Tunnel Vision

It has been a few days but, well, time files.  The nurses call it medical tunnel vision, when you get so focused on this process of chemo, blood draws and other appointments, that that's all you really see and deal with.   I had an appointment with a shrink who talks with all patients who are on the track to have a transplant, and that opened up a whole new can of wormy feelings about the length of this particular journey. 

Yesterday (after that appointment), I got a bit scared and angry and embarrassed and resentful and, duh, really cranky.  I guess it's understandable when that happens, but no fun when that happens, especially when someone you love (Carol) is the recipient of the fallout (so sorry).  I had an afternoon of trying to get some control of the unknown...some black and white picture of a field of grey.  In other words, a recipe for total frustration.  I looked in the mirror and saw a gorilla.  I got nailed.  So now, it's time to look more closely at the fear and anger and embarrassment that this cancer brings up, and see what's to be learned.  Time to sit on my cushion.  I've been away from it for too long.

On a more practical note.  I've had a couple of transfusions of platelets over the past few days.  These are the little goobers that allow your blood to clot.  The nurses told us that platelets are always in short supply.  Everywhere.  Blood, not always, but platelets, for sure.  So if you ever have the inclination to donate blood, please consider a platelet donation.  It takes a little more time (an hour or so), but it will help someone, somewhere.

Stillife

I had this dream the other night.  Stillife in Dreamscape.  

Imagine, (those of you with Mac computers, the Spaces application)...one large square with a horizontal and a vertical line...creating 4 squares within that one big square.  Each square had the same image...a dense forest/jungle...ferns, dense foliage...no movement, just a still picture.

Then, zap...my field of view is just one of the pictures, and the light slowly, slowly begins to dim to near black.  Then...zap...lights up, and I'm looking one of the other, identical images.  Slowly, slowly, the light begins to dim to near black.

The voice in my dream says "this is the experience of nearing death".  Just a dimming of the lights.

The message inside the dream also said "It's not your time.  And...it's not scary".

The other piece of info that showed up as I was waking from the dream is that all those squares were realities, and my experience of life, or death,  was nothing more than an experience of which reality, which square, I'm in at the time.

So...dat's it. I debated for a day about whether putting a dream on this page was just self-indulgent wanker-wanker.  I'm still not clear...but my impulse was to go ahead.  I'm really in the middle of the low blood-count thing, so for the next few days, I'm hangin'.  Dreaming.So much for going out to hear some music.  And as I found out yesterday, jeez, my mighty Steinway is a bit out of tune after 7 months on the road.  She does sound pretty, though.

Bubble Boy

One of the beauty's of chemo is that it pretty much destroys your immune system..for a time.  So after my fine bout in the hospital, I got a shot of goo (Neulasta) that brings your white cell count out of the basement that it is in the process of falling into.  And while all that is happening, going to Starbucks, or licking the handle of the elementary school door is just a bad idea, so the docs say "stay out of crowds...don't do any gardening (crap), don't eat fresh fruit (unless someone else peels it) and cook any veggies".  Fun huh? 

 As one nurse commented, think of this as a forced retreat...something that lots of people really would like, but never have the chance to take.  So that's being taken to heart.  Lots of internal time, and not much external stimulation.  Meditation.

And speaking of the Neulasta shot.  Since this stuff stimulates your bones to create more white cells, the caregivers say that you'll feel an ache in your bones...most likely your big long bones...thigh and upper arm.  I woke up and all that ached was my nose.  Now I know that I have an Olympic sized schnoz, but who's idea of a joke is this?

So more trips to the doc this week, maybe a platelette (sp?) transfusion, and hopefully I'll be able to hear Jeff Jenkins and company do their Coltrane concert at Dazzle this weekend.  He played me the Coltrane changes for "Summertime" this morning.  I wept.

The Four Month Hangover

Before...?

After...?

Home from the hospital after 5 days of chemo for Mantle Cell Lymphoma (a Non-Hodkins type).  Not so bad if you like this sort of thing...

Think of a 5 day bender, followed by a massive hangover to match.  Dazzit.  I don't feel too awful, just a bit pooped, a bit foggy, and now, due to low blood counts, we can't go out for cappuccini.  Not for a few days anyway.  Poop.

We love all of you and want to stay in touch...so this seems like the best way to reach everyone in one swell foop (without lining the pockets of ATT).  Thanks for all the love, the calls, the cards, the gardening help, the visits...and just having you in our world.   xoxoxoxoxoxo