Lift-off / day zero/ my new birthday

Day zero, as they call it here. October 31 is my new birthday.

My new stem cells have arrived safe and sound and are currently making their way into my veins. 

This is what we've waited for, this is it boys, this is war...

Me and 270+ million of my newest friends.

This is pretty exciting for us, and the end of the long first leg of a journey. It's totally anticlimactic though, after the drama of chemo and radiation. It basically looks like someone's hooked a tasty caesar up to my IV. If I don't exhibit any strange reactions to the new cells I should be out of here in time for lunch.

My white blood cell count has dropped considerably over the last 24 hours, which is the desired outcome of all the chemo, radiation and immunosuppressive drugs. They'll keep dropping until they reach zero two to four days from now. My new stem cells will have less of a fight on their hands when they start settling in, but I'm now far more susceptible to illness and infection. 

Again, I truly wish I could thank whoever out there has taken the time to donate these cells. It is truly an indescribable gift. 

T minus-1

Only one blast of radiation left to go after this morning's session. The past couple of radiation sessions have been problematic and featured a variety of technical glitches. They say it's all good, but that's small comfort when dealing with radiation, and if I turn into the hulk tonight or start seeing through time that's where I'm pointing the finger. At least they put on a Dylan soundtrack today. Very much an improvement. And I think I am picking up a slight tan.

I'm on another heavy dose of immunosuppressive drugs today, and all the antinausea meds have me pleasantly sleepy and dopey, so please forgive if I'm less than eloquent.

My new stem cells are still not yet in the building, which feels an awful lot like cutting it close, but apparently this is normal. They like 'em fresh. I'm told they have a group of retired RCMP officers that act as couriers. Thanks boys! Delivery will happen today, and I should be receiving a transfusion of about 270 million new stem cells tomorrow morning in what amounts to a pretty brief, and by all accounts anticlimactic, last step.

At least I hope delivery happens today. When I asked if, in the absence of the new stem cells, my old immune system would grow back, the answer I got back was "prooooooobably." Uh-huh.

T minus-2 (oh, that summer seemed to last forever)

Sorry for skipping t minus-3 but I was feeling pretty crappy yesterday. A bit better today after a good sleep at home. 

I'm now halfway through the radiation treatments and no real complaints, apart from slightly warm skin. I think the real effects will start hitting me tonight. I'm getting a 12 hour dose of ATG at the moment, which is an immunosuppressive drug designed to keep my t-cells from reacting to the stem cells I'll get in a couple of days.

 Radiation machine.

Closer look at the beam of death.

Actually, my biggest complaint right now is the horrific soundtrack that accompanies the treatments, so I guess I can't be feeling too bad. I get two passes through the beam on my back, then two on my front, for a total of maybe 40 minutes per session. And whoever developed this playlist should not ever do so again. I think it is supposed to relax me, but I'd really prefer something in the punk rock realm. Instead it unfortunately it opens, every time, with Abba's Mamma Mia, which will now always carry with it terrible memories.

By the time my head gets under the beam, even with eyes closed, the world turns blue. At about this time I get Here Comes the Sun (radiation playlist track 3).  Then when they flip me over and start roasting my other side some not-even-prime Bon Jovi hits the air and I get to experience some It's My Life....oh I ain't gonna live forever (radiation playlist track 6).

Things get better with some Summer of 69 and, and at least I can think of my girl waiting for me in the lounge (you told me that you'd wait forever, oh and when you held my hand, i knew that it was now or never, radiation playlist track 7).

Then the whole thing just degenerates into unrecognizable awfulness.

But I generally try to keep in my head the song my youngest sings to me every time I put him to bed,  My star keeps me company, and leads me through the night... (Yeah, which I've just now discovered is from that ewoks movie).

Speaking of feeling crappy, for those of you interested in poo, my hospital room has this awesome, handy chart.

Those folks from Bristol sure love their stools, though they should consider dropping the constant food comparisons

T minus-4

Well. Day one of stem cell transplant preconditioning could certainly have gone better.

Like all great streaks, my stellar run of going puke-free came to a horrible, thunderous end last night. I had been pretty lucky with the nausea through all this, but that has clearly run dry. That meant a late trip to the hospital as I was able to keep down neither my fluids (which is dangerous with this kind of chemo) nor my meds. I've been advised that if I fail to take in enough fluids they will have to install a "three-way catheter". What those three ways are, I will leave to your imaginations. I assure you, my imagination has run wild with it so I'm committed to hydration through normal means like never, ever, ever before.

There's a new dose of cyclophosphamide chemotherapy pumping through my veins as of a few minutes ago, along with some better anti-nauseants (emend, zofran), so hopefully today will be better.  Though the repugnant lasagna they just served me seems completely counterproductive to these efforts.

Tomorrow is radiation day one. And yep, that freaks me out a bit.

T minus-5

It's early Sunday morning and the transplant process officially starts now.

My dose of cyclophosphamide chemotherapy has just arrived. Nurse Melissa just finished stabbing me in the brain with a nasal swab the size of a fishing rod (testing for any viruses I might have) and is hooking up my chemo. 

Nurse Melissa. You know they're putting something nasty in you when there's this much protective gear.

No sleep for the next two days. To keep the cyclo from burning through my bladder, where it unfortunately collects, I have to pee every hour on the hour, around the clock for the next 48 hours. Nurse Melissa has threatened me with a catheter the size of a garden hose if I go even two hours without urinating. And that's not one of those pleasant catheters in my back or arm...

I put our youngest to bed last night - probably the last time I'll be allowed to do that for a little while - and read him "The Runaway Bunny" for his bedtime story. I'd never read it before, and it made me think of my mom and how hard this has been on her.

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.

So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”

“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”

“If you run after me,” said the little bunny, “I will become a fish in a trout stream
and I will swim away from you.”

“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother, “I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”

“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny, “I will become a rock on the mountain, high above you.”

“If you become a rock on the mountain high above me,” said his mother, “I will become a mountain climber, and I will climb to where you are.”

“If you become a mountain climber,” said the little bunny, “I will be a crocus in a hidden garden.”

“If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,” said his mother, “I will be a gardener. And I will find you.”

“If you are a gardener and find me,” said the little bunny, “I will be a bird and fly away from you.”

“If you become a bird and fly away from me,” said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to.”

“I will become a little boy and run into a house.”

“If you become a little boy and run into a house,” said the mother bunny, “I will become your mother and catch you in my arms and hug you.”

“Shucks,” said the bunny, “I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.”

And so he did.

“Have a carrot,” said the mother bunny.

Ouch. Right in the feels.