Well, nothing much to report today. Same as every other day. Oh, except for the fact that MY COUNTS CAME IN! I tried my best this morning to remain stubbornly asleep despite the people coming in and out of my room. My nurse actually came in a few times, checked on me, and went back out to let me rest. But he finally shook me awake and said, "Jaymi, I didn't want to wake you, but your neutrophils came in today! They are at 200!" I got that wind in my sails. I may have teared up a little bit. I couldn't believe it! From 0 to 200 in one day (they have to hit 500 for me to leave)! My white blood cells were also slightly up. Unfortunately, my platelets were back down.
So, I was happy, and finally felt like I was on the way out of here. But I was also back into a world of bleeding, and still so tired. I had another platelet transfusion. The day progressed as usual (minus the anti-clotting shot, which is a bonus). And then my P.A. came in. His name is Steve. I met Steve two years ago when I had my last transplant, and I have to admit he was my least favorite P.A. to see. It's not the Steve is not nice, it is that he is overly worried about everything. He once gave me a lecture for almost ten minutes about how a cold could kill me, and even gave me a detailed example of a patient who was doing amazing, was a year out from his transplant, got a cold and fever, didn't get to the hospital, and died. He DIED (Steve emphasized it this way). Steve wants to know every detail, every possible feeling you are having. And he cleans his stethoscope incessantly--incessantly. I think he might be slightly O.C.D., which I can actually respect to some extent having many such qualities myself.
Anyway, Colten and I always cringed a little when he came in for our clinic visits. Not my favorite guy. But today, if I had a medal of honor, I would give it to him. And all that worrying he does, I found, translates into just how much he cares about his patients. He came in to see me with a huge smile on his face. "It's neutrophil day!" He exclaimed. He went through his usual checkup and then looked at me and said, "I think we can get you out of here. We don't usually discharge on weekends, but I am working this weekend, and I think we could get you out of here on Saturday if your counts keep progressing." I started to cry. I knew my neutrophils coming in was a good thing, but I never imagined it meant I could leave in two days. He smiled again and said, "I can't promise. You can't promise anything in transplants, but I think you'll be good by Saturday. Let's get you home." And suddenly, I could climb mountains, because there were no more laps.
It still didn't feel real. My nurse was cynical. He told me, "Steve is really advocating for Saturday, but it will most likely be Monday. We'll see what the doctors say in rounds." But Steve advocated all day long for me. And suddenly I had pharmacists coming in to meet with me, and a home healthcare company that will deliver my I.V. medications. It was happening. Every moment, every breath, every medication, every bit of pain, every hour of tears was finally worth it. Home. Thanks to Steve. Who ever would have imagined? Saturday will be 17 days post-transplant. I will have set the record for quickest haplo at this hospital (yes, that makes me happy. I need goals, and I like to beat people). I don't care what it takes, my counts will be up. I am going home.
And today was good. Cody stopped by for just a few minutes and it was wonderful to see him. Colten and Rora also got to stay for a little while. I took a long nap. And I finally talked to my nurse, John. He's a tough nut to crack. He gets in, gets the job done, and even seems a little mean at times (such as the comment about me likely going home on Monday). I could have responded in kind, but it was too good of a day, and I don't have many days left to impact people here. So I killed him with kindness, and tried to make conversation all day. Turns out, accounting was the topic that opened him up. He originally wanted to be an accountant, but decided it wasn't for him after a few classes. We talked about his friends and their careers, his career, what Colten planned to do, and how many opportunities accounting offers. He finally looked at the clock and said, "Wow, I am sorry to cut this short, this is the most pleasant conversation I've had all day, but I have a lot of patients waiting." I smiled and said, "No problem." He opened the door, looked back and me and said, "Thanks for talking to me," then walked away. Later on, when the nurses changed shift, he came in to give his daily report to my night nurse (they do this at bedside so that patients can add or object to anything in the report). He told my night nurse, "She's a star," then turned to me, "It was an honor being your nurse. Good luck to you." And he walked out of my room.
John and Steve. Two guys I never would have thought I'd like, but it turns out, when given the chance, people really do surprise you. I think it's more about what we choose to perceive than about who a person truly is. When given the opportunity, I think most people are good people. They just show it in different ways. I'm grateful I got to meet everyone I have met here, even the "bad ones." They're probably good ones, too. And either way, they made me appreciate the really good ones even more. ;-) One more day. Just one day, and I will be home (Saturday doesn't count because I get to go home that day). Thank you Lord. Please let the hours tomorrow pass quickly, and my counts continue to be strong. I am going home.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Day +14
Finally, a bit of news to report! I had "baby white blood cells" growing today. I have no idea what those are, and they really mean absolutely nothing except to serve as a definite indicator that my cells are building and my counts should be rising any day. My doctor said he expects by Friday to see some counts come in (and then he knocked on wood). I am still really hoping for a Tuesday release; we'll see how it all plays out.
I got two bags of red blood cells today due to all my blood loss. Usually blood transfusions perk me right up, but I've been dragging all day. I am exhausted from not sleeping two nights ago and can't seem to catch enough extra z's to make up for the loss (you'd think sitting in a room all day you'd have plenty of time for naps, but nurses and aides are adept at coming in right at the wrong time). I slept really well last night and am hoping to do the same tonight, maybe then I'll get a little wind in my sails. The platelets also got the bleeding under control, so I mainly just have the bone pain and burning to contend with, and those aren't so bad. Ice packs keep the stomach pain under control, so all-in-all I've felt much better today.
The thought of home is what I hold in my head as I go to sleep each night. I have never even seen our apartment, but I imagine it to get me through the days. I can see myself walking through the door and being greeted by all my puppies (and seeking out my ticked-off kitties), sitting on my own couch with no monitors or medicine poles around me, using the restroom completely in private, singing my daughter to sleep before bed, and sleeping all night (uninterrupted) in my own bed next to my husband. Spending my days as I wish. Going on a walk outside. No new faces and caretakers every day and night. Just sitting with my family in my own home. I crave it so badly it hurts. It has been 21 days. Three weeks. How can three weeks feel like an age? Going into this whole thing I thought I'd be going home by now. But, as the saying goes, everyone we meet is fighting a harder battle. Colten and Rora rode up in the elevator today with a mom whose son has been here 75 days. 75. The number is unfathomable to me. He's having a haplo transplant just like me, and she was his donor. The poor guy gets an infection or a reaction every time his counts start to come up, so they have to kill them again. I hurt for him. I hope he gets to go home soon. And I don't have anything to complain about, 21 days is a fraction of what he's gone through. And, I'll be home next week.
