Harps and Angels

They have brought me a shrubbery! It's not the 10' Jacaranda or Maple I had hoped for, but it is a fine little planting of roses, flowers and ground covers. It needs to acclimate, but will be fine.

I found the spot where the gardeners hang out and let myself in, introduced myself to Jesse who seemd the eldest and maybe hefe. In my best broken Spanish I told him I needed a shrubbery outside my barren window, and he asked me to meet him at 8am next day. I was hoping for a better translator by 8 the next day, but Dana and the boys did not get here until later. Dana did go out and find Jesse, who cleared it with his boss to put in this small planting and keep it watered and thriving. So, I have a shrubbery. Mikey says I am like Red in The Shawshank Redemption, who can get everything in the joint but can't get out of the joint.

It is 6am Thursday, Crosby Stills Nash and Young are playing Deja Vu on the iHome and iPod salvaged from the bowels of our house (Our House is playing, oddly); everything is mellow. Without much walking yesterday, the prednisone played out the ambien by 2:00am, and then plowed through the atavan by 5:00am. So it is catch up time - Mac sent me this poemery,which I thought I'd share:
"Holy Cow, where art thou
Alarming is the stillness that quiets this blog
Rejoin to us your beingness
Allow that we can feel your life
And learn from you the truth of soulfulness
We’re many who wish you well and care
Here to see you through this scare
And share with you the world you’ve captured
Collect more jade for us to regard
Wear Lowbrow Eyebrow art once more
Those are our nutrients for designing lore
That you gave birth to from this site
We choose to walk with you – by your side
And hug your soul
Now c’mon, get your butt back here "
Mac

Mac's poemery evokes in me the same spirit I got from the harpist, the sadness of what hadn't been done but was intended, things past but never regained, not lost but not yet found, just out of reach, our gnarled fingers not able to make that final stretch.

Now he emailed that to me and maybe didn't mean to share it, but I am taking a swing. My return poemerization is still brewing.

These guys love hospitals:

They were watching me get my PICC line maintained - change the oil and filters, new calipers, wiper blades and tape removal of 50000 baby fine hairs.

The family came up on Tuesday and got a hotel room, so we hung out Tues. night and Wed. While we were sitting around my room Tues. afternoon, one of the wandering musicians came by with her harp and offered to play, so we all squeezed in and she played us some tunes that were uplifting and sad at the same time, Dana and I crying and the boys in Huh? mode. Her name was Barbara and she had changed her last name to Telynor which means harpist. Barbara was a successful kidney transplant many years ago, and through her music, she, and others like her in the hospital, work to absorb some of the stress that is thick as Beijing smog here.

Of course after all that stress relief it was time for a battle for world domination - RISK. We all went out to the Atrium and took over a big table and started playing to the death. Johnny and I are masters of Risk and expected to dispatch with the lesser players soon, but a few fateful turns of events created an obvious pasting of the Johns, and Mom and Mike went on to dominate the world in short order. I was simply too greedy about North America and couldn't hold it, fell like 50,000 Aztecs to Cortes. Canadians didn't do squat either.

Next day they all came back and I waited and waited for the doctors to come by, but only Dr. Jonas came by early and said everything looked good, my counts are fine, I probably didn't need the mask today, but let's see what the team says. Now the doctor team usually rolls in around 10:30, spends five minutes poking me and and asking questions, and they are happy to see I am doing fine and give me as much free rein as you can get. Yesterday, they never showed. So I made the executive decision that I was free to roam with no mask, and we took a walk and booked a reservation in the Bing Dining Room for 1:15.

Back in the Atrium the 12:30 Jazz Band was setting up - Leon Williams & Dave Prieto Quartet - Jazz, Blues, Bossas & More. We sat down and listened for a while, until we had to go lunch.

When I sat down in the Bing Dining Room, the waiter told me Willie Mays was just sitting there right before me. Say Hey Willie Mays, right here in my seat. He is a patient here. The hostess asked if I was a 'special' patient also, and for once I had to say I wasn't, just ordinary.

The specialty of the Bing Dining Room is the Kobe Beef Burger, served only well done (?), so the boys ordered that and Dana had a Thai wrap. I had already eaten my 11:30 am breakfast, but I picked up some of that Kobe beef and some fries. It was all very lovely. Sitting in that seat where Willie Mays had sat, I had this sense of deep mahogany roots that ran right through my ass and the ass of the chair, down my legs and the chair legs, through the floor of the hospital and deep into the ground, rooting me to the earth and stabilizing me with the planet, intertwining with all the roots and life in the earth. Fleeting but transcendent.

Since John and I did not feel right about being trounced at Risk, we had a rematch without Dana, and Mike absolutely crushed us again. He is loading the dice somehow that we can't figure, maybe fingernail dirt or easy karma?

Somehow this got me to pondering (again?) on old games and sports equipment. Going through the garage before coming up here I ran into my old softball glove, and I couldn't part with it. I had this image of playing catch with a grandchild and couldn't let it go, so it stays in the garage. I remember going through this phase last leukemia round, wondering if sports were over. There is still golf and surf, and they are getting to be harsh mistresses. My legs could not take the cold last time in the water, 48 degrees, and I cramped like an elementary school on a full moon. I won't give that up yet, especially cause I always sucked so it's not far to fall. Is this the same for women, do they lament the loss of each sport as it becomes too painful?

I married an angel, and she looks out for me at all times. She accepts my foibles, pushes me to be a better person, loves me relentlessly, laughs at my mid-vomit jokes, guides me to be a better Dad, and stresses for me. This is far more stressful for her than for me, trying to hold it all together while I sit here listening to Joe Cocker, looking at my shrubberies, wondering whether to poop before the docs get here - it always seems to bring them in.

Docs just came in, and my whole team is changing except Dr. Vidal. They answered the following questions: They have my marrow typed. It will take 2 weeks to type the siblings'. If a sibling marrow matches, we are back here right away and moving on. When I get my day 22 Vincristine and PEG and my counts stay just as they have, I am free to go, 3-week wonder just like last time, home on the 8th. My counts are as good as yours, I should be golfing. I asked if there were some scenario where I get that last PEG and Vincristine in SLO, and they said it was too far should things go haywire. So, I am fully dialed in, the docs actually take a moment and relax in my room. Dr. Liedtke actually sat down in my new garden window chair, I think she is pregnant. I can hang another week. Eyebrow Lowbrow may have to wait until I am back in SLO. Lunch just arrived, I finished my 10:sie bagel an hour ago, I need to put on the pedometer and take advantage of the freedom. Nick Blozan is coming at 4 or so and we'll go eat somewhere.

A special thanks to all who harbored some WBCs through the shelling, most have returned and are fully geared. Next time I will bring them corporeally.