 2, 1..."

The fellow brings me a copy of the Black Book.

Meanwhile, following the guidance of her copy of the black book, Jan has been arranging the housecleaning, the carpet-cleaning, the removal of couches, the purchase of couches. Also, co-directing a marathon and publishing a magazine. Yikes.

The attending stops by. Yes, the counts are good. (His guess for today had been 2000, so he's 1 for 2 on predictions.) I mention that the information in the Black Book and the information from various medical staff is not consistent. Don't have any houseplants. Houseplants are OK, but not up close and not where you spend a lot of time.

We have already determined that the Black Book dietary information is outdated, but there are other issues. One page reads as if you can't shop, cook or drive. Another page says to avoid grocery shopping. Yet another page says to shop when the store isn't crowded. (But it doesn't mention that you need to thoroughly wipe the shopping cart handles, which are cesspools in an easy-to-grab form.) Some passages are repeated often from one section to another. It may be relevant to display that information in multiple places, but it should be clearly identified as repeated information, because otherwise the reader tends to skip over it and may skip too far. Overall, the book reads like a committee product that lacked an editor, which seems pretty likely.

The attending asks if I would look through the book and provide feedback. You get three guesses as to my response, though if you need three for a yes/no question there's something wrong with your reasoning skills, and if you've been reading this blog, you only need one, and it shouldn't be a guess.

My dad arrives around noon. I have lunch and do some more work, for Human Kinetics and the race. Dad heads off to check into his lodging and to bring back dinner.

Feeling a little bit more of that joyful pain. During the day, it's not disruptive enough to bother asking for Tylenol.

1400!