Anyway, the day was uneventful. Rora got her bed, and that was a saga all by itself, but everything worked out, we got a great deal, and she is ridiculously spoiled--but that's another story (something about being an only child). She mixes me "potions" every time she comes to see me by "taking" some of the medicines hanging on my pole and putting a little Rora magic in them. She is going to cure my cancer, she informs me. Heck, if this works, I'll probably give her the credit (and Colten, for supporting it in the first place). My brother-in-law, Cody, is coming up to visit tomorrow and I can't wait to see him. It'll be nice to see another friendly face here in the old prison cell. :-)
My grandma posted a quote to me, my dad, and my aunt today. It read, "Your greatest test is when you are able to bless someone else while you are going through your own storm." This falls in with my kindness kick I've been on in recent posts. I'm still trying to keep it up, but I have to admit it was hard this morning in the early A.M.'s. I just wanted so badly to sleep, and these people kept poking and prodding me with stupid vital machines and medicines. I tried to make up for it today by being extra nice. I thanked my nurse after he gave me my shots (which I do every day to all my nurses, but this was the first time I'd ever had John), and he gave me a quizzical look. "Never had a patient say thanks for a shot before," he said. "It can't be fun to give them, and they are meant to help me," I responded. He shook his head and left my room with an amused smile on his face. I'm going to count that as spreading light today (I really think it counts). So, things to look forward to tomorrow, and another day down to get the counts in. Heading to bed to let those babies build.
I got two bags of red blood cells today due to all my blood loss. Usually blood transfusions perk me right up, but I've been dragging all day. I am exhausted from not sleeping two nights ago and can't seem to catch enough extra z's to make up for the loss (you'd think sitting in a room all day you'd have plenty of time for naps, but nurses and aides are adept at coming in right at the wrong time). I slept really well last night and am hoping to do the same tonight, maybe then I'll get a little wind in my sails. The platelets also got the bleeding under control, so I mainly just have the bone pain and burning to contend with, and those aren't so bad. Ice packs keep the stomach pain under control, so all-in-all I've felt much better today.
The thought of home is what I hold in my head as I go to sleep each night. I have never even seen our apartment, but I imagine it to get me through the days. I can see myself walking through the door and being greeted by all my puppies (and seeking out my ticked-off kitties), sitting on my own couch with no monitors or medicine poles around me, using the restroom completely in private, singing my daughter to sleep before bed, and sleeping all night (uninterrupted) in my own bed next to my husband. Spending my days as I wish. Going on a walk outside. No new faces and caretakers every day and night. Just sitting with my family in my own home. I crave it so badly it hurts. It has been 21 days. Three weeks. How can three weeks feel like an age? Going into this whole thing I thought I'd be going home by now. But, as the saying goes, everyone we meet is fighting a harder battle. Colten and Rora rode up in the elevator today with a mom whose son has been here 75 days. 75. The number is unfathomable to me. He's having a haplo transplant just like me, and she was his donor. The poor guy gets an infection or a reaction every time his counts start to come up, so they have to kill them again. I hurt for him. I hope he gets to go home soon. And I don't have anything to complain about, 21 days is a fraction of what he's gone through. And, I'll be home next week.
Anyway, the day was uneventful. Rora got her bed, and that was a saga all by itself, but everything worked out, we got a great deal, and she is ridiculously spoiled--but that's another story (something about being an only child). She mixes me "potions" every time she comes to see me by "taking" some of the medicines hanging on my pole and putting a little Rora magic in them. She is going to cure my cancer, she informs me. Heck, if this works, I'll probably give her the credit (and Colten, for supporting it in the first place). My brother-in-law, Cody, is coming up to visit tomorrow and I can't wait to see him. It'll be nice to see another friendly face here in the old prison cell. :-)
My grandma posted a quote to me, my dad, and my aunt today. It read, "Your greatest test is when you are able to bless someone else while you are going through your own storm." This falls in with my kindness kick I've been on in recent posts. I'm still trying to keep it up, but I have to admit it was hard this morning in the early A.M.'s. I just wanted so badly to sleep, and these people kept poking and prodding me with stupid vital machines and medicines. I tried to make up for it today by being extra nice. I thanked my nurse after he gave me my shots (which I do every day to all my nurses, but this was the first time I'd ever had John), and he gave me a quizzical look. "Never had a patient say thanks for a shot before," he said. "It can't be fun to give them, and they are meant to help me," I responded. He shook his head and left my room with an amused smile on his face. I'm going to count that as spreading light today (I really think it counts). So, things to look forward to tomorrow, and another day down to get the counts in. Heading to bed to let those babies build.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Day +13
I feel that I am living in a world of pain and blood. And very little sleep. And low blood counts. Last night my nurse gave me a strong narcotic to help with the bone pain, but narcotics are hit or miss for me. They always help the pain, but sometimes they put me to sleep, and sometimes they are like an adrenaline burst. Last night, it was the latter. I was also up all night anxious that I was bleeding through my bandages on my stomach. I slept for about an hour and a half. A very long night turned into an equally long day today as I received more shots and bled more and more. I feel I am bleeding everywhere and nothing will stop it. I am currently in the process of receiving yet another platelet transfusion, "the biggest bag I have ever seen!" my nurse remarked. I pray they take effect quickly.
My bones ache. My feet burn. My stomach is agony. I am having a reaction to my immune suppressant drugs, just like I did last time. I have the sensation that my feet are on fire all the time, and anything that touches them further ignites the flame. Walks are a challenge. My stomach is nothing but needle marks and bruises. It is causing me enough pain that my P.A. plans to fully examine it tomorrow and make sure he can't see any infection in all the bleeding holes. For now, I sit with an ice pack and a prayer on my lips for sanity and comfort. This is the part of transplants that takes the most determination: the agonizing climb out of the depths.
But I had Katie again today. And I got to see Aurora and Colten today. My daughter is extraordinary. I know she is meant for great things, else God would not have worked so hard to get her here against all odds. She already touches people without trying, and draws everyone around to her. I am honored to be her mother, and to daily touch her light. We went on my walks today, and I watched her happily skip in front of me, singing to herself and taking delight in a little stroll around the halls. She held my hand and I forgot how much it hurt to take a step. I felt happy. Strong. She serenaded everyone at the nurses station each time we passed by after one of the nurses said, "Please sing! I heard you singing earlier and it was so beautiful! You are so beautiful." Aurora smiled her sweet, toothless smile and obliged, happy to engage in one of her favorite past times. I love my girl. She is why I am here, why I willingly sit in discomfort, and why I will make it through this.
