73 Days

Today's word of the day is "transitional."

Seventy three days ago I was symptomatic. Odyssey II had begun.

Over those 73 days I visited four hospitals. I tolerated myriad needles. I survived multiple scans. I was twice dissected. I attended way-to-many office visits. I researched, I wrote, I called, I listened, I argued, and I traveled.

Oh, the places I've been.

When this began, I weighed 174. Today I weigh 198. That's doctor's orders, a lot of pizza, some stress, some I-don't-give-a-shit-ness, and a lot of not riding my bikes.

And after 73 days, here I am.

I'm in the hospital, and things are happening...but slowly.

I should be 12 hours into my first infusion, but there was a problem. Not a huge problem. Not a threatening problem. But a day-delaying problem.

The quick version:

• My doctor preferred that I not get a mediport (an implant that is placed near the collarbone that has a tube that is inserted down to a major vein near the heart, enabling infusions without many needles going into fewer veins in my arms and hands).
• My first infusion lasts 24 hours and contains Taxol, a drug that is corrosive to tissues. If there is a leak—such as might occur were I to loosen or dislodge the IV needle while sleeping or being my normal klutzy self—the Taxol will corrode tissue. That's bad.

• It is a relatively new policy on the ward that any Taxol infusions lasting more than three hours need to be administered through a mediport or a PICC line (a peripherally inserted central catheter that gives prolonged intravenous access, running a line from your bicept through the shoulder and down toward the heart).

Talk amongst yourselves. I'll wait.
Doctors, nurses, and small furry animals talked it through. For three hours.

The decision...I would get something on Monday.

As of this writing, I still don't know what it will be—PICC or mediport. I'll learn in a few hours this wee morning, most likely before you read this.

In fact, it is very likely that you are enjoying a cuppa as you read this, and that I am sedated in a sterile environment while a team of very talented people plunge a foreign object through my veins toward my heart.

So, how does that coffee taste?

In other news, this ward is heaven for the single man. The scenery and conversation are perfectly amenable to my maintaining a healthy outlook and metabolism.

Was that too subtle?
How's this?

Libido: 1
Cancer: 0

Differently inspiring and uplifting was the kindness and generosity of a very dear friend. He drove me in today...and stayed for four hours. He could have left at any time, but he chatted with me through all the "to port or not to port" conversation. We talked old cars, and told him a car-related something on my Bucket List. He even paid for a lunch of real, edible food and a few extra foodstuffs.

Wow.

It was wonderful, and it set me up for a good day.

I'll dribble drabble more when I can clickityclack tomorow. I'm in a good place right now. I'm optimistic. I'm up. Things are good. But it's almost 0230. I think I'll sleep now.

What will be will be what will be.
I've got this.