The Surgery and Snowfall

It's Saturday, February 6th, 9:21 am


For today's docket: They're getting matched platelets for me, because my body is eating up the other platelet transfusions that I've had. Meaning, my body has developed antibodies against the communal platelets (most platelet packs that are transfused are an amalgam of several donors, not necessarily exact matches with my type of platelets). Therefore, my body is fighting off some of the transfusions of the platelets. They aren't going down, but they certainly aren't going up. However, once they have the matched platelets they should rebound quickly. Once that happens, I'll be able to go to the OR for the metaport (IV), which is what they wanted to place yesterday. They will also stick me for my spinal fluid, which is where the first of my chemo will be injected. Hopefully, this all gets done today. None of it sounds pleasant, but will push me down the long road to recovery.

Yesterday was a quiet night. Only some platelets and anti-biotics. Rachael and I watched the snowfall accumulate throughout the night. It almost looks like Erie. Poor Pittsburghers, they must be terrified, like lost children in the woods. Haha. I know some of the nurses weren't allowed to leave last night, because of the weather. What an awful situation: Weather too bad to drive in, no new staff able to come in, all night staff must stay. God, I'd be doing hits of morphine between bed checks. These people are troopers. For as much as they have done for me, I would be remiss to not acknowledge their fortitude, strength, and encouragement. Maybe it's because I've never held a job that, in turn, held my heart. From busing diner tables, to mowing lawns, to filing papers, to shucking liquor, I've never felt that I was doing something that motivated me. I'll give it up for these men and women, they are passionate people.

I remember some of my entry level jobs and the horrors of working them. Eat'N'Park, the place for smiles, and future disgruntled employee hacksaw murderers. I know there are a million stories from a million people about their worst days of work. I want to know something different. I want to know about your dream job; or if that's too vague, at least the best day of work you've had at your current job.

My dream job is to write and explore, all day. I want a nice comfortable leather chair that squeaks, like an old door, when it turns. A big mahogany desk with a little lamp and green lampshade. Most of all I want books on my walls, books of men and women who've known the craft, practiced and embellished the craft, and mastered it. I want to be a poet. I want to be an improviser of language and syntax. I know I don't need any of these things for that, but it's an ideal, and I enjoy that. Me, at a desk with a bay window looking out on snow and hills, a piece of paper and pen in hand. Sure, it's cliche and trite. The reality is that there will be people flooding the room, dogs shitting on the carpet, gutters hanging like a old man's waistband, which I'll have to climb to repair. But a dream is a dream is a dream. If you're bold enough, let me know what yours is.

Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to read about my thoughts and progress. It's been amazing to hear your comments and support. Each day I wake up a lucky man, not because of my situation, because I'm enveloped in the love and support of my friends and family. None of you are far from my mind.

All my love,

Chris

P.S. My mom has started a blog of her own, of sorts. It will reach a point where I probably won't be able to update this as often as I have. Check out www.carepages.com, click on the Visit tab, and search for "chrispcare" and you should be golden. Her updates aren't as rambling and long-winded as mind.