Tomorrow, Aug 25, 2017, exactly 3 weeks from the day of admittance, I will be discharged! Well, this is the hope, and as of right now, as long as a fever doesn’t appear out of nowhere overnight, I should be home tomorrow evening. I want to fall asleep listening to the crickets breathing in the sweet, late August Maine air.

Over a week ago, when I wrote about the ability to, once again, enjoy a cup of tea, I thought that I was on the mend and that the worst of this transplant was drifting away into memory. I was very wrong. When all my counts finally bottomed out, I was in the worst possible state — for days. I assumed this transplant would be much like the past, but I just kept feeling worse and worse post “day 0” (the day I received my cells back). There are several reasons why this transplant hit me harder: different chemo regimens, shorter recovery/rest time between transplants, etc. All I know is that I hope never again to be even close to some of the horrific states I was in over the past several days. One night, I was not sure of the time; I found myself curled into a fetal position and moaning continuously. Another night, I asked the night nurse if I was dying. I shudder to think of anyone in this state of mind or body.

If everything goes according to plan and I am discharged tomorrow, I will return for follow-up labs (blood work) and a few other tests in about a week.

But, for now, this appointment is very far from my mind. Right now, I merely want stillness, rest — deep, nurturing rest.