MDS Becomes AML - You Can (and Sometimes Must) Go Home Again

Back in the hospital. It's like old home week here. Everybody knows my name. Everybody remembers what the problem is and what I'm here for. Even the guy who wheeled me down to x-ray remembered me—as did the woman who coordinates the order in which patients go into x-ray. She greeted me enthusiastically, saying "We've met!"

"Several times," I replied. With a smile.

This place is rapidly becoming my second home. Not really what I had in mind. I've always wanted a second home in the Berkshires or Vermont. With five or 10 acres, if possible. And a mountain view. Oh well.

It's an odd feeling to come here while feeling fine. When I arrived last April and this past January, I was really sick and I knew it. There was a logic that said, you need to go to hospital.

But, here I am, almost hairless but feeling rather chipper, and basically I'm saying to my keepers, "Sure fill me full of hi-test and make me feel miserable. And, while you're at it, feed me some of that god-awful food you serve up around here. Why not, I'm feeling great."

Luckily, Penny and Laina will take turns bringing in dinner. There are limits to my culinary tolerance..

The biggest news so far is my socks. Hand-knitted for me by Leena-the-Elder (namesake of Laina-the-Younger) they're bright red-gray-pink striped woolen foot covers that fit perfectly and—Penny is glad to see—don't cut off any circulation at the ankles. (When I get a camera in here, I'll publish a photos of them.)

Everyone—and I mean everyone—has commented, "I love those socks."

Whilst I was waiting down in x-ray for a return push to the room, an older woman (well, older than I) was wheeled in and parked next to me. Her knit hat gave her away as a cancer patient, too. The first thing she said was "I need a pair of socks like those!" a chat followed about the need for warm, loose socks  which, after I complimented her hat, morphed into long discussion about how to keep one's head warm when you're not accustomed to being bald or semi-bald.

My newfound friend related how she wraps a turban around her head for sleeping at night, but "sometimes it comes undone and it wakes me up immediately. It's cold!"

I agreed. Laying one's head on the cool side of the pillow is a whole other experience. But, I've assimilated well enough now that I no longer wear my cousin Susan's knit hat to bed.

So, the deal here this time is this:

• two hours of chemo at a 12-hour interval on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
• Tuesday and Thursday off
• discharge as soon as my counts return to something normal and my GI functions show no ill effects.

This schedule caused a big sigh of relief. What I'd understood was two 12-hour infusions on the three days, which would've meant being tied to my five-wheeled friend (a.k.a. Ms. I.V. Pole Queen of Chemo) for all of the three days. This way, I'm Pole-free most of the time.

Oh freedom.
Oh-oh freedom.
Oh-oh freedom over me.
Before I'll be a slave [to Ms. Pole], I'll be buried in my grave
And go home to my lord and be free.