And today was not without blessings. Huge blessings, in fact. We have planned to buy Aurora a new bed for her birthday for a couple months. We have the money stored in our safe and have just been trying to get settled (and actually find one she likes that is decent quality and in an affordable price range--not an easy feat). We finally found the bed, and Colten planned to go and pick it up today in our truck, which has slowly been dying since it started getting used on a more regular basis during all the trips back and forth to Pocatello hauling things. We don't have the money to fix it, so we've been limping it along and hoping it will pull through. So, Colten and Aurora spent the day with me and then planned to go to Draper, which is about 30 minutes away, and pick up the bed. But Colten forgot the money in the safe, so instead he had to drive all the way back to our apartment and then go get the bed. Turns out this was God's plan all along.
Our truck started to overheat and lost all its coolant on the short trip back to our apartment, and it pulled into our parking lot by nothing but sheer will on Colten's part. So, he got Aurora settled in the apartment, and went out to take a look under the hood. What greeted him were numerous hoses leaking, and a very broken vehicle. At this point he started swearing (no judgment, I would have done the same), and I can imagine him hanging his head in defeat at yet another thing gone wrong. And then a stranger walked over. He asked what the problem was, and started poking around the truck. "Ah, that's no big deal," he said, and walked over to his own truck. He came back with hoses and other necessities and proceeded to spend three and a half hours fixing the leaks. When it was finished, he said, "Have a great day," and drove away. He never even gave Colten his name, and it doesn't appear that he lives at our complex, but rather is one of the construction workers finishing the remaining buildings. And I so wish that I could thank him with everything I have in my heart, because just thinking of what he did makes me want to cry.
Colten called me to say goodnight and relayed the fact that he had not been able to pick up Aurora's bed, but that he had been richly blessed, instead. He told me what had happened and I cried. I have prayed all day for relief and have received none, but God is taking care of us in His time and in His way. And, as Colten said, "I have a working truck to go get the bed tomorrow." I also got my favorite aide again tonight. His name is Daniel, and he is an older gentleman. Whenever he comes into my room it is always with a smile and a joke. He makes me feel like my dad is here taking care of me because he just has that way about him. I adore him. And tonight, we talked about God, and how easy it is to be ungrateful, but how much better it is to be grateful. We laughed and we talked and I felt better, at least mentally. And I know I made his night better, too. I told him he was wonderful and I appreciated him so much. So I achieved my goal for the day.
I don't know if my counts will come up tomorrow. Honestly, I doubt it. My sister remarked today that it seems God feels like our family really needs to work on patience, and so He continually gives us opportunities to do so. I don't know if the platelets will make the bleeding stop. I don't know if the pain will decrease or worsen. But God does. So I am going to try and sleep, and trust Him to take care of tomorrow, just like He took care of today.
My bones ache. My feet burn. My stomach is agony. I am having a reaction to my immune suppressant drugs, just like I did last time. I have the sensation that my feet are on fire all the time, and anything that touches them further ignites the flame. Walks are a challenge. My stomach is nothing but needle marks and bruises. It is causing me enough pain that my P.A. plans to fully examine it tomorrow and make sure he can't see any infection in all the bleeding holes. For now, I sit with an ice pack and a prayer on my lips for sanity and comfort. This is the part of transplants that takes the most determination: the agonizing climb out of the depths.
But I had Katie again today. And I got to see Aurora and Colten today. My daughter is extraordinary. I know she is meant for great things, else God would not have worked so hard to get her here against all odds. She already touches people without trying, and draws everyone around to her. I am honored to be her mother, and to daily touch her light. We went on my walks today, and I watched her happily skip in front of me, singing to herself and taking delight in a little stroll around the halls. She held my hand and I forgot how much it hurt to take a step. I felt happy. Strong. She serenaded everyone at the nurses station each time we passed by after one of the nurses said, "Please sing! I heard you singing earlier and it was so beautiful! You are so beautiful." Aurora smiled her sweet, toothless smile and obliged, happy to engage in one of her favorite past times. I love my girl. She is why I am here, why I willingly sit in discomfort, and why I will make it through this.
And today was not without blessings. Huge blessings, in fact. We have planned to buy Aurora a new bed for her birthday for a couple months. We have the money stored in our safe and have just been trying to get settled (and actually find one she likes that is decent quality and in an affordable price range--not an easy feat). We finally found the bed, and Colten planned to go and pick it up today in our truck, which has slowly been dying since it started getting used on a more regular basis during all the trips back and forth to Pocatello hauling things. We don't have the money to fix it, so we've been limping it along and hoping it will pull through. So, Colten and Aurora spent the day with me and then planned to go to Draper, which is about 30 minutes away, and pick up the bed. But Colten forgot the money in the safe, so instead he had to drive all the way back to our apartment and then go get the bed. Turns out this was God's plan all along.
Our truck started to overheat and lost all its coolant on the short trip back to our apartment, and it pulled into our parking lot by nothing but sheer will on Colten's part. So, he got Aurora settled in the apartment, and went out to take a look under the hood. What greeted him were numerous hoses leaking, and a very broken vehicle. At this point he started swearing (no judgment, I would have done the same), and I can imagine him hanging his head in defeat at yet another thing gone wrong. And then a stranger walked over. He asked what the problem was, and started poking around the truck. "Ah, that's no big deal," he said, and walked over to his own truck. He came back with hoses and other necessities and proceeded to spend three and a half hours fixing the leaks. When it was finished, he said, "Have a great day," and drove away. He never even gave Colten his name, and it doesn't appear that he lives at our complex, but rather is one of the construction workers finishing the remaining buildings. And I so wish that I could thank him with everything I have in my heart, because just thinking of what he did makes me want to cry.
Colten called me to say goodnight and relayed the fact that he had not been able to pick up Aurora's bed, but that he had been richly blessed, instead. He told me what had happened and I cried. I have prayed all day for relief and have received none, but God is taking care of us in His time and in His way. And, as Colten said, "I have a working truck to go get the bed tomorrow." I also got my favorite aide again tonight. His name is Daniel, and he is an older gentleman. Whenever he comes into my room it is always with a smile and a joke. He makes me feel like my dad is here taking care of me because he just has that way about him. I adore him. And tonight, we talked about God, and how easy it is to be ungrateful, but how much better it is to be grateful. We laughed and we talked and I felt better, at least mentally. And I know I made his night better, too. I told him he was wonderful and I appreciated him so much. So I achieved my goal for the day.
