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?