I thought I was in the clear, but just as I turned the corner, I was ambushed by the most dreadful of realizations: I had lost one of my most trusted companions - one that had seen me through horrible times, always by my side. But most often, on my head. My green fleece hat had gone missing!
Okay, that's not really what thickened the plot, but I must admit that for a time, I was very distraught by the loss of my fuzzy friend. Luckily, later that evening, one of the MSKCC workers found my hat near the elevators, and stored it in a nice protective biohazard bag for me to pick up upon my next visit.
The real plot thickening followed a lengthy day of doctor's appointments in preparation for my bone marrow transplant. Everything was ready. I had passed the echocardiographic stress and pulmonary function tests, and my blood counts were good. A treatment plan was in place, consisting of chemotherapy, radiation treatment, and double cord blood units (extracted from a baby's umbilical cord). It was decided to use cord blood rather than the found 9 of 10 HLA match, as this donor was willing to donate via peripheral blood only. I don't blame him, given the medical field's unfortunate assignment of the term "bone marrow harvest" to its alternative method, which evokes imagery of a dark, hooded fellow wielding a scythe (from what I understand, the bone marrow harvest procedure is a relatively mild affair). This term is rivaled only by the name of the procedure I underwent today: the "lumbar puncture", more endearingly referred to as the "spinal tap". Despite the harshness of the medical nomenclature, the procedure was completely painless. What was most unpleasant about it was the information it yielded.
The end of the day was approaching. Having finished signing three copies of the bone marrow transplant consent form, I was - along with those working in the clinic - ready to head home. But just as the day seemed over, the nurse told me to stand by for an unscheduled visit with my doctor, whose first words upon entering the consultation room were "We have a problem." Unfortunately, abnormal cells were found in my spinal fluid. This condition is prohibitive of a bone marrow transplant, and raises the danger that my cancer has affected my central nervous system. Early tomorrow morning, I will visit to the hospital again for an MRI of my brain and spine, which will be accompanied by tests of my blood and spinal fluid to determine just what type of cancer has pried its way into my backbone.
A funny thing I noticed today is that I was truly more shocked and disturbed by the loss of my hat than the news threatening the loss of my life. While I had become very familiar with the threat of losing my life, I had not yet pondered that of losing my hat. Apparently, learning not to take life and people for granted has not trickled its way down to the smaller things in life. I suppose there is still more for me to learn from this experience; perhaps this is the reason it has been prolonged.
