D+12 -- Exponential Growth

At the very beginning of the day, which is to say just after midnight, one of my pump alarms goes off. This is no longer alarming to me, since I have learned what the the different alarms mean.

There's the bird-like dee-deet dee-deet .... dee-deet  that means the medication has been delivered. There's the deet ........ deet ...... deet .... that means the battery is running low. And there's the deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee that sounds like a patient flatlining, if TV medical shows are to be believed. That one was alarming the first time I heard it, even though I was not hooked up any machine that could evaluate whether I was dead or alive. The flatline alarm means the battery has run out of power.

Usually, the nurses work out the timing so an alarm does not go off in the middle of the night. Not this time, but this late night alarm isn't as disruptive as it might have been, since I still haven't fallen back asleep after vitals.

I press the Nurse button on the remote. I hear the click indicating the channel is open, and then the click indicating it's closed. I press the button again. "Can I help you?" "Yes, my pump alarm is going off." "I know. The nurse is on his way." She sounds annoyed that I called twice.

I realize that when she responded to my first page, she immediately heard the alarm, closed the channel, and dispatched my nurse. As far as she was concerned, she had solved my problem. However, since she did not respond to me, I had no way of knowing that.

This complete lack of verbal communication with the patient was the most extreme case of a more general problem with the Nurse button, a failure to let the patient know what is going on.

I don't have a very good night of sleep, but it's enough. Breakfast is good: oatmeal with bananas, dried cherries, walnuts, a little brown sugar, and a sprinkle of cinnamon; a cream cheese "omelette" (scrambled eggs that I wrap around some cream cheese); grape juice. I realize I should have ordered some milk for the oatmeal, and then realize there are drinks in the Nutrition Room on the floor. To the Nurse button!

*click*
"Can I help you?"
"Do we have milk in the Nutrition Room?"
"Yes."
"May I have some?"
"(unintelligible and cut off)" *click*

Nurse button, take two.

*click*
"Can I help you?"
"Could I please have some milk?"
"(unintelligible and cut off)" *click*

Nurse button, take three.

"Can I help you?" (Annoyed?)
"I'm sorry, but I have not been able to understand your answer the last two times. Could I please have some milk?"
"Yes."
*click*

(Thank you for holding the Talk button down for the entire duration of your response this time!)

The milk arrives. That was Not Easy.

Some work, some nap to make up for last night.

Doctors come. WBC = 2700. (200, 300, 700, 1400, 2700...) Neutrophils are 2200, which means I am officially not neutropenic anymore, and have some defense against bacteria. I am still very vulnerable to infection, because other parts of the immune system are not back yet, while still others are being suppressed by medication to reduce the chance for rejection. Medically, I could maybe go home Thursday, more likely Friday. Logistically, Saturday is the first day that works. So, barring a late-breaking infection, I'm going home Saturday. (!)

I used white for the bars, to symbolize white blood cells,
and red for the background, for blood in general.

Dad comes, with lunch from Au Bon Pain. Some visiting, some more work.

I take care of some medical administrivia back home. For some reason, the rest of my family was assigned a new primary care physician earlier this year, as if we were new to the system, and as if Paul were an adult. I restore Paul to his pediatrician of 15+ years, Jan to her doctor of many years, and move Jake to a new doctor that comes highly recommended, since Jake is now too old for a pediatrician and we don't know anything about the doctor he had been assigned to. I also change my primary care physician to the same doctor as Jake, since I have lost confidence in my previous doctor.

On the home front, the stairs and upstairs hallway get new carpeting, which is great except that the installers leave 90 minutes worth of cleanup, which the housecleaners have to take care of before getting to the cleaning they were planning to do today. The installers also leave a note: "Sorry for the inconvenience. Our vacuum broke." The manager is incredulous. According to him, installers don't travel with vacuums and would not leave a note. Note in hand, Jan later invites the manager to come see it, and to check out the quality of the installation while he's at it. Like she needs another hassle.

Dad heads off to the Art Institute. I do some more work, get in a 30-minute walk, and get disconnected from the IV pole. I will now take all medications orally. If I need electrolytes, I'll get reconnected, but not for long.

Dad returns with dinner -- Black Bean Turkey Mango Brown Rice bowl, and a coconut chai, with dessert (oatmeal chocolate chip cookies) provided by sister Lauren and niece Isabel.

Dad heads off. E-mail, Facebook, blogging, get ready for bed.

2700!