Day 4 The smell of hospital

Early this morning one of the techs here potentially saved my life. This life save had nothing to do with treatment or cancer though. This life save had to do with something I have been even more afraid of.... My hospital room. The tech happened to notice the plug attached to my bed was burning through itself. So they had to replace my bed so I wouldn't catch fire in the middle of my restless sleep here.

I am definitely taking a lot more medication here. They actually have me on anti-seize medicine because of the chances of seizing during one of the chemo therapies. Apparently the strength is much more powerful for transplant preparation. The transplant is scheduled for Wednesday. It's hard to believe it's only Saturday. Hours are drawing on like days.

- we all assume the worst the best we can and for a round or two they'd gladly drag you down

I can tell now that the chemo therapy is only beginning to set in. I have been feeling slightly different over the past day or so but this morning I am beginning to feel the effects. It also didn't help for a nurse and a doctor to come in my room this morning and remind me that I am going to get much worse before I get better. I know I'm sounding down and dark right now but that is how I'm feeling. I know there will be better times to come soon. This writing therapy helps though, in some small way, even when my tears burn my eyes shut. I awoke this morning with the bad metallic taste in my mouth that only a person who has taken chemo in the past knows. My stomach just doesn't feel right and the song in my head keeps repeating "the smell of hospitals in winter, and the feeling that it's all a lot of oysters and no pearls". However, I can't help but think of my pearl coming to visit later today, her name is Saint Tracy and she is my strength and warm light in this drab place of misery and discomfort.

Day 3 the digs

It has been my experience so far that day to day living in the old half of this hospital is not unlike any other hospital I've lived in. The staff seems cordial and nice enough though most all of them have that distant vague awareness just below the surface that they seem to bury in day to day menial activities that by now most of which I could preform on myself.

I can see now why we were never given a tour of their living facilities, and I am now doubting that it had much to do with spreading germs to transplant patients. There is a rumor going around that by the 15Th of February another side of the hospital will be having it's grand opening and we will all be shuffled into bigger much cleaner and more luxurious rooms. This is something to look forward to considering the drab closet of a room with a view of another building that I currently occupy. The room is small enough to make more than 2 people in the room twist uncomfortably around the medical wires and furniture. There is a huge door that leads to a small very old looking hall and nurses desk. In my room there is a 23 inch T.V. hanging from the ceiling with a VCR under it hooked up and ready to watch the best of whatever cheesy 80's movie I prefer. All of this reminds me very much of the very first time I was diagnosed back in 2006.

I was released from my tubed shackle's today for a few hours for the first time since being here. My chemo regiment will resume around 3pm today and until then I can take a shower, rest and move semi-freely. The day nurses all encourage me to walk around as much as I can to keep my muscles and body sharp for what's to come. However there is simply not very far to walk and not much to do. I am coming to the conclusion that I am here to wait it out. These are not the good days. There is a calendar on the wall with the various medicines and treatment in preparation for the transplant as well as what they call the plus days after the transplant. They tell me that eventually this calendar will become very important to me as a guide to get out of here counting down the days and the treatments. Unfortunately, I have found myself already doing this.

I feel like Edmond Dante in The Count of Monte Cristo where he tells the Priest that there are 7,548 bricks in his cell, he knows this because he has counted them many times. The priest responds with -aahh but have you named them yet?

Day 1 and 2 in Moffitt

Hello everyone,

This is a daily blog that I am testing. I would like to see how effective it is to blog most every day my experience. I'm not 100% sure how this works yet so I will keep it short. So far my experience here in Tampa has been great! The chemo is nothing new and all of the staff here has been nothing less than excellent.

I started my first round of chemo late last night and slept through most of it. Today has been a barrage of doctor instructions and schedules and really nice people informing me of the goods and not so goods of the procedures to come. I will inform you of everything as I go. I need to figure out exactly how this blog thing works first.

I will leave you with the knowledge that I am doing well so far and I expect the worse but hope for the best and probably will land some place in between. Overall I get the deep sense of feeling that I will be OK after all of this.

I will keep in touch and talk at you soon!

Rick