I hear that patience is a virtue

I've heard of rather than practiced the art of being taught deep levels of patience...... and the very least I can comment about is my jittery awareness of how little I have when I want it NOW! is bellowing throughout my being. Out! I want out of this hospital!

There are times when I yell at God. I simply cannot have a "Higher Power" in front of whom I cower in fear - I've had enough of those dynamics in times past. To kneel in honor, yes. To adore when my heart is aligned, yes. But today is not one of those days. I'm not only yelling at God, I am shaking my impotent fists at my lazy-assed white counts. They're moving, but dammit, they are moving at a pace (if one could call it that) which infuriates me. It's called way too slowly.

The good news is that they have reached a level where I can be UNHOOKED from the dreaded and loathed IV pole, complete with its saline solution and antibiotics. The on-call doc is about to enter my room at any moment... the irony being that he is my original hematologist who diagnosed me with the MDS over a year ago.... that funky little bone marrow "disorder" that I thought would just whine in the background while I galloped on into the exuberance of a reasonably long life span. You know, into the wrinkly mid-70's or something like that. 

However I digress in my nervousness. I am a self-willed and extremely independent woman who feels reduced to a 4-year-old begging to go outside and play. Please. I feel so good. Please let me go home. THIS SUCKS! I am a freakin' grown woman! And then I hear stories of sepsis and it sounds worse than one of those outer space creepy-assed things that wound up on either Star Trek, The Next Generation or The X-Files. Evidently you don't die of leukemia, per se; you die because the cancer cells crash the party and throw out all the good guys keeping you motoring along as one does if one is fortunate. Bits stop doing their thing one at a time, and evidently it gets quite ugly. Dying quickly and painlessly has always been in my back pocket of 'I think I'd like to breathe my last this way'. 

Not a small amount of freely associative babbling while I just want to go home.... for now. 

Here's the latest: If my Absolute Neutrophil Count (ANC) bypasses 600 tomorrow morning, I will be able to leave here Friday. Tomorrow. For one more day I will breathe, pray, write, glare at some of my medical bills, call beloved friends, and hope that the ANC (an elite portion of the WBC) will really get a move on. 

I am told my progress is "excellent." It's doesn't fully land. I will see if I can embrace an honest 24 hours that includes my desperate desires to enjoy 'the simple pleasures' of a free life as well as be present for whatever lessons continue to poke, prod and otherwise drive me batty. 

I know I've been chanting "1000" and asking you to, as well. It's down to a barer minimum now, which I pray arrives by tomorrow morning's blood draw. ANC - let's GO!