MARCH 21, 2024 – For yet another day I’ve been stuck in a neutropenic rut, but I’m treating this condition as far from hopeless. In the first place, what’s the alternative? Second, at around 11:45 this morning, just as I was about to lie down for a nap, my good oncologist, Dr. Bhaskar Kolla called. He announced himself as Bhaskar, and I appreciated the implication that we’ve become so familiar over the past two-and-a-quarter years, I should address him informally, as Bhaskar, rather than as Dr. Kolla. But I hold him in such high regard—and he knows this because I always tell him so at my regular appointments—I feel compelled by that very esteem to call him “Dr. Kolla.”
He’d read the test results and write-up from last night’s visit to the ER and apologized for the length of the stay. “I saw how late it was when you were discharged,” he said, “and figured you’d be sleeping in. That’s why I waited until now to call you.” Classic Dr. Kolla. Smart, articulate, reassuring, and in complete command of his specialty, he puts empathetic patient care ahead of all else.
I had to tell him I was discouraged, because it’s true, but he said things would come around in my favor; suspend the “magic (and thus potent!) medication” for another week, and my blood counts/neutrophils should rebound. “I’ve got an opening first thing next Tuesday,” he said. “Why don’t we schedule another lab for 7:15 a.m. so we can see where things stand. I think what I’m going to recommend is a reduced dosage [of the magic drug] going forward—two weeks on, one week off [vs. three weeks on, one week off since August 2023].” He surmised that in this latest cycle, by the end of the third week my immunity had tanked. This rang true, since my cold symptoms appeared on the very last day of the cycle.
We talked a bit more, and Dr. Kolla fielded my questions as if they were slow-moving grounders across well-hydrated turf under spring training sunshine. No rush, no hint of impatience, no impression that he had 100 other patients waiting in the wings or requiring call-backs. By the end of the conversation, we had each other laughing, which, as we all know, is the best medicine.
For the rest of the day I stayed on task in the campaign to defeat the virus that has kicked me off my horse.
I kept close track of hydration, reaching the 64-ounce goal imposed by one of the nurses yesterday evening: “And I mean all of 64 ounces,” she said. In complete honesty, however many times I’ve been told to consume that volume each day, I don’t think I’d ever achieved it before today.
I took a slow 30-minute walk around the first floor of our house, which suggests the house is much larger than it is. On every second lap, I took four sips of H2O.
In the “rest” category, I got three solid naps in, each free of the recurrent nightmare I’ve been experiencing since the onset of my neutropenia: drafting complicated corporate bylaws with no end in sight!
In the food department, I ate three healthful meals each with a share of fresh (but clean) fruit and vegetables—the best I’ve done in five days.
I received delivery of two books edited and authored by a physician friend, caught up on some legal work, and listened to three piano concerti. The best music of the day, however, were the voices of our sons over the phone as they caught me up on their lives.
But all of these “accomplishments” on a day when the Dow nearly broke 40,000, were overwhelmed by the priceless treasures of my life: our grandchildren. In the case of the youngest (seven-and-a-half months), the connection was merely a photograph capturing the sight of his happy face as he rode his big new fancy donkey (as far as I could tell). To help out our older son in a pinch, I masked up and picked Illiana up at school and took her straight home. The drive wasn’t more than 15 minutes, but we made the most of it. I switched the radio from news to Bach and listened carefully to the little girl whose creative, thoughtful mind is always in motion.
At this late hour, a heavy wet snow is falling. It matters not to me. It will melt away just as fast as my malady will. After all, I’ve got Dr. Kolla in my corner, and two grandchildren to light up my life. But I’m rich even beyond that, blessed by the greatest friends in the world. What more could a person need or want?
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
