Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Day #2: My Auto Stem Cell Transplant for

Yesterday I completed Day 1 of my stem cell transplant. 

Here's what I packed:

-Panties and bras for each day, withe a few extras just in case
-One pair of fuzzy socks per day of stay so I get fresh clean ones each morning to wear
-One pair of either yoga pants or leggings for each day of stay (a little fashionable, very comfy)
-One light top for each day because if I get cold (and I do), I just as for another blanket
-Dental floss (ok, I forgot this but asked William to bring up some for me today, which he did)
-Cotton balls (forgot these, too, but my mom brought them up this morning)
-Toothbrush and toothpaste
-Yummy soap, lotions, and shampoos (I still have hair, after all)
-My laptop
-Cell phone and chargers

Here's what I've been doing to stay busy:

-My mom, dad, brother and William came up for a visit. We met up with another myeloma survivor and friend, Steve, who just finished his third transplant a few months ago. We got lunch and chatted. It was nice. And I ate, boy did I eat, even a Big Huge Cookie with chocolate chips, nuts and coconuts. If I have to sit in this hospital, I get to eat whatever I want, is my take. Good idea? Probably not. All goes as planned, I am being sprung from this place on my BIRTHDAY.
-I slept almost not a wink last night because the stupid buzzer from my chemo bag kept going off like every 45 minutes. If a hammer or rock were nearby, I would have destroyed this thing, one happy whack at a time. Bang bang bang into silence. That did not happen. Instead, it almost sent me into needing therapy, but not for cancer
-I am writing articles
-I am going to take a nap at some point
-I might watch a movie.
-I definitely have an article I want to read up on in my Vanity Fair.

And here's how I'm feeling:

-Great. Go figure. Someone undergoing SCT should look and feel sick, right? Please, Lord, not me. Not yet anyway. 

As Steve and I were waiting for the elevator, strapped to our IV carts, a nurse said, "I love seeing cancer patients looking like you two!" With a caveat! Steve is in maintenance therapy and I'm just beginning down this joyous road, so let's see, let's see. Prayers, cross fingers, kick this thing in the ass then go on a trip?

I look outside my private room in this hospital. It is overcast and windy. I feel cozy. I am blessed. I feel loved and supported and, at least for now, my appetite is raging and I am comfy. And I will win this battle, one tiny step at a time. Setbacks? Who knows, but it will get better.