I don't know if my counts will come up tomorrow. Honestly, I doubt it. My sister remarked today that it seems God feels like our family really needs to work on patience, and so He continually gives us opportunities to do so. I don't know if the platelets will make the bleeding stop. I don't know if the pain will decrease or worsen. But God does. So I am going to try and sleep, and trust Him to take care of tomorrow, just like He took care of today.
Monday, June 15, 2015
Day +12
Today is a day with a whole lot of nothing to report, unfortunately (although Dr. Ash would say, "It's boring! How fantastic! That's what we like to see is boring patients!"). My nurse woke me up to tell me that I would be getting both a platelet and a blood transfusion, so I knew my counts were still down. And the day went on from there. Colten spiked a fever yesterday (which appears to have just been a 24 hour bug, because he feels much better), so to be on the safe side he and Rora did not come visit today. It was a very long, boring (yay!) day.
The bone pain from the Neupogen shots they give me every day is starting to intensify. While it makes sleeping and getting around a pain (literally), that means my body is revving up and making cells, so hopefully some magic starts happening here soon. As a special treat, my stomach started bleeding nonstop tonight. This is funny to me because it is bleeding from a shot I got earlier today that keeps your blood from clotting (blood clots are a worry during transplants). Seems like a failed plan to me. Of course it is just a tiny hole from a little needle, but you'd be amazed how much blood that can produce when it just won't stop. I think I'll be sleeping with band aids by the bed.
Otherwise, I am just tired, sore, and sick of being here. I had the same doctor today who originally told me he expected that I would come through this transplant with flying colors due to my track record with transplants. He's a nice guy. I like his upbeat and yet hands-off attitude. If I am doing well, he leaves me alone. He told me I am right on track for getting out in 21 days, and it is 21 days post-transplant, not total. Apparently, for some patients, everything before the transplant is done outpatient, and so it is not considered in the total hospital time. I am a "high risk" because of how much crap I have already done, so I wasn't that lucky. Ah, well. Anyway, he said for haplo patients that the blood counts take a bit and then they just shoot up, so any day now things will start jumping. Just so that it is published and I can be held accountable, my goal is to be out of here by next Tuesday (not that I have any control over it, but it helps to pretend, so go with me on this). That gets me out in 20 days post-transplant, and that's above average, so I'm happy with it. One more week. An instant that stretches out like an eternity.
The bright spot in my day was a huge stack of cards and letters. The nurse told me I am the most popular patient on the floor. I'm good with it. :-) I loved reading every single one. My Great Aunt Wilma sent me a letter telling me about how she spends her days with her sisters and brother. She misses my grandma a lot, though. My mom's mom had a really amazing family. All her siblings live around the block from each other. Literally. They live on four roads that make a square block. I'll never forget going back to visit my grandma and listening to all her siblings talk about the "good old days," and just getting to watch them all still together. I wish for a life like that.
I also got tons of letters from missionaries around the world. These are always fun for me because I have never met any of them, but they take the time to write me and pray for me. It's also fun to see how spread out the army of God is. My favorite letters, I must admit, are from kids. Today I got a card from my California family and inside I was given the gift of laughter. One of the neighboring families my Cali family has adopted as family (wow, my tongue feels tied) has some cute little kids that bestowed upon me a beautiful picture of angels watching over me (I have three of my own) and absolutely hilarious hospital comic strips. One comic strip says, "This is what happens if you give a kid a shot," and it shows a picture of a very angry person holding a shot and saying, "I better be paid!" I am not sure if this is the child demanding payment or the nurse, but either way, it's funny stuff. Another comic says, "This is what happens if you get a bad patient," and it shows a picture of an angry patient laying on a bed screaming, "You're supposed to be a doctor!" This, to me, was the funniest one of all, and so well captured how I feel most days here. I guess I am a bad patient. ;-) I hope the little artists don't mind me sharing their work.
I found a quote today by Edith Wharton that my aunt gave me on a little plaque a long time ago. I used to have it up in my room and I have always remembered it, "There are two ways of spreading light, to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." My mom-in-law is a super ray of sunshine. She's one of those people that is always positive and happy, regardless of the circumstances. Today she wrote me and suggested that I try and look for someone to lift up while "taking my laps." I don't know if I achieved being the candle or the mirror, but my goal for the rest of my time here is to be a light to anyone around me, even if I would rather kick them in hurtful places. :-) Besides, those that give light can't help but have light themselves, and I sure could use it. Come on Day +13, let's be the day!
The bone pain from the Neupogen shots they give me every day is starting to intensify. While it makes sleeping and getting around a pain (literally), that means my body is revving up and making cells, so hopefully some magic starts happening here soon. As a special treat, my stomach started bleeding nonstop tonight. This is funny to me because it is bleeding from a shot I got earlier today that keeps your blood from clotting (blood clots are a worry during transplants). Seems like a failed plan to me. Of course it is just a tiny hole from a little needle, but you'd be amazed how much blood that can produce when it just won't stop. I think I'll be sleeping with band aids by the bed.
Otherwise, I am just tired, sore, and sick of being here. I had the same doctor today who originally told me he expected that I would come through this transplant with flying colors due to my track record with transplants. He's a nice guy. I like his upbeat and yet hands-off attitude. If I am doing well, he leaves me alone. He told me I am right on track for getting out in 21 days, and it is 21 days post-transplant, not total. Apparently, for some patients, everything before the transplant is done outpatient, and so it is not considered in the total hospital time. I am a "high risk" because of how much crap I have already done, so I wasn't that lucky. Ah, well. Anyway, he said for haplo patients that the blood counts take a bit and then they just shoot up, so any day now things will start jumping. Just so that it is published and I can be held accountable, my goal is to be out of here by next Tuesday (not that I have any control over it, but it helps to pretend, so go with me on this). That gets me out in 20 days post-transplant, and that's above average, so I'm happy with it. One more week. An instant that stretches out like an eternity.
The bright spot in my day was a huge stack of cards and letters. The nurse told me I am the most popular patient on the floor. I'm good with it. :-) I loved reading every single one. My Great Aunt Wilma sent me a letter telling me about how she spends her days with her sisters and brother. She misses my grandma a lot, though. My mom's mom had a really amazing family. All her siblings live around the block from each other. Literally. They live on four roads that make a square block. I'll never forget going back to visit my grandma and listening to all her siblings talk about the "good old days," and just getting to watch them all still together. I wish for a life like that.
