13 LAPS FOR 13 DAYS

SEPTEMBER 5, 2022 – (Cont.) “My rash is so gross,” I said to Kristie, my nurse again today, “I can’t stand to see myself in the mirror.”

“As a science person,” she said, “I don’t see gross. I see science.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what distinguishes me, the “grossed-out” patient, from these incredible care-givers who levitate around me, their eyes trained on data, their hands connecting tubing, their brains always engaged in making the best decisions based on read-outs, trends, what can be anticipated based on a wealth of collective experience. If I’m not a “science person” myself, I’ve sure learned to admire the “science people” who surround me.

But again, every single one of the “science people,” including Dr. Betts, who spends 90% of his time doing research, is also a “people person.”

To celebrate post-transplant Day 13, I walked 13 laps (11 to a mile) around the BMT ward of the of the Cancer Center of the U of MN Hospital. Early a.m. bloodwork revealed that my hemoglobin had dropped to 6.9, but subsequent blood infusions doubtless brought improvement: I completed my 13 laps at a brisk pace, though I treated the first lap as strictly a warm-up lap.

Today’s big news was in the numbers, specifically, the white blood cell count, which shot from 0.2 to 0.6 on its way to 2.5. This jump is proof that the engraftment process is underway. This evening I received another dose of “growth factor” to accelerate further, generation of white blood cells. Dr. Betts says I should be off the cruise ship by Wednesday or Thursday, but given the enormous infusion of inspiration and encouragement I’ve been receiving here, I’m hoping it’s Thursday. He also says the rash will soon resolve.

This evening when my nurse Kaylen began her shift, she introduced me to her nursing assistant, Denise. Denise’s initial greeting told me much about herself—genuine, caring, confident. As with everyone I interact with here, I asked how she “got into this business.” Each answer (she was born in Guyana; grew up in Brooklyn), of course, begged another question, and in pieces, sections, further details, I learned enough to realize I was in the presence of an extraordinarily strong, hopeful, and empathetic human being; an agent of mercy and inspiration after she herself had gone through hell and high water. We as a species are nothing if not resilient.

My goal for the overnight is to get through it without moaning and groaning. Last night I woke myself up with it. I summoned Kaylen to request some Ativan. Within a minute, she appeared at my bedside. “Are you hurting?” She asked.

“Wul, no, not exactly,” I said. “It’s just that I woke myself up moaning and groaning, and it was irritating—sorta like the neighbor’s car alarm going off at 2:00 a.m. and my needing it to stop!”

Kaylen laughed. “I think you’re right, we need to stop the car alarm.” She took my temp, just to assure me further. I swallowed the tiny pill, and I was soon fast asleep.

An added bonus of today’s “activities” was “listening time” during one of several naps. I’d selected Beethoven’s Seventh—Leonard Bernstein conducting the Vienna Philharmonic. As I drifted into la-la-land, I decided that of all composers, Beethoven reached the deepest waters of human emotions. If I’d had some inkling of that before my current ordeal, now I’m certain of it. (Cont.)

(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)

© 2022 by Eric Nilsson