No Admittance

I was scheduled to check in to Hotel Hope yesterday for round four. But before checking in, I had one last blood draw and meeting with Dr. Forman to make sure that my blood counts had risen to acceptable levels. They had not, so my admittance has been postponed until next week.

You’d think that someone would be happy to know that they’re free to return home instead of checking in to the hospital, but I wasn’t.

First of all, I didn’t realize how much emotional and mental “psyching up” I do before checking in. I was pumped and ready to go, so it was a tremendous letdown.

And, as Dr. Forman knows and demonstrated by intertwining his fingers, my chemo calendar and personal calendar are closely linked. Throw off the schedule by a week and it’s like a house of cards that threatens to come tumbling down.

I look at my blood count spreadsheet and the line charts I created. The last line, which represents round three, is an erratic, misbehaving zig. The data and graphing were supposed to give my life control and predictability, but I knew all along that it was just the allusion of those things. The only thing that I can count on is that the chemo will decimate my blood counts.

The good news is that I’m feeling physically and emotionally better than ever, in spite of the low blood counts. So now I have an extra week to enjoy feeling good before checking in and, believe me, I plan to make the most of it.

Plenty to Smile About

When I was diagnosed with mantle cell lymphoma, the first thing I said to Cindy was, "Stay on track and get your diploma!"

We did it!

One True Thing

I imagine sometimes that the talk among cancer patients and penitentiary inmates isn't much different.

"Whatcha' in for?" (What's your diagnosis?)
"How long ya' been servin'?" (When did you get your diagnosis?)
"Whatcha' doin' now?" (What treatment are you receiving?)
"Whatcha' doin' later?" (What treatments are scheduled for the future?)

I've had many different versions of this same conversation since I became a patient at the City of Hope. But for more in-depth conversation, I've discovered that you must head straight for the transfusion/infusion room - the social hub of the hematology department.

Imagine a half-dozen streamlined Lazy-Boy recliners lined up side by side. Each one has its own television equipped with cable access and headphones, but I've seldom seen one turned on. Patients, who are captive audiences for multi-hour transfusions or infusions, jump (or recline) at the chance to talk with other patients.

When I went in for a hemoglobin (not the anticipated platelet) transfusion yesterday, I met Joel, a 37-year-old recently diagnosed with leukemia, in a nearby reclining chair.

His wife soon joined him and launched into such a thorough script critique of "Studio 60" that I assumed she was a writer for the show. (For non-So. Cal. readers, you can't drop a pencil in this town without it rolling under someone in the entertainment industry.) It turns out that she's not in "the biz." She and her husband just aren't afraid to admit that they're television fans, especially since Joel has had to endure six-week stretches as an in-patient since he was diagnosed in January.

For the next 30 minutes, we talked television. We lamented how characters on Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives diagnosed with leukemia and Hodgkin’s Lymphoma are depriving us of the "escapism" value of our favorite shows. We ragged on Martha and her "poor cancer" attitude. We compared notes about nurses and concluded that the most well meaning but irritating ones were what Joel called the "Teletubbies" with their chirpy, high-pitched voices. A nurse chimed in about the irony of the “Food Network” playing endlessly in the rooms of the nauseous, upchucking patients in the bone marrow transplant wing.

Before long, John, a multiple-myeloma patient who I’ve seen many times at CoH, joined the group and the conversation. By coincidence, he's as short and round and good-natured as a Teletubby.

By the time Joel was finished with his transfusion, we had learned that he's the father of three boys (ages 8, 5 and 2); has a mother-in-law who took a leave of absence from her job and moved in to help as soon as he received his diagnosis; and that he's scheduled for a donor bone marrow transplant on June 13.

As Joel and his wife left the transfusion room, the nurses and we patients shouted together, "Good luck!" I know we all hoped the same thing. That our wish didn't sound either too lame or too "Teletubbish." That Joel knew that it was shorthand for our admiration for his spirit, for smooth sailing through what we all know is a rough journey ahead, for strength for his wife and family, for remission after the transplant.

After Joel left, the conversation suddenly turned to horse racing and Santa Anita. John (the one with multiple myeloma) and his 20-something daughter lit up when she explained that she’s betting on “One True Thing” just so that she can have the ticket for a souvenir. It turns out that her dad’s the owner and they're both looking forward to the mare running on Memorial Day.

We continued the obligatory “inmate” questions (John is also preparing for a stem cell transplant) before his infusion was complete.

As he left, I shouted out, “Good luck with ‘One True Thing.’”

“Thanks,” he said and then turned and reminded us, “Yes, at this point, it is all about luck, isn’t it?"

Headlines from the Home Front

Cindy Carrier to Earn High School Diploma: It's official! Yesterday we received a message from the head of the school informing us that Cindy has completed all of the requirements for graduation and will march with her class this evening. Let the celebration begin!

Niece and Great Nephew Postpone Visit: At the last minute, my four-month-old great nephew Will became ill, so Emily wasn't able to fly out from Atlanta this week. At this point, a sick baby presents a double whammy: the challenge of airplane travel and the threat of my compromised white blood system. I'll just have to wait until "Big Will" is a little bigger before I hold him for the firs time.

Barbie and Ken Visit from Seattle Area: We're enjoying a brief visit with George's sister and brother-in-law. (The names have been changed to protect cyber privacy.)

Blood Levels Need to Rise: As always, before I can check in for the next round of in-patient chemo treatments, my blood levels need to reach specific levels. If the platelet count doesn't naturally rise by tomorrow, I'll be knocking back a few "mai tais" tomorrow afternoon, courtesy of the City of Hope transfusion department.

Stick to Pralines, Not Pity

On Tuesday, former Gucci designer Tom Ford made a guest appearance on the Martha Stewart Show and helped whip up a batch of pecan pralines.

Martha pointed out that the iconic designer is featured in the May 28 issue of New York Magazine. The article, Tom Ford After Sex, "explores who he is without all that libido to sell."

Martha pulled out a copy of the issue, but, much to her embarrassment, discovered that the cover was a group shot of 143 cancer survivors, ages four to 92. The dissonance between Gucci and cancer was too much for Martha to handle. She condescendingly patted the cover and sadly explained, "These poor people have cancer. I hope they get better soon."

I hope that Martha can take a break from decorating and dining long enough to read the cover story, Cancer: The Survivor Monologues, to gain some insight into the people she pities so much.

The riveting series of first person accounts highlights the "surreal emergencies, suppressed marital stresses, comforting superstitions, petty irritations, spontaneous epiphanies, and other moment-to-moment means by which cancer – the ultimate life-altering experience – goes about its business of altering lives.”

I think you'll find the piece more addictive than pecan pralines.

Under worked and overjoyed

Hello!

It's Paula Johnson, your cancer correspondent, checking in to say I am thrilled that Susan has been able to blog so faithfully before, during and after her rounds of chemo.

I was ready to scrawl up-to-the minute progress reports in my brand spanking new, regulation reporter's notebook, and then race to my computer to hammer out the latest update for Cancer Banter.

I had even planned to occasionally yell "stop the presses!" just for dramatic effect. Maybe get one of those flak jackets you see journalists wearing when they report from a war zone.

But I haven't had to blog much on Susan's behalf, and that suits me fine. She's doing well, so I have more time to send earnest* emails to George suggesting that he and Cindy learn their way around a kitchen already. A little father/daughter teamwork at Dream Dinners perhaps?

*In this case, "earnest" is code for “vaguely threatening.” War is hell.

Updates on the Updates

Eye, Eye, Matie : My light-sensitive right eye has steadily improved and checked out perfectly today with my ocular surgeon/opthamologist. I guess I won't have to practice my pirate imitation after all.

The Graduatie: Cindy rose to the challenge and turned in all of her overdue economics homework. She'll get to march on Thursday and will receive her diploma if she continues to keep on track with a project that's due this Wednesday.

Company's Comin' on Wednesday: George's sister and brother-in-law will be visiting from the Seattle area, and my favorite niece Emily and her four-month-old baby, Will, will be flying out from Atlanta. I'm looking forward to visiting with everyone, but I especially can't wait to see and hold my great nephew for the first time.

If you don't hear much from me in the next few days, it's because I'm enjoying time with family.