I also got tons of letters from missionaries around the world. These are always fun for me because I have never met any of them, but they take the time to write me and pray for me. It's also fun to see how spread out the army of God is. My favorite letters, I must admit, are from kids. Today I got a card from my California family and inside I was given the gift of laughter. One of the neighboring families my Cali family has adopted as family (wow, my tongue feels tied) has some cute little kids that bestowed upon me a beautiful picture of angels watching over me (I have three of my own) and absolutely hilarious hospital comic strips. One comic strip says, "This is what happens if you give a kid a shot," and it shows a picture of a very angry person holding a shot and saying, "I better be paid!" I am not sure if this is the child demanding payment or the nurse, but either way, it's funny stuff. Another comic says, "This is what happens if you get a bad patient," and it shows a picture of an angry patient laying on a bed screaming, "You're supposed to be a doctor!" This, to me, was the funniest one of all, and so well captured how I feel most days here. I guess I am a bad patient. ;-) I hope the little artists don't mind me sharing their work.
I found a quote today by Edith Wharton that my aunt gave me on a little plaque a long time ago. I used to have it up in my room and I have always remembered it, "There are two ways of spreading light, to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." My mom-in-law is a super ray of sunshine. She's one of those people that is always positive and happy, regardless of the circumstances. Today she wrote me and suggested that I try and look for someone to lift up while "taking my laps." I don't know if I achieved being the candle or the mirror, but my goal for the rest of my time here is to be a light to anyone around me, even if I would rather kick them in hurtful places. :-) Besides, those that give light can't help but have light themselves, and I sure could use it. Come on Day +13, let's be the day!
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Day +11
I debated blogging tonight, and finally decided that I needed to uphold my promise to myself to create a record of this experience. Right now I am what you might label an extra touchy, oddly moody, exuberantly angry Debby Downer. Sounds like a fun blog, eh? It's amazing what a few weeks stuck in a hospital room can do to a kind, happy spirit. Especially with some terrible nurses, P.A.'s, and doctors thrown into the mix. I swear the first week and a half of my stay I had the best nurses, the funnest P.A.'s, and the nicest doctors. But the A-Team has apparently been rotated to other patients and I am now stuck with what you could kindly call the B-Team. If I have to deal with my P.A.'s smarmy little face one more morning, I may punch it. And if I listen to my current doctor call me "boring" and laugh to herself at such a stupid joke one more time, I might cry.
And the nurses? Wow. Getting a bad nurse means having a bad day, because she is there ALL DAY. My nurse this morning woke me up at the crack of dawn, proceeded to do the most in-depth physical any nurse has ever done on me (are your teeth always yellowish with some white? Why yes, thank you, I was going for that mostly yellow teeth with a knock-off whitening kit look. Is your skin always red and dry? Yes, I've been told it's the radiation, it's almost like I glow, don't you think? By the by, what, exactly, does this have to do with the transplant?), and then lecture me on the fact that I like to be unhooked from the pole between medications. This gives me the majority of the day free as I get medications about every four hours. No nurse--none--has ever had a problem with this. My nurse today felt the need to let me know that it is an infection risk every time she unhooks my central line from the main tubing, and that she generally prefers to leave patients hooked up as much as possible to negate that possibility (a.k.a., I don't want to do anything more than necessary throughout my day, and it is so much easier to just leave you hooked up and only come in every four hours or so). Oh Lord, give me strength. The days are getting really long.
Yesterday, rather than writing a blog complaining about how upset I am with the people around me, I decided to read all day long (and well into the night). It was wonderful to immerse myself in someone else's writing. Before starting this blog, I had not written a thing for almost two years. I felt burnt out, and very inadequate. Reading another author's work generally intensifies these feelings, and I content myself with enjoying reading the written word rather than creating it. But today I read a book called Holy the Firm by Annie Dillard. It's not a book I would recommend reading unless you are an English major or weird literature nut. It's the type of book that only some people would find entertaining or interesting, because it really has no point other than to be full of beautifully crafted words and sentences that may or may not really make sense with one another. But it happens to be the type of book that can inspire other authors to write, rather than dry out their creative juices. It was particularly interesting to me because the author writes the book almost entirely from the viewpoint of sitting in one room and looking out a window. Very akin to my own situation. She describes the room as such, "But this room is a skull, a fire tower, wooden and empty. Of itself it is nothing, but the view, as they say, is good." How perfectly Annie describes my surroundings.
Anyhow, I loved it. I underlined passage after passage and was absorbed by the conveyance of emotion through seemingly random sentences and thoughts. This is how most writers think, I believe. I truly compose my best works in my head, in small snippets that are unrelated, all throughout my day. They just never get written down. This author managed to pen them all and put them together. Which is why I gave up writing. Because I don't have that spark that sticks words together like honey in such a fashion that makes a reader stop in awe at their sweetness, and possible deeper meaning. I just write, which is not sufficient for authoring books or being a creative master. But I am also rarely precise and always long-winded, which also removed me from the technical writing realm. So here I am. An accountant. Obsessively pouring over weird English books that no accountant should appreciate. Life is funny like that.
I have absolutely nothing but time on my hands. My P.A. told me this morning that this is the time doctors worry about depression setting in for patients as they are just constantly waiting for their bodies to start working, but they feel incapable of doing anything and very sick of being cooped up. I think that's a fair assessment. I try to keep my brain occupied by books, shows, and thinking, when I have nothing else. Mostly, I think about how far I have come in the last 12 years. I went from being a rebellious 15-year-old to a terrified 17-year-old on death row, to a wife, to a mother (with a month's notice), to a student, and finally, to a master. I did not think I would live to see 20. I never imagined I'd be married at that age. Once I was married, I never imagined I would have children. I never dreamed that I would be an accountant, or that writing would not fill my days. I never could have guessed I would endure not one but three of these transplants. And yet, I am happy. I am thankful that God's plans were better than mine. The life He has given me is so much more than the life I dreamed for myself. It has been harder, but it is a richer, fuller life that is utterly encapsulated in love. And I am proud of who I am, and what I have been able to achieve through His strength. I wonder how many people, if they really stopped to think, would be awed at the life God has chosen for them.
One of my favorite passages in Holy the Firm was this, "The joke of the world is less like a banana peel than a rake, the old rake in the grass, the one you step on, foot to forehead. It all comes together. In a twinkling...One step on the rake and it's mind under matter once again. You wake up with a piece of tree in your skull." This sums up life to me. It is rough, and unexpected. It is not a simple slip on a banana peel, but rather a good thwack to the head now and then that gets us going back on the right path, or puts us down for good. I would rather take the thumping, kick the stupid rake out of the way, and keep going.
