Tough Calls

I found out that when you are coherent there are some decisions you have to make.  One such decision is how much you're willing to take, as far as treatment goes.  I was pretty much out of it for the first 2 or 3 weeks of my treatment.  I have vague memories about fevers and visits from friends. My parents were with me often and other relatives visited during vacations and such.  But for the most part my thoughts were of better times in Tallahassee, and of the classes and work that was all going down the tubes. 

There were also thoughts of friends and a lover I might never get to talk to again much less never see.  I wanted out of that bed but there was a conflict on going of whether or not I wanted to be dead or whether I wanted to go on and try to get back to living.  The conflicts of what my life might become were quieter after a while.  I remembered the people I loved and the good times I had and it all seemed to have been of some value.  No my life wasn't perfect, and yes there were still thoughts of change but it occurred to me that I couldn't just walk. 

How Much Is Too Much?

When I began to recover from the first round of chemotherapy I realized how close to death I had come.  It was kinda scary in reflection and in hearing the stories my parents told me about my fevers and violent shaking.  There is a week or two of that time of which I have no recollection at all.  I'm told these were the darkest days of the treatment and to a degree I guess I should be thankful that I can't recall it. But once I was cognizant I started thinking about how long I was gonna let this go on. 

I had come to some conclusions when I started healing up.  The first was that I was not going to just welcome death without question.  I knew it might happen but to just resign myself to dying had lost some of its appeal.  Having been so close to death and to have come back had a reassuring effect.  The first round of chemo had been successful tho in causing initial remission.  I was ready for death and I knew it could happen but I guess you could say in a way I decided I wanted to live. 

But how badly I wanted to live was something else to decide.  I decided as I lay there that I would undergo 3 rounds of chemo total.  It just happened to be that the doctor had decided on 3 rounds for his treatment program.  So it was agreed that the number would be 3.  I decided that if the leukemia was to come back after that it was far too persistent and my chances of conquering it would be poor so efforts would most  likely be painful and futile.  I made up my mind that I didn't want to die struggling in a hospital bed.  I prefer drunk in some tropical locale with easy women or something along those lines. ;)

A Break and Then on to Round 2

Once I was largely recovered the doc let me out of the hospital for a while.  He wanted me to recover my strength so that I could better stand the second round of treatment.  While I was out everyday I had to come into the hospital for about 8 hours of out patient treatment which robbed me of most of