My PICC Line

Two weeks ago marked the sixth month anniversary of my bone marrow transplant. I wrote the following in the weeks after leaving the hospital.

On Grey’s Anatomy last week, Dr. Derek Shepherd (enough playing, McDreamy) is called in from home to soothe a young man unhinged with pain after a highly invasive surgery.
The attending physician has already tried morphine with no relief. Where heavy narcotics fail, McDreamy flourishes. After placating the patient he turns to the worried mother, gazes into her eyes, and says, “the pain is not a dying pain but a healing pain, a victory pain..”The mother cries. I would have too, the whole thing was very touching.

Of course the whole interaction wouldn’t happen the Grey’s way. [Read the rest of this entry...]

The diagnosis rate of aplastic anemia is three people out of every million and when a sample of my bone marrow confirmed what blood tests were suggesting, I remember feeling that ratio sit heavy in my stomach.

Sickness forces a person to confront an uncomfortable truth; despite the instability of our own lives, the world doesn’t stop spinning to take notice. I watched the people around me continue on as normal, and my normal was gone. It made it hard to participate in the give-and-take relationships demand—–a friend’s sincere problem with a co-worker seemed inconsequential compared to my bone marrow problem.

No matter how much I told myself the bitterness was misplaced, I couldn’t help feeling it. So instead of being the sanctimonious sick person, I pulled away and settled for withdrawn.

When we moved to bone marrow transplant things changed. [Read the rest of this entry...]

Last year health insurance companies reported robust profits while everyone else slumped dreadfully. Eyebrows were raised and practices came under question. How much of an institution founded on partnership with the patient still gives the patient a thought in their meeting rooms?

Many insist quite a bit.

According to a Gallup poll released last year, the majority of Americans are happy with their coverage. Surveys were conducted between 2006-2008. The findings are surprising but they are not out of touch. Just two weeks ago a woman raved to me about her ‘kickass’ coverage that pays without issue.

Yet not all plans are built equal. Every doctor’s office keeps note of the insurer’s who pay for services and the ones who don’t. The stingier companies may blame their frugality on shoddy billing practices, and often they would have a point. Yet a problem remains; when insurer’s and practitioners clash the leftover mess falls onto the patient.

[Read the rest of this entry...]

One of the keys to a successful solid organ (or tissue)transplant is convincing the recipient’s body to accept the donation. In these scenarios the body is a prowling tiger and the new tissue an alluring prey. Luckily, drugs  like Cyclosporin and Tacrolimus can tranquilize the beast and organ rejection can be prevented.

In bone marrow and stem cell transplants the roles are switched. A tiger is being introduced to a new and unfamiliar place. Bone marrow is responsible  for the creation of all blood cell lines including those white cells who recognize a foreign presence and eliminate it. The tiger is weary of its surroundings and inclined to attack. That assault is known as Graft vs. Host Disease(GVHD). Prevention requires those same drugs used to treat organ rejection. [Read the rest of this entry...]

On my way to meet a friend last week I happened upon a car going 20 mph under the listed speed and weaving like he just left happy hour. When passing (and hoping to make eye contact to show my displeasure) it was revealed the offender was too absorbed in his mobile to look up and observe my shaking head and what the hell? expression. I was irked and immediately reached for my phone to text a buddy about it.

People love their phones. It keeps them and their thoughts in the loop. When they eat lunch they tweet about it. When they are sad they post sad lyrics to their Facebook profile. All right from their mobile device.
Regardless of what the fascination says about our culture, the tentacles of social media are growing. Everywhere. Even healthcare.

[Read the rest of this entry...]

Happy Labor Day to All.

In the thick of my treatment I continued to write essays here and there and will be posting them to the site. I’ve started to edit one a week and will post as the proofs are finished. In the interest of the blog, each essay will be back-posted to the approximate date of it’s relevancy and time it was written. The first is here.

I thought about posting something here for awhile. A friend asked me what’s the delay, a lot of things I guess. Some of it was laziness and lethargy, some of it the insecurity that clings to all writing, but mostly it was doubt; doubting that the last four months could be done justice in the form of a blog post. The words needed to express my gratitude to all the people who helped me through clicks in somewhere beyond infinity. My  mother alone deserves a cool trillion herself, or trillion billion, or whatever the numerical conversion of “hey, thanks for saving my life”—and meaning it with every strand of my soul—-works itself out to be.

You see my predicament? And that’s before even touching on the actual transplant—-how four bags of marrow and blood and preservatives can be streamed through an IV and offer resurrection. Even then it would still feel as if I’ve short changed things, left out something intrinsic to the whole process.

So for the the sake of time and sanity I’ve decided to  push aside doubt and move on to acceptance. I can’t sum this all up and hand it over in one pretty post no matter how many times I write and rewrite it, the words and talent just aren’t there. Instead it will unwind itself over time and when it feels right, I’ll do my best to write on it.

After a four month absence it seems an update is in order. The best way to put it is this: last July I posted  on the joys of a single doctor’s visit without a blood transfusion. This July my update is no transfusions in three months, ten days and a few hours. My blood no longer inspires excitement or physician’s curiosity; my blood is delightfully boring.

With that in mind the tone of this blog will certainly change, no longer will it be a sick person complaining about the healthcare industry, but instead the substantially more annoying alternative—-a healthier person doing the same.

In waiting rooms people watch and read and talk. If it’s a crowd that starts to recognize itself they talk to skip over the uncertainties engendered just watching or reading.

Lynn has been looking at me but not saying anything for the last few visits. She wants the details. After our fourth consecutive Wednesday together she makes a move.

She’s 78, and was diagnosed with leukemia some months back. She wants to make it to 80. That’s all. She tells  me then she will go in peace.

Eighty is a nice number, Lynn says.

I agree.

Minutes into our conversation my name is called by a nurse and I excuse myself with a nod.

The new room seats six patients comfortably. Five seats are taken and the only open one is number four. It’s for me.
Beside each chair is a pole to hang bags of blood or chemicals or fluid. Across the room there is an old man who looks to be in his late eighties but maybe disease has eaten away and scabbed him over with something I’m mistaking for years.

Two plastic chairs flank his seat; one for his wife, the other seats his daughter.

The old man looks awful enough  that I can’t forget him. A round of chemo is running through an IV and he’s running a fever. His breaths are short and eyes hectic.

Towards the room’s center a nurse and his wife battle over how to get the fever down while it keeps going up. He’s shaking and muttering as the woman he’s been married to for the last half century demands he be given Tylenol and packed in ice and I can’t help thinking about fish and ice and gawkers at a crowded market.

Another nurse of higher rank joins in the argument and continues to repeat ‘ibuprofen works faster’ while her comrade nods in confirmation and the old man writhes in his recliner. [Read the rest of this entry...]

My move to the West Coast has meant spending most of my time seeing doctors. A good bone marrow transplant demands preparation. But when there is some down time, it’s spent with my caregiver. She’s the only person I know out here. She’s also my mother. She has a thing for asking me questions about what’s going on. I think she thinks if she gets me talking about things it will help keep the road smooth, or smoother. She’s probably right, mothers usually are. Here’s the one she dropped on me the other day:

Do you think your life is anymore stressful now than it was last year?

[Read the rest of this entry...]