I have a saying written on my wall that I stare at constantly throughout the day. It says, "Sometimes God moves the mountain, and sometimes He says, 'Take another lap.'" I have it written down firstly because it is very applicable to the many laps I take around the 8th floor of this hospital every day. Secondly, I put it up to remind myself that God does not always move the mountain, regardless of my faith. I used to think my cancer would not go away because I did not even have the faith of a mustard seed. Obviously, if I had such faith, I could tell the mountain to move and the cancer would be cured. I realize now that there is nothing in the Bible that says the mountain will be moved immediately (or at all, if not in accordance with His will). Sometimes, we just have to take another lap. And sometimes, that seems impossible. Even after looking at how far I have come and how well He has cared for me, I am still fearful of the future and broken by this procedure. I feel like a long, happy life is unattainable. But He just wants me to take another lap. I just have to take the first step. And every long, lonely day in this hospital is another step. And when this is done, I am going to tell that mountain to move, and I believe that it will.
So I am angry. I am emotional. I am lonely. I am frustrated. I am worried. I think life is mean and takes too much effort. But I am also resolute. Determined. Motivated. Held. Loved. Protected. And I know that life is beautiful and worth the work it takes to make it so. I plod on. My counts are no longer falling, but they are not yet rising. I have nothing to do but pray and take another lap. And apologize for the incongruity of this post; I blame Annie. And while she would have written it much more eloquently, my work is still more comprehensible, I think, so there's that.
As a side note, I have received piles of letters and cards and I cannot say thank you enough to everyone sending them. Each one makes me smile and feel a little more human. They may have actually saved a few lives on really bad nurse days. :-) Signing off from room 812 once again, goodnight.
And the nurses? Wow. Getting a bad nurse means having a bad day, because she is there ALL DAY. My nurse this morning woke me up at the crack of dawn, proceeded to do the most in-depth physical any nurse has ever done on me (are your teeth always yellowish with some white? Why yes, thank you, I was going for that mostly yellow teeth with a knock-off whitening kit look. Is your skin always red and dry? Yes, I've been told it's the radiation, it's almost like I glow, don't you think? By the by, what, exactly, does this have to do with the transplant?), and then lecture me on the fact that I like to be unhooked from the pole between medications. This gives me the majority of the day free as I get medications about every four hours. No nurse--none--has ever had a problem with this. My nurse today felt the need to let me know that it is an infection risk every time she unhooks my central line from the main tubing, and that she generally prefers to leave patients hooked up as much as possible to negate that possibility (a.k.a., I don't want to do anything more than necessary throughout my day, and it is so much easier to just leave you hooked up and only come in every four hours or so). Oh Lord, give me strength. The days are getting really long.
Yesterday, rather than writing a blog complaining about how upset I am with the people around me, I decided to read all day long (and well into the night). It was wonderful to immerse myself in someone else's writing. Before starting this blog, I had not written a thing for almost two years. I felt burnt out, and very inadequate. Reading another author's work generally intensifies these feelings, and I content myself with enjoying reading the written word rather than creating it. But today I read a book called Holy the Firm by Annie Dillard. It's not a book I would recommend reading unless you are an English major or weird literature nut. It's the type of book that only some people would find entertaining or interesting, because it really has no point other than to be full of beautifully crafted words and sentences that may or may not really make sense with one another. But it happens to be the type of book that can inspire other authors to write, rather than dry out their creative juices. It was particularly interesting to me because the author writes the book almost entirely from the viewpoint of sitting in one room and looking out a window. Very akin to my own situation. She describes the room as such, "But this room is a skull, a fire tower, wooden and empty. Of itself it is nothing, but the view, as they say, is good." How perfectly Annie describes my surroundings.
Anyhow, I loved it. I underlined passage after passage and was absorbed by the conveyance of emotion through seemingly random sentences and thoughts. This is how most writers think, I believe. I truly compose my best works in my head, in small snippets that are unrelated, all throughout my day. They just never get written down. This author managed to pen them all and put them together. Which is why I gave up writing. Because I don't have that spark that sticks words together like honey in such a fashion that makes a reader stop in awe at their sweetness, and possible deeper meaning. I just write, which is not sufficient for authoring books or being a creative master. But I am also rarely precise and always long-winded, which also removed me from the technical writing realm. So here I am. An accountant. Obsessively pouring over weird English books that no accountant should appreciate. Life is funny like that.
I have absolutely nothing but time on my hands. My P.A. told me this morning that this is the time doctors worry about depression setting in for patients as they are just constantly waiting for their bodies to start working, but they feel incapable of doing anything and very sick of being cooped up. I think that's a fair assessment. I try to keep my brain occupied by books, shows, and thinking, when I have nothing else. Mostly, I think about how far I have come in the last 12 years. I went from being a rebellious 15-year-old to a terrified 17-year-old on death row, to a wife, to a mother (with a month's notice), to a student, and finally, to a master. I did not think I would live to see 20. I never imagined I'd be married at that age. Once I was married, I never imagined I would have children. I never dreamed that I would be an accountant, or that writing would not fill my days. I never could have guessed I would endure not one but three of these transplants. And yet, I am happy. I am thankful that God's plans were better than mine. The life He has given me is so much more than the life I dreamed for myself. It has been harder, but it is a richer, fuller life that is utterly encapsulated in love. And I am proud of who I am, and what I have been able to achieve through His strength. I wonder how many people, if they really stopped to think, would be awed at the life God has chosen for them.
One of my favorite passages in Holy the Firm was this, "The joke of the world is less like a banana peel than a rake, the old rake in the grass, the one you step on, foot to forehead. It all comes together. In a twinkling...One step on the rake and it's mind under matter once again. You wake up with a piece of tree in your skull." This sums up life to me. It is rough, and unexpected. It is not a simple slip on a banana peel, but rather a good thwack to the head now and then that gets us going back on the right path, or puts us down for good. I would rather take the thumping, kick the stupid rake out of the way, and keep going.
I have a saying written on my wall that I stare at constantly throughout the day. It says, "Sometimes God moves the mountain, and sometimes He says, 'Take another lap.'" I have it written down firstly because it is very applicable to the many laps I take around the 8th floor of this hospital every day. Secondly, I put it up to remind myself that God does not always move the mountain, regardless of my faith. I used to think my cancer would not go away because I did not even have the faith of a mustard seed. Obviously, if I had such faith, I could tell the mountain to move and the cancer would be cured. I realize now that there is nothing in the Bible that says the mountain will be moved immediately (or at all, if not in accordance with His will). Sometimes, we just have to take another lap. And sometimes, that seems impossible. Even after looking at how far I have come and how well He has cared for me, I am still fearful of the future and broken by this procedure. I feel like a long, happy life is unattainable. But He just wants me to take another lap. I just have to take the first step. And every long, lonely day in this hospital is another step. And when this is done, I am going to tell that mountain to move, and I believe that it will.
