Day 73
Often days run together in the muddled routine that we pretend to call life. Only now and then, even if someone finds a way to snatch it away, the sun steals in and one sees something that matters, even if it can only be glimpsed and not quite felt. Today was one of those days.
A nurse wrote ".4" on the board in John's room early today, as if she and everyone there had a part in his reaching K2. John took the bait, with the help of a bag of glucose and an IV (Atkin's nightmare, I suppose), turned the corner and came nearly back.
The team of doctors and all was larger than usual today and saved John for last. It was clear that they had wanted for him, had struggled with him and chose to be a part of his success. He wasn't out of the woods, but they thought he was close enough to find the way himself now.
There's a chance, 50/50 I'd say, that we might get John home tomorrow, but soon now, for sure. It was a rich relief and one that should be savored a bit.
There were other troubles of a sort to temper, well to scar, the sense that something good was, for a moment, right with the world, but only hurt rivals joy, and hope is the rock to their paper and scissors.
I learned late today that the donor search had found several likely "perfect" matches to John's HLA type. One is a 47 year old man, whose chromosomes match his, at least to the moderate level that Emory examines for. There is also a 36 year old man whose type matches, although one factor has not yet been finalized. The third is a 23 year old male, but his final results aren't yet final. Still, that's winning the lottery three times in a row, and the prize is a chance at life. It's more than a lot of people get and more than most people take advantage of when they have it.
I tried to explain to someone today that there would never be another day without the risk that John would soon be back where he is now. This is pretty much as good as it gets, for as long as it can last. Is it sad or is it rich - no, the rich and the poor are both happy and sad. Some are only given a smaller glass than others. It's night now, but it is a good night.
A nurse wrote ".4" on the board in John's room early today, as if she and everyone there had a part in his reaching K2. John took the bait, with the help of a bag of glucose and an IV (Atkin's nightmare, I suppose), turned the corner and came nearly back.
The team of doctors and all was larger than usual today and saved John for last. It was clear that they had wanted for him, had struggled with him and chose to be a part of his success. He wasn't out of the woods, but they thought he was close enough to find the way himself now.
There's a chance, 50/50 I'd say, that we might get John home tomorrow, but soon now, for sure. It was a rich relief and one that should be savored a bit.
There were other troubles of a sort to temper, well to scar, the sense that something good was, for a moment, right with the world, but only hurt rivals joy, and hope is the rock to their paper and scissors.
I learned late today that the donor search had found several likely "perfect" matches to John's HLA type. One is a 47 year old man, whose chromosomes match his, at least to the moderate level that Emory examines for. There is also a 36 year old man whose type matches, although one factor has not yet been finalized. The third is a 23 year old male, but his final results aren't yet final. Still, that's winning the lottery three times in a row, and the prize is a chance at life. It's more than a lot of people get and more than most people take advantage of when they have it.
I tried to explain to someone today that there would never be another day without the risk that John would soon be back where he is now. This is pretty much as good as it gets, for as long as it can last. Is it sad or is it rich - no, the rich and the poor are both happy and sad. Some are only given a smaller glass than others. It's night now, but it is a good night.
