DECEMBER 1, 2022 – The days leading up to the transplant passed all too quickly. I was feeling great, but being very much a medical wimp, I dreaded the procedure that loomed ever closer and feared what could be an excruciatingly slow, protracted and unpleasant recovery process. Why couldn’t time stop where I was? More than a few times I second-guessed my decision to proceed with the transplant. I girded myself mentally for what I anticipated would be the signature marathon of my life.
Finally the big day arrived—and I showed up at the starting line. I relaxed a bit—cheered by family and friends and surrounded by the best healthcare workers in the world. I include in this elite group, all of the caregivers at my oncology clinic at Regions Hospital, who’d restored me to health last spring, rendering the transplant process possible. And when I experienced a bit of trouble after the transplant, I was rescued by yet another astonishing crowd of angels—the nurses, assistants, and support personnel in the BMT (“bone marrow transplant”) unit of the University of Minnesota – Fairview Hospital.
On Day 29, shortly after the fall equinox, I was hiking with spring to my stride up in the Northwoods—ever so grateful for the gift of health restored.
Today, Day 100, brought a full complement of scheduled tests beginning just after sunrise and ending right before sunset: a PET scan, multiple “labs,” procedural prep and the dreaded bone marrow biopsy—involving double the normal sampling because of a clinical study I’ve chosen to join, beginning mid-December. I say “dreaded,” but only for effect, since I wasn’t “there” for it.
Last January, before my diagnostic biopsy, I’d been given a choice—with or without a sedative in pill form. I was advised that “some patients handle the procedure fine without a sedative but others choose the sedative. It’s up to you.” At that early stage in my journey, I dreaded swallowing any kind of pill—even vitamin pills. I opted out of taking the sedative. Consequently, I caused catastrophic property damage (and must have experienced a serious concussion, though I don’t remember losing consciousness) when my head went through 10 ceilings of the hospital and broke through the roof. My next two monitoring biopsies were done under full-on sedation administered by a nurse anesthetist. Pieces of cake.
Today, thanks again to sedation, all that was to be dreaded about the biopsy needle and syringe going into my pelvic bone were the hunger pangs, since 19 hours had passed since I’d eaten.
On Monday I have an appointment with my transplant doctor to review the results. He’ll also advise on my Covid-19 vaccination schedule. I can’t wait to tell him that I bud-capped 1,200 trees. (See my 10/29/22 post) On the other hand, maybe I won’t. (See my 10/10 and 10/11/22 posts) Instead, I’ll inform him that I’ve been x-c skiing (“Not downhill!” I’ll have to add) five times already—including on the evening of Day 100.
During my 40-minute outing in Little Switzerland, I stopped several times to admire Jupiter’s dance with the waxing moon, accompanied by acrobatic clouds—and to reflect on the wondrous care that has been bestowed upon me. I also recalled the promise that my oncologist had made last spring: “You’ll be skiing next season—and for many seasons after that.”
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
1 Comment
Bless you for sharing!
My dear friend and minister helped me when I balked at “bless you”. How arrogant! She said to consider it a recognition and appreciation of your situation. You amplify her and help me. Thank you.
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