So I am angry. I am emotional. I am lonely. I am frustrated. I am worried. I think life is mean and takes too much effort. But I am also resolute. Determined. Motivated. Held. Loved. Protected. And I know that life is beautiful and worth the work it takes to make it so. I plod on. My counts are no longer falling, but they are not yet rising. I have nothing to do but pray and take another lap. And apologize for the incongruity of this post; I blame Annie. And while she would have written it much more eloquently, my work is still more comprehensible, I think, so there's that.
As a side note, I have received piles of letters and cards and I cannot say thank you enough to everyone sending them. Each one makes me smile and feel a little more human. They may have actually saved a few lives on really bad nurse days. :-) Signing off from room 812 once again, goodnight.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Day +9
Jen left tonight. That's really all I can think about, it kind of overshadowed the rest of the day. I feel like I hardly got to see her at all, I don't know what we would have done without her help with Rora, and I already miss her. I am still not used to her not being around, even though it has been almost a year. She fit right back in without a second's hesitation. I guess years of living just a few minutes away from each other is hard to erase. And we are both moving on, her a lot further albeit, but we are leaving Pocatello, too. And that also makes me sad, and excited. Part of me really wants to go back to our crummy little trailer and live out my days half an hour away from Jen out in Pingree (a.k.a Middle-of-Nowhere), and part of me wants to spread my wings and fly on to bigger and better things. With Jen half an hour away. And Jess, too. I'd actually be ok living on the same block as my sisters. Yep. Definitely ok with that. Three houses in a row? I'll take it. Unfortunately, that's just really not the world we live in anymore, and I hate it.
So. Day +9. I got a platelet transfusion today, and my red blood counts were way up from yesterday, so I felt pretty awesome all day. Just waiting for my counts to kick in themselves and stop depending on all the pick-me-ups. I flew my helicopter from my dad today. It was really fun, but it is a good thing it is obviously built for impact. :-) I also gave my P.A. a piece of my mind today, which was thrilling and terrifying. I really hate confrontation, and will typically grin and bear it before I complain, but I've had it with him and a few of the nurses, and I told him as much. He treated me much better afterward, but I feel like the nurses are probably talking about "that patient" now behind my back. Oh well. I have a chronic need to be liked by others that it is both childish and illogical, and I might as well start overcoming it now because there's not much else I can do with my time.
I definitely feel listless tonight. I can't think of anything immediate I am really looking forward to (other than getting out of here, whenever that may be) and I am wallowing in and out of sadness depending on how long I go without thinking of my sisters and how much I miss them both. So, as usual, God sent me an angel. My night nurse tonight is a "this is my job and nothing else" nurse. She is in and out of the room and does not engage in any type of conversation. Honestly, that suited me just fine tonight as I sat in my misery. And then one of the other night nurses, Meg, happened to come in to give me a medication because my nurse was busy. I really like Meg. She saw my red-rimmed eyes (I had just finished a private session of "ugly crying"), really looked at me, and asked what was wrong. I burst into tears explaining that my sister was flying back to New York and that I was just very emotional. Then, she gave me a hug. The long hugs that let you know someone really cares about you. That remind you there is always goodness in the world. That infuse you with strength because of their bone-reaching warmth. And I felt better.
She sat with me for a bit and noticed I was reading the book from my aunt. She asked what it was and I told her it was a collection of quotes, poetry, just encouraging and inspiring words, really. I was reading through it hoping for comfort, but had yet to find a quote that eased my soul. She asked if I liked poetry, I responded that I did, and she whisked out of my room. She came back and handed me a sheet of paper with a handwritten poem on it. She didn't stay to watch me read it, just told me that all of this poet's work was amazing, and she wanted me to have this poem. So I read it. And I felt my soul ease. And I am once again thankful for a Father who has such tender mercies, and cares for even one lost soul such as mine.
"Promise me
you will not spend
so much time
treading water
and trying to keep your
head above the waves
that you forget,
truly forget,
how much you have always
loved
to swim."
- Tyler Knott Gregson
And, I did find a quote in my book that also tickled my fancy, and one that I know Jen will also appreciate:
"Whenever I find myself in the cellar of affliction, I always look about for the wine."
- Samuel Rutherford
Here's to tomorrow, and a new morning's light to wash away the night's sadness. Safe travels my dear sister. Maybe tomorrow will be the day.
So. Day +9. I got a platelet transfusion today, and my red blood counts were way up from yesterday, so I felt pretty awesome all day. Just waiting for my counts to kick in themselves and stop depending on all the pick-me-ups. I flew my helicopter from my dad today. It was really fun, but it is a good thing it is obviously built for impact. :-) I also gave my P.A. a piece of my mind today, which was thrilling and terrifying. I really hate confrontation, and will typically grin and bear it before I complain, but I've had it with him and a few of the nurses, and I told him as much. He treated me much better afterward, but I feel like the nurses are probably talking about "that patient" now behind my back. Oh well. I have a chronic need to be liked by others that it is both childish and illogical, and I might as well start overcoming it now because there's not much else I can do with my time.
I definitely feel listless tonight. I can't think of anything immediate I am really looking forward to (other than getting out of here, whenever that may be) and I am wallowing in and out of sadness depending on how long I go without thinking of my sisters and how much I miss them both. So, as usual, God sent me an angel. My night nurse tonight is a "this is my job and nothing else" nurse. She is in and out of the room and does not engage in any type of conversation. Honestly, that suited me just fine tonight as I sat in my misery. And then one of the other night nurses, Meg, happened to come in to give me a medication because my nurse was busy. I really like Meg. She saw my red-rimmed eyes (I had just finished a private session of "ugly crying"), really looked at me, and asked what was wrong. I burst into tears explaining that my sister was flying back to New York and that I was just very emotional. Then, she gave me a hug. The long hugs that let you know someone really cares about you. That remind you there is always goodness in the world. That infuse you with strength because of their bone-reaching warmth. And I felt better.
She sat with me for a bit and noticed I was reading the book from my aunt. She asked what it was and I told her it was a collection of quotes, poetry, just encouraging and inspiring words, really. I was reading through it hoping for comfort, but had yet to find a quote that eased my soul. She asked if I liked poetry, I responded that I did, and she whisked out of my room. She came back and handed me a sheet of paper with a handwritten poem on it. She didn't stay to watch me read it, just told me that all of this poet's work was amazing, and she wanted me to have this poem. So I read it. And I felt my soul ease. And I am once again thankful for a Father who has such tender mercies, and cares for even one lost soul such as mine.
