I’m home for Easter, but not as I originally imagined it, with the transplant behind me. Just the opposite. Everything has been postponed until next week. Well, that’s not exactly true. My brother was allowed to move forward with the harvest of his stem cells – they’ll simply be frozen until I can get well enough to undergo the transplant. So he’ll be heading back to California on Easter Sunday and we’ll be hunting eggs and eating with the Brown family here in Cape Elizabeth.
Despite my resistance to being sent home last week, I have to admit it was the right choice. My cold got worse once I was back here and for most of the week, I’ve felt like a truck hit me. Just as the cold was starting to let go, I developed a case of shingles on my left arm. What a strange disease. It’s related to chicken pox, and in fact grows from the dormant chicken pox virus that has been lingering in your body since you were a child. It’s nerve related, following a nerve line from your spine to the periphery of your body, where it erupts as a red rash of sores that hurt when your clothes rub against them and tingle and burn like tiny electric shocks until they finally dry up and get crusty. No wonder people cringe when I mention it. It’s yucky. I’m taking meds to speed its demise.
And the newly revised date for my admission to the hospital is: March 28, 2008. Dr. Armand will be back from his Easter vacation, I’ll be over my ills (hopefully). Moriah’s 13th birthday will be that weekend (March 29). And Spring should be slowly getting established here in Maine. The daffodils on our table are so cheery and remind me of the hundreds of daffodils that grew wild on Blue Moon Farm. We were rich in daffodil cheer. The memory overwashes me now, warming me against the bite of the cold Maine wind.5 comments