Here and Now as best I am able

(If you click on the image, it'll load with more oomph).

I am quietly astounded with gratitude's ability to come in different sizes. To have awakened in the night only once for the first time in five weeks - heaven! For me proper sleep is non-negotiable; I become borderline psycho in its absence. Even on this summer's mostly magnificent road trip, sleep was rarely a stranger. I feel a return to groundedness surrounded by fluttering thank you's. Thank You, God!

Monday's visit with Dr. Doom was interesting. I was prepared for another blood test - I mean, that's what they do with me - and wondering how I would beg/plead/negotiate for staying OUT of hospitalization Round Two through Christmas. I had that body armor of knowing a battle was brewing and unsure of my tactics. 

Silly me.

After waiting an hour, he asked the nurse to draw blood and then announced, "If your counts are good, we'll do another bone marrow biopsy today." Now with all the glories of Pavlovian conditioning, the mere mention of those words has tended to find me involuntarily shuddering while eyeing the door. I experienced two surprises: Not only was this third bone marrow biopsy not expected, but my body did nothing in anticipation. My mind simply registered the words. My inner editorializer mused, "After what I've been through, another needle in my butt bone is just what it is. So what!" I have also taught myself that with or without a narcotic, the procedure still hurts like the dickens. Why be spaced out, hung over and in pain? I did my normal hollering which included such pleadings as, "..... please please please finish please...." He did and I was gone. 

My blood work was normal. I almost cried again. I haven't seen numbers like that ever. After several years of my white count dog-paddling in the two-range ('normal' is 4.5 to 10), seeing 5.7 startled me. Even my platelet count is a TYJ 151! Normal is 144-390. I was receiving platelet transfusions in the hospital every time they dropped below 20 - all told, probably close to half a dozen times.  

I will change oncologists in the coming weeks because I need someone who will compassionately treat all of me. This includes education as well as orchestrating the mechanics. I need a talker. My current oncologist, while brilliant, is not. As well I did not choose him but landed in his office in disarray while my original hematologist was on vacation. I'll share more about who I feel led to step into this role. In the meantime, I continue to feel so liberated that tears erupt without warning. 

I have taken nearly all of the beautiful cards I received while hospitalized and put them up at home. There is one small gaggle in my bedroom along the wall-to-ceiling border. In the moments before I shut off the lights and allow sleep to visit, I think of the love and prayers that have come... and am struck humbled, grateful, alive.