GENGHIS KAHN AND FRANKENSTEIN

AUGUST 15, 2022 – (Cont.) “Is it okay if he drives himself to the appointment this afternoon?” my wife asked the physician’s assistant.

“Sure,” said the PA.

“Well, actually,” I said, “because of the sedation this morning, I’ve been instructed not to drive or make any important decisions for the rest of the day.”

The PA laughed. “Of course! What was I thinking,” she said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just showing that despite the sedation, I’m more alert than I appear.”

After a good night’s sleep replete with interesting dreams, I’d been knocked out for an hour (no dreams) this morning for the installation of a “central line catheter,” a two-way street by which blood can be drawn and curative and prophylactic medications infused. Less than an hour later, this Frankenstein apparatus was put to use by a staff member of the “lab” three floors down from the “procedure floor.” The purpose was to determine whether apheresis can start tomorrow. That’s the über-Frankenstein process by which blood is sucked out of my body, injected into an engineering marvel, spun for extraction of stem cells, and directed back into my bloodstream—for five to six hours daily for up to three days.

I’m told that the biggest challenge of the apheresis is . . . boredom, though the patient is given unlimited access to Direct TV in a private room. For kicks, I’d like to show up with a large copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, but that’s probably not happening. Instead, I’ll go with Genghis Kahn and the Making of the Modern World by Jack Weatherford. I’d planned on reading a paperback edition of Willa Cather’s My Ántonia, but when we headed out the door early this morning, I couldn’t find it where I was certain I’d left it. In desperation for something to read (other than content on my phone screen), I’d grabbed Genghis Kahn from a recently reshuffled pile. I’d read it years ago and found it riveting.

While waiting for this morning’s procedure, I dove into the book. It proved to be the triple espresso that I’d been deprived because of the prohibition against food and drink after midnight. When one of the nurses asked me if it was a good book, I said, “It’s good enough to be reading a second time!”

“I like reading books a second time,” she said. “I never fail to get more out of them that way.”

Genghis Kahn kept me alert long enough to joke with the crew in the “procedure room,” but not for long. The drugs in the IV line were too much for the Mongol conqueror.

After what could’ve been 800 years, but in reality, was under an hour, installation of the “central line catheter” was complete. Another “subcu” injection was followed by an appointment with the PA, who will be involved in tomorrow’s Frankenstein-in-full session.

After our granddaughter packed up her art supplies, she and my wife, my official escorts, accompanied me home.

A few hours later, I was recalled for another “subcu” injection to accelerate “the numbers.” Like all the other medications I’ve ingested over the past seven and a half months, this one has side effects—some common, most rare. Fine. When you’re focused on overcoming a serious condition, you grow accustomed to throwing stuff on the scale and watching it swing dramatically to the “go ahead, take it” side—even when the person who administers the latest injection follows up with a bag of supplies “in case you experience uncontrollable diarrhea on the way home.”

I’m now sore where the Frankenstein line was installed. And I’m tired because I’ve had to put Genghis Kahn aside and not yet replaced it with a cup of caffeine.

But on the “side effects” front . . . er, “back”? . . . so far so good. Stay tuned. (Cont.)

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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson