Day 5: Of Rain and Sorrow

Seidman 3 is a confusing place. One day, the cells align and the next, well, they don't.

I received some great news on Sunday--I wouldn't be hooked up to the IV machine until Wednesday, the day of my transplant.

That allowed me a host of freedoms to walk the halls and even to go outside and enjoy the fresh air in the Healing Garden.

I can't tell you how valuable it is to my mental health to get outside of my room and outside of the hallway. Being outside, I felt in touch with the world and for a moment, I forgot where I was and why.

But, just as quickly as Seidman 3 gives, she takes it away.

I began to feel some tenderness in my right underarm, the path my PICC line follows. Having traveled this road before, I knew what that meant. It was confirmed this morning following an ultrasound: I have a blood clot.

For now, we're treating the clot with shots of Lovenox. I'll get two doses in my abdomen to keep the clot from becoming a bigger problem.

I'm not sure how that could affect Wednesday's transplant. I'm hoping the show goes on as planned.

This afternoon, I was walking my laps and had my book in hand so when I finished I could sit in my reading nook in the corner of the Courtyard of the Infirm, my nickname for Seidman 3.

My spot wasn't vacant.

A man was sitting there, with his knee propped up on the table and his eyes looking far out the window. His right thumb was pressed up against his chin.

I know that look. I know that feeling.

See, this floor--and the sixth floor 10 years ago--offers hope for Cancer patients. If things go well and the transplant works, the patient has a new outlook on life.

I know I did.

But, Seidman 3 isn't always kind. Treatment plans are disrupted and hope turns to sorrow.

I walked by the man several times.

I wish there was something I could have said or done but it takes more than kind words and thoughts to erase that feeling.

Now, I look out my window at the raindrops racing down the window the same way I did when I was a kid in the backseat of the car.

As the rain falls harder, the drops turn into streams and they all come together to form one giant drip. I can't help but think about Wednesday's transfusion.

My t-cells will drip in much the same way and I'll need them all to race around my veins to work their magic.

Even with the blood clot, I'm confident in the process.