Waiting, breathing, being

It was my 5th bone marrow biopsy since the one in November 2007 declared "...findings of early or emerging myelodysplastic syndrome...," the funky bone marrow designation that at the time was not cancerous and held a purportedly mere 30% chance of becoming so. I vacillated about taking an oxycodone and am happy I decided against it. Bone marrow biopsies hurt, period, although I will escort Dr. K. to the front of the line - his procedure hurt the least of everyone else's to date. I have learned that the woo-woo drugs (e.g. variations on morphine derivatives) simply make me loaded and in pain.... after which I'm staggering around for hours. I took 500 mg. of Tylenol last night. The abundance of local Lidocaine and - dammit, I'll hand it to him - a more expert hand made it tolerable.

It is still a psychic invasion, however, and I spent the evening at home rather than scurrying to my cherished Sacred Harp singing up the hill in the Episcopal seminary chapel. I gave myself permission to recover, a handy growth spurt for a sometimes hapless Type A who seems hell bent on pushing herself into caverns of idiocy. Staying home also gave me the gift of connecting by phone with a bone marrow transplant survivor whose name and number were given to me by a friend from 12-Step program. This is my 2nd experience of connecting with a fellow leukemia warrior and feeling as though I encountered a long-lost friend. It's an odd, odd sensation. I wonder if this is akin to finding a battlefield survivor in a foxhole.... leaping past pretenses and breathing in a desperate connection. We spent 90 minutes on the phone sharing our tales until my late night brain began to signal its weariness. 

I made it clear to both doctor and nurse that whatever the results, I insisted on being told face-to-face and not over the phone. "Well, what if it's good news?" said the nurse. "Nice try, buddy," I said, "then if I don't hear from you I'll know otherwise." 

"Oh, right," he said. 

I do know that Dr. K. knows something right now, and the reason we're waiting until Friday afternoon to bring me back in is to have all of the information available such as cytogenetic results which take a few more days in the pathology lab. Dr. K has already looked under a microscope and knows something. So whatever remnants of Zen-like presence and 12-Step One Day at a Time wisdom exist inside of me get to awaken and show up. How un-obsessed might I be? How PRESENT may I be? Yes, I have a 16"x8" sticky bandage across my lower back but I can still walk. 

And when I remind myself, I can still pray.