Day 178
It is Sunday morning in Seattle, May and chilly with damp, low clouds blowing past, boosted by the Pacific current that runs off the coast. Weather like this in which the sky spits random drops is not considered "rain" to the "webfeet" who are used to living here. Seattle is the spittoon of the gods, I suppose.
I will head over to the hospital shortly to see how John handled his first night there. After we got him settled in, he spent most of the day napping. He ate a few bites of his meals and was able to have a few online conversations, but the chemotherapy he received yesterday, on top of the four days prior, made him justifiably worn.
The doctor for John's transplant made the rounds yesterday morning and had a good sense of John's background. He asked why we came all the way out to Seattle for a transplant when Emory was so nearby. I chose only one of the two answers that applied, that we wanted to do this only once, so we came to the best clinic in the world.
The nurses seem as good as they are kind. I feel confident about the transplant, though I do worry about how effective it will be in preventing recurrence of his leukemia and about the side effects so many have. A person John met online, who had AML followed by a transplant a year ago has apparently shown signs of problems that are worrisome. Living with a disease like this means you live in a different world where it is flat and you are always aware that you might be near the edge.
Friday night, the end of the world was on John's mind in a big way, and who could blame him. The reality of the transplant and all that it entails overwhelmed him and he melted down in tears for several hours. Courtney and I sat with him, but there was nothing to say. He was better by morning and ready to go. John has a real recognition of the fact that he will not be the "same person" after all this. That kind of awareness, on top of all that can go wrong, is a lot for someone so young to carry.
We have John connected by computer, but cell phones are forbidden on the floor, because of the delicate heart equipment needed for some patients. I don't think I ought to post his room phone number online, and he isn't up for much talking right now anyway. If you do want to give him a call, send me an email and I can pass it on.
Off now to bike over to the hospital.
I will head over to the hospital shortly to see how John handled his first night there. After we got him settled in, he spent most of the day napping. He ate a few bites of his meals and was able to have a few online conversations, but the chemotherapy he received yesterday, on top of the four days prior, made him justifiably worn.
The doctor for John's transplant made the rounds yesterday morning and had a good sense of John's background. He asked why we came all the way out to Seattle for a transplant when Emory was so nearby. I chose only one of the two answers that applied, that we wanted to do this only once, so we came to the best clinic in the world.
The nurses seem as good as they are kind. I feel confident about the transplant, though I do worry about how effective it will be in preventing recurrence of his leukemia and about the side effects so many have. A person John met online, who had AML followed by a transplant a year ago has apparently shown signs of problems that are worrisome. Living with a disease like this means you live in a different world where it is flat and you are always aware that you might be near the edge.
Friday night, the end of the world was on John's mind in a big way, and who could blame him. The reality of the transplant and all that it entails overwhelmed him and he melted down in tears for several hours. Courtney and I sat with him, but there was nothing to say. He was better by morning and ready to go. John has a real recognition of the fact that he will not be the "same person" after all this. That kind of awareness, on top of all that can go wrong, is a lot for someone so young to carry.
We have John connected by computer, but cell phones are forbidden on the floor, because of the delicate heart equipment needed for some patients. I don't think I ought to post his room phone number online, and he isn't up for much talking right now anyway. If you do want to give him a call, send me an email and I can pass it on.
Off now to bike over to the hospital.