"Promise me
you will not spend
so much time
treading water
and trying to keep your
head above the waves
that you forget,
truly forget,
how much you have always
loved
to swim."
- Tyler Knott Gregson
And, I did find a quote in my book that also tickled my fancy, and one that I know Jen will also appreciate:
"Whenever I find myself in the cellar of affliction, I always look about for the wine."
- Samuel Rutherford
Here's to tomorrow, and a new morning's light to wash away the night's sadness. Safe travels my dear sister. Maybe tomorrow will be the day.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Day +8
I have been in this hospital for 15 days. 15. That does not seem remotely possible, but there you have it. Which means I am about a third of the way done or over halfway done, depending on who you talk to. There is a large amount of disparity amongst the nurses and the doctors as to the total hospital time that haplo transplants typically take. Upon starting this procedure, doctors told us that it takes patients an average of 21 total days in the hospital, with the longest stay so far (at this hospital) being 28 days total. Nurses disagree, and tell me that it is 21 days post-transplant and 28 days post-transplant. This is aggravating to me because we hammered out these details with the doctors. And it would be simple enough to just ask one of the stooges milling about the hospital, but I honestly dread the answer. And really, it doesn't matter. The number of days I will be here depends entirely on my blood counts and nothing else. I just like a goal to strive for (ok, some patient who set a record getting out that I can beat. I like competition).
Hopefully, my blood counts are done with their downward decline. They stayed pretty much the same from yesterday to today, and I finally gave in and got a transfusion today, which automatically boosts your counts a couple of points. I couldn't stand up without feeling like I was falling forward this morning and decided that it was time, and I felt much, much better afterwards. My new night nurse complimented me on being in touch with my body and what I needed, and I felt huge waves of affection for her (her name is Frania, isn't that beautiful?). She is the first medical person who has talked to me like I might have a clue about this vessel I inhabit on a daily basis. I swear all doctors think patients are stupid and liars. We couldn't possibly make intelligent decisions about our bodies, being laymen and all. My P.A. is particularly demeaning, and gets a lovely tone in his voice that suggests I probably don't have a working brain cell. I hate hospitals. And doctors. I always feel like it is me versus them. I know that's not a healthy way to go about healthcare, but I guess it's the nature of the beast after so many years. I also believe in a lot of natural remedies that most physicians find laughable, but I'm still here (and not supposed to be), and I've used a lot more natural medicine than most, so take that as you will. Anyway, I inherently distrust them, and feel that they reciprocate. I am so ready to be out from under the microscope every day.
Anyway. I got to spend the day with my hubby, which was wonderful. I have missed him so much. I mean, I've seen him, but I haven't got to spend any time with just him. We played games, talked, and watched shows together. A spouse is truly an amazing thing. A best friend and a lover wrapped into one package. The comfort that I am able to derive just from spending a few hours with him is something that I cherish. What I don't cherish is that tomorrow is my last day with Jen. I can't believe she is already heading back to New York. I feel like I hardly got to spend any time with her being stuck in here, but I don't know what we would have done without her help with Rorie. She is planning on spending the day here and I am planning on soaking up every minute. Thinking about her boarding a plane and heading back across the country breaks me a little bit, but that is still 24 hours away for now.
I also got mail today! My Aunt Becky sent me an amazing book filled with quotes by equally amazing people. I am devouring it, and will likely share many of its contents here. My dad also got me a little remote controlled helicopter to fly around my room. I didn't have a screw driver to put batteries in today, but that will be something to keep me entertained for awhile (or to keep Rorie and Colten entertained, more like). All-in-all, just another blessed day with family, waiting. Waiting, waiting. I hope something exciting happens soon, or this blog could get really boring to read. But, since my new book was not boring at all to read, I thought I would share my favorite quote I read today by Helen Keller, "I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble." I hope to accomplish much more than sitting in a hospital writing a blog, too, but for now, I think it is quite noble.
Hopefully, my blood counts are done with their downward decline. They stayed pretty much the same from yesterday to today, and I finally gave in and got a transfusion today, which automatically boosts your counts a couple of points. I couldn't stand up without feeling like I was falling forward this morning and decided that it was time, and I felt much, much better afterwards. My new night nurse complimented me on being in touch with my body and what I needed, and I felt huge waves of affection for her (her name is Frania, isn't that beautiful?). She is the first medical person who has talked to me like I might have a clue about this vessel I inhabit on a daily basis. I swear all doctors think patients are stupid and liars. We couldn't possibly make intelligent decisions about our bodies, being laymen and all. My P.A. is particularly demeaning, and gets a lovely tone in his voice that suggests I probably don't have a working brain cell. I hate hospitals. And doctors. I always feel like it is me versus them. I know that's not a healthy way to go about healthcare, but I guess it's the nature of the beast after so many years. I also believe in a lot of natural remedies that most physicians find laughable, but I'm still here (and not supposed to be), and I've used a lot more natural medicine than most, so take that as you will. Anyway, I inherently distrust them, and feel that they reciprocate. I am so ready to be out from under the microscope every day.
Anyway. I got to spend the day with my hubby, which was wonderful. I have missed him so much. I mean, I've seen him, but I haven't got to spend any time with just him. We played games, talked, and watched shows together. A spouse is truly an amazing thing. A best friend and a lover wrapped into one package. The comfort that I am able to derive just from spending a few hours with him is something that I cherish. What I don't cherish is that tomorrow is my last day with Jen. I can't believe she is already heading back to New York. I feel like I hardly got to spend any time with her being stuck in here, but I don't know what we would have done without her help with Rorie. She is planning on spending the day here and I am planning on soaking up every minute. Thinking about her boarding a plane and heading back across the country breaks me a little bit, but that is still 24 hours away for now.
I also got mail today! My Aunt Becky sent me an amazing book filled with quotes by equally amazing people. I am devouring it, and will likely share many of its contents here. My dad also got me a little remote controlled helicopter to fly around my room. I didn't have a screw driver to put batteries in today, but that will be something to keep me entertained for awhile (or to keep Rorie and Colten entertained, more like). All-in-all, just another blessed day with family, waiting. Waiting, waiting. I hope something exciting happens soon, or this blog could get really boring to read. But, since my new book was not boring at all to read, I thought I would share my favorite quote I read today by Helen Keller, "I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble." I hope to accomplish much more than sitting in a hospital writing a blog, too, but for now, I think it is quite noble.
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