Are We There Yet?

Great news! Jim has hit 150 pounds! (the sound you hear is him correcting me with typically scientific precision-- "that's 149.1 pounds, actually") So I upped it by an extra Twinkie. Sue me! Since he has been off chemotherapy, he has been happily downing normal meals and snacks. Boy, nothing like a wife who can pack the weight on ya', right? That trait is the single most coveted quality in third world countries like Ethiopia, although scandalously overlooked here.

The other good news is that the doctors are again planning for the SCT. (!) Originally Jim was told he would be dropped from the clinical trial he had been enrolled in, given that more than a year has passed since he was diagnosed and signed on to the trial. Today, they told him a special exception had been granted, provided he gets this transplant soon. They are looking at November as the preparation period when he will be gearing his body up and making the stem cell collection. Collecting the stem cells will take anywhere from one to five days, depending on how many there are in his blood. (in the millions!!) Once that is done, he will be admitted to the hospital a week later, possibly the day after Thanksgiving, maybe sooner. They will administer powerful drugs which will kill all his red cells and immunities dating back to when he was kicking his crocheted booties off. His immune system will be laid bare, so there will be a time of being a "bubble boy." Once his blood counts reach a particular level, he can be released into our pristine home.

Now, a few of you are lucky enough to know my home rather well. Matt came by the other night and gave me several hundred pointers on how I might improve conditions. Something about... "Mom, NEVER buy fruit again that is not in a can!" Seems the autumnal bowl of apples so highly recommended by Martha Stewart which was buried under a ream of forms and mail on our table had become a magnet for some wildlife I hadn't anticipated. Now, these things, judging from their size, should have brains the size of, ummm, salt granules. However, they are clever enough to avoid common methods of extermination (meaning my trying to clap them dead). I opened the microwave the other day and one flew out. Red eyes and all. To my chagrin, I have discovered they have a propensity to fall headlong into a glass of red wine. This observation was made when the little b****s dive-bombed into a glass of merlot I was enjoying. In fact, two of them were frolicking playing "Marco"-- "Polo", when I noticed them. Ignoring comments of "well, they are just protein," I was forced to toss the entire glassful down the drain. Perfect example of "no wine before its time!"

In sincerity, the project of getting the house in immaculate condition intimidates me beyond belief. Are they really sending someone home with ME, who needs me to never make a mistake? Me, the high priestess of mistakes?? The penalty for a mistake might cause an infection that could kill him.

I haven't felt quite this way ever before... not even when they placed my first born in my arms and wished me luck. I knew she would survive. Babies do. But this is the most responsibility anyone has ever handed me. Suddenly I'm back feeling like a small girl, lost in Filene's Basement.(RIP) My mom and grandmother would take me there and lose me four or five times in the crowd. It was the Irish version of "coming of age". At six, you have no sense of direction, no money, and you don't know anyone; it's a wonder I wasn't permanently traumatized. (Maybe THAT's when it happened!) Unintended consequence, I grew up recognizing a Chanel suit at 50 feet.

So the moral of this blog about plans, and the likelihood of needing to change them, is that life has this way of expecting far more of you than you think you can deliver. Most of the time, delivering is under your control, but not easy. So never leave apples on your table.... they attract fruit flies.

Oh, and don't let them tell you different; it's Fuh-Leens, not FI-leens.