I was a bit upset with myself yesterday, one of my most tiring days, having found a Casey’s gas card separated from a large stack of get well cards. I’m sorry for not being able to thank the giver. People have been generous to pray for us and send cards. After receiving fresh blood transfusion today I am much stronger but still can’t remember who sent the gas card. Hopefully they will read this blog and know we are grateful. I’ll use this burst of energy to share a little about life here in the hospital.

Is it a sign of the vampire syndrome when you look forward to fresh blood? I get transfusions of blood products (either red blood cells or platelets) about 5 days each week, because my bone marrow isn’t yet able to keep up with the supply on its own. Our witty youngest son made this observation upon seeing a picture of the bag of blood which was marked “volunteer donor.” He quipped, “Does this mean that they sometimes use blood taken from people against their will?” 🙂

I am learning that one of the benefits of chemo is when part of your hair doesn’t lie down properly, you can just tug lightly at it and it evens it right out. It has a way of making bad hair days a thing of the past. Hair today, gone tomorrow?

I had a really good night’s sleep last night; so good, I actually dreamt.
I dreamt I had Leukemia. The irony made me laugh when I awoke.

Being in the hospital is kind of like being a kid again. The nurses get all excited over my toilet outcomes.

I’m glad to be able to wear brown footy socks again. During my fever episode last week I became light-headed and fell. That automatically triggers ‘red socks’ which are given to patients at risk of falling. It was like a scarlet letter for me the next 24 hours while I felt tethered to someone there to assist me. I am normally very independent with all my personal cares but they suggested my perky 20-year-old technician should assist with my shower. Uh no. I told them I could wait until my wife arrived, thank you.

The other night I had a new nurse who encouraged me to use the call light if I needed anything. I told her that I almost never use the call button unless my IV machine is beeping. She thought for a moment and then said to Marcia and me, “You can push the button if you miss me.” She turned to leave my room and I called her back. “Yes?” she asked. I told her we missed her already. We all laughed.

Having to spend so much of my day paying close attention to keeping my body free of infection gives me a new outlook on Michael Jackson. I’m thinking about getting a white glove.