New Go Getters

It’s been a little more that three weeks since I got out of the hospital. For the first week or so I questioned Emory’s decision to let me out a week early. I was experiencing robust stomach and gastrointestinal pain. My head was still in chemo-fog and I developed a tremor in my hands. It’s annoying to type with shaky hands.

After two weeks at home the GI symptoms lessened dramatically. What stuck around is the chemo fog, hand tremors and something going on with my ear. The chemo fog is lifting more and more every day. Another weird side effect of the chemo (I guess) was talking in my sleep. Mark told me I had a whole conversation about Justin Bieber, old fashions and nonsensical phrases like “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen a dozen.” Mark had a couple weeks off which he spent addressing any whim or outlandish request I made at the time. Michelle came in from North Carolina and is staying with us for a couple of weeks ostensibly to be my caregiver. We’ve been watching the train wreck holiday programming on Food Network. She’s gone to appointments with me, she’s keeping me on track to drink and eat enough and she’s been in charge of dinner for the most part.

Food is the continual bane of my existence. Most everything tastes like a sofa cushion or dry leaves. My peer counsellor Steve said it was two years post-transplant before his eating was back on track. Eating has been a struggle. I’m down forty pounds, and I can’t afford to lose any more weight.

The week that I checked into Emory I twisted my ankle on a bike ride. It hurt like hell and the pain six weeks in was almost as bad as when it was a fresh sprain. Mark scheduled an Xray to be done and it seems that I have been walking around for six weeks on a BROKEN DISTAL FIBULA. The day before during my regular appointment I told the Nurse Practitioner that I was having elevated temperatures at night. She ordered an additional culture to look for infection. Mark and I were heading to get my ankle scanned when I got a couple of calls from Emory to tell me that a culture came back positive and that I needed to be admitted again. I got the scan, after which we went to check me into the hospital. Once I got into the room, the nurse started an IV drip of Vancomycin. An hour or so later a PA comes in and tells me that the culture was read wrong (?)

I called Mark to have the PA explain the mix up. I was discharged from Emory right then. Of course, Mark had come home to pack a bag for me. He came to pick me up and had to endure the horrible traffic, reroutes and frenzied activity that came along with Mrs.Carter’s memorial service, which was happening at the church across the street from the hospital. It was a huge Pain in the ass.

In the end I was able to get in to see the orthopedist who sent me home with the Mercedes of boots. The boot really helps when I take my afternoon walks. I’m trying to get out and walk every day. I’m not nearly as tired as I was last week. So the phrase of the month, which I am getting a tattoo of at some point, is CAUTIOUSLY OPTIMISTIC.