Life is contextual

I have no idea where I come up with these goofy titles but I let 'em rip. There is always enough of a duh element to them where I roll my eyes and think, "...and..?" If I can divide the irony from scorn, some more gentleness may ensue.

So it's been an edgy bit wondering about the results of yesterday's bone marrow aspiration, for which I was given 2 mg. of Dilaudid and spent the remainder of the day lost in space. 

"You'll be a little groggy," they had said. 

"Really?" asked doubtful moi, recalling her low-tolerance-for-substances days. "For how long?"

"Three hours, maybe," they said.

That was how long I was practically out cold. The rest of the day and evening were in a lollygagging haze of oh it is so very nice to rest here. 

The Question of the Day 14 bone marrow aspiration was: How many leukemia cells were killed? We were shooting for 5% blasts or less, although my doc said, "We'll take 10%, we'll take 20% and deal with it." I'm a complicated case because my AML came out of the MDS. Right at this precise moment, I'm not really in the mood to be terminally unique. But so it goes. So I've boomeranged and crawled between morbid fatalism, gross uncertainty, a detached nonchalance and the realization that I am just not fully understanding what's going on here. If the chemo didn't work, one option was to repeat it before I was discharged from this portion of the show. Neither my doctor nor I wanted to go there. It's poison. Too much is, you know, lethal. 

The doc came in by 5:30 pm looking tired. "You look tired," I said observantly. He is edgy and moody although as far as I can tell brilliant and highly competent. I forgot what we even talked about before I said, "Well? Are they in?" 

"Yeah. Zero."

I looked at him. "Zero blasts?"

He nodded, but his demeanor was distracted. 

"Isn't this GOOD NEWS???" I said. "It is, but full remission means no blasts and a return to normal blood counts. Yours have to come back up, and that is one of the complications of having the MDS." He then went on about drug treatment for the MDS, going onto the National Marrow Donor Program (NMDP) since I have no full siblings who are living (my little brother David died in 1967), the antibiotic cocktails I'm getting to keep me from keeling over right now with no immune system worth spitting about, other things. I felt as though I should be happy but couldn't quite leap into excitement.   

Now that the headlong into another dimension whirl is shifting into more present-minded consciousness for me, I can begin to do some focused research on my own. Trying to be proactive in that regard while dissociating in a chemo gut- and mind-wrench wasn't happening. Clearly I will not be spoon fed every aspect of this journey, as much as I would prefer that in tripled ample servings. I bought an expensive Moss Report on AML that Stacey busted her you-know-what to wrench from FedEx for me; 475 pages and nearly $375. I have websites, print-outs, brochures. And I get to weave it in with perusing cancer headwear sites, since the hair fallout has begun. Just when ya get over the chemo, more shit happens.

I hope to be discharged from this induction phase or whatever the hell it's called by the weekend of the 21st-22nd. I thought I'd have a month off - freeeeee as a birdie! The doc said 2-3 weeks. And then it hit me: I'll be in the hospital for the consolidation phase (more of the same) for Christmas.

And that really felt awful. 

My liturgical and participatory Christian faith is core to my life. Preparing for Christmas through Advent, practicing our hymns and anthems with my choir - that's my food, my manna. {Breathe}. I have to detach to deal with this. Oh yes, I then thought, "Yo ho ho, I'll be a jolly little singing elf and bring carols to 2North!" Of course I can, but I'm not ready to be that noble today. I will ask for guidance. 

Again, every single email and card (you should see what is here!!) and gift bless me. Bless YOU for blessing me so! My heart seems to want to leap and not know how high. Local friends do favors like rescue a now-functioning cell phone or bring yummies from Whole Foods (you know who you are). Yes, this sucks. And there are angels and miracles and love abounding.