My brother (Matt), my Mom (GG), and a couple of xanax picked me up at 10 am this morning to take me to Children’s Hospital for several appointments for my stem cell donor “workup.” Thankfully, I got in a quick workout beforehand with my favorite workout HAGS where we all continue to show up, bitch about every exercise our trainer makes us do, listen to our bodies creek and crack, make fun of each other and laugh (during the few breaks we aren’t bitching). It is the best therapy EVER. When Luke is in-patient I have started to sneak out of his hospital room (it’s early so he is still sleeping) and have found a lil corner of the BMT kitchen where there is just enough space to facetime and join in the group sessions. I can hear them laughing and bitching but I have to be super quiet and lets be honest, they probably have me on mute. I would. The hard part is when a parent/guardian comes into the kitchen and heats up food. It’s usually bacon. It is quite hard to workout in any sort of way with the smell of bacon. Anyways, it is a great start to very long days.

How did I start off writing about stem cell donation and end up at bacon? The xanax has completely worn off btw.

We got to Children’s and made our way through the checkpoints up to the 7th floor to ONC/BMT clinic. I zipped to the restroom and of course my brother had fiddled with the self check-in computer by the time I was back, and had me all ready to go. It was a little strange checking in under my name and birthdate, instead of Luke’s. Especially at a Children’s Hospital. There was a great sense of relief that I was the patient today, and not my boy. Weird, I know, but that’s how I felt. If ONLY, I was the only patient.

I drank so much water and IV hydration packets yesterday, I got up 3 times in the middle of the night to pee. (had to be extra hydrated with clear fluids, not including Chardonnay, for today for good blood draws). I am a bad water drinker. But a good drinker. HA! I’m so used to checking my phone everytime I wake up in the middle of the night. It was 2:13 am and I look at my phone. There is a text from Luke from 1:04 am (yes, his bedroom is across the hall from mine) that says, “Love you Musj. I know you have the strength for today. You’ve given it to me to fight my battle.”

Matt, GG, and I sit in the waiting room for about 5 minutes. They call me back and off we go. First we walk into a blood draw room with chairs. Ummm…I turn around and tell them I am going to need to lay down because I am a wimpy 46 year old child. I see all the viles they have to fill as they pick them up and move us to a regular exam room. I feel like SUCH a wimp. I’m also feeling a bit more relaxed as the xanax has kicked in, and I have my brother and my mama with me. I have ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS, had an issue with needles. After being by Luke and Mason and all their stitches, broken bones, injuries, surgeries, chemo, transfusions, and everything else I have been with them through I have had ZERO issues with. None. But that twice-a-year blood draw I have to do for normal checkups I pass out 90% of the time. It’s so stupid. I’m mad and humiliated at myself everytime, but I have also accepted it, and try to prepare accordingly.

I get on the exam table, take my jacket off and put in my air-pods (holy moly where have I been- I JUST got noise cancelling air-pods for Christmas and they are LIFE CHANGING). I turn on Netflix to see what is downloaded to just tune everything and everyone else out. Dumb Suz had some drug trafficking english dubbed series downloaded but whatevs, I hit play and turned it up so I couldn’t hear any of the fuss of the 2 nurses drawing my labs. I also couldn’t hear my brother making fun of my trapper keeper notebook that I take everywhere with me. I take notes on all things cancer, hospital, nurses, doordash, lab results, count trends, graphs, and all the random shit I have spilling out of it. Gotta love a good trapper keeper. The 80’s got that right, along with so many other things.

I didn’t pass out. I’m growing up. Just kidding, I don’t want to grow up because I know it’s a trap. The two nurses leave, and BMT NP comes in. We start down the unbelievable amount of information they have to disclose to me. This day, this happens. Here are the possible side effects. Here is what is really going to happen. Here is what you have to consider. Do you understand? Sign here. Sign there. Meanwhile, between myself, mom, and brother, there are a million questions asked. I am very close to actually deeply understanding everything that is happening, going to happen, or could possibly happen, so a lot of it I just say YUP-show me where to sign. NEXT! It is a LOT of information. Shit tons. This BMT NP is so incredibly kind, patient, and knowledgable but I’m guessing when she was hired, how fast she could talk was a factor. There is SO much information, she has to talk to so fast- kind of like on the pharmaceutical commercials at the end when they pipe in very fast “may cause stroke, impotence, death, or for you to go 100% loco.” Check that last box. Too late. I’m loco. This is Bob Barker, have your pet spade or neutered.

I am tired and going to spend some time with my boys now…I will try and finish writing about the rest of our appointments we had today with a hospital psychologist and the apheresis workup…

Buckets of gratitude for my mama and my bro for being my rocks today. (and my Alli and my Chim) But especially for my Luke and his precious humility and middle of the night texts. And for my Mason giving me the biggest, sincerest, hug this morning before school.

Suxanne