Or more than halfway, I hope. I also hope the blood and bone marrow drive had a good turnout. Speaking of hope, that last thing I wrote on hope did not inspire me, so I tried again and came up with this:
Hope is the life force that urges us on in moments of doubt and misery. When I was faced with multiple lumbar punctures and bone marrow biopsies, hope whispered in my ear, ‘This too shall pass, focus on a peaceful place.’ When I was slammed with chemotherapy and feeling like death was at the door, hope told me ‘You are fine, you’ll get through it, you have lots to live for.’ When I was in the irradiation booth, holding myself up while they blasted my entire body, hope told me ‘Only a few more minutes, you are strong, you’ll make it.’ During the days after radiation and chemo, nearly bedridden in the hospital, hope would count down the days for me, and remind me how lucky I was compared to what could be, and to keep fighting. Now hope tells me, ’You’re almost done, you will be cured, one day at a time.’ Hope has kept me warm in this chillest land, throughout the storm on this strange sea.
I like that much better, it speaks to what I know.
My son Mike came up to visit Saturday. Ellen Sheffer was coming to the area and offered him a ride, so we hung out, played some scrabble, watched a movie, and he played some ukulele for me. I had started a new drug Bactrim that morning, and wouldn't you know just as we sit to eat I get this urpy feeling. I stood and gravitated to the bathroom, telling Mike 'I started this new drug this morning, and the side effect is nausea.' He is eating his soup, but then it really hits and I go the bathroom and get nauseous. When I came out he was standing at the far end of the kitchen, as far as he could get in this little apartment. Sorry Mike.
Turns out Bactrim and I don't get along; I had the same problem Sunday and Monday, so they changed my prescription to another drug.
Cecelia and Jan Spano also came up on Saturday, and they took Dana out and about on Saturday while Mike nursed me. After Mike left with Ellen, the girls taught me how to play euchre. Good game.
Here is the really big news. Since my counts are steady and my health is good, the docs have agreed I can go to SLO from Wed. to Sun. of Thanksgiving week, won't that be nice! SO let's keep our fingers crossed that nothing changes that! Yippe ai o tay ay!
Hope is the life force that urges us on in moments of doubt and misery. When I was faced with multiple lumbar punctures and bone marrow biopsies, hope whispered in my ear, ‘This too shall pass, focus on a peaceful place.’ When I was slammed with chemotherapy and feeling like death was at the door, hope told me ‘You are fine, you’ll get through it, you have lots to live for.’ When I was in the irradiation booth, holding myself up while they blasted my entire body, hope told me ‘Only a few more minutes, you are strong, you’ll make it.’ During the days after radiation and chemo, nearly bedridden in the hospital, hope would count down the days for me, and remind me how lucky I was compared to what could be, and to keep fighting. Now hope tells me, ’You’re almost done, you will be cured, one day at a time.’ Hope has kept me warm in this chillest land, throughout the storm on this strange sea.
I like that much better, it speaks to what I know.
My son Mike came up to visit Saturday. Ellen Sheffer was coming to the area and offered him a ride, so we hung out, played some scrabble, watched a movie, and he played some ukulele for me. I had started a new drug Bactrim that morning, and wouldn't you know just as we sit to eat I get this urpy feeling. I stood and gravitated to the bathroom, telling Mike 'I started this new drug this morning, and the side effect is nausea.' He is eating his soup, but then it really hits and I go the bathroom and get nauseous. When I came out he was standing at the far end of the kitchen, as far as he could get in this little apartment. Sorry Mike.
Turns out Bactrim and I don't get along; I had the same problem Sunday and Monday, so they changed my prescription to another drug.
Cecelia and Jan Spano also came up on Saturday, and they took Dana out and about on Saturday while Mike nursed me. After Mike left with Ellen, the girls taught me how to play euchre. Good game.
Here is the really big news. Since my counts are steady and my health is good, the docs have agreed I can go to SLO from Wed. to Sun. of Thanksgiving week, won't that be nice! SO let's keep our fingers crossed that nothing changes that! Yippe ai o tay ay!
John,
ReplyDeleteAlways good to hear some good news, it brings hope of more to come.
Looking forward to the dawn of a new day and two more trips across the bridge.
Mo
So glad to hear you have some degree of normalcy in your life again. You deserve it. And getting back to Slo for Turkey Day is such a huge win for you.
ReplyDeleteKeep up the fight Man.
Mac
John, You are doing really good and hanging in there;improving each day and getting stronger. We wish you the best and in hopes you can go home to SLO for Thanksgiving next week.Hugs, Marian and Matt
ReplyDeleteOver 50 pints drawn and more than 30 bone marrow donors swabbed! Not bad for a days work.
ReplyDeleteGreat news on the recovery path John and being home for turkey day isn't half bad either.
Hope is the feeling you get when a smile can make everything alright.
Hope is the silver lining to a bad day.
Hope is when your gut tells you that you are doing the right thing.
Keep on marching that road of recovery John, we'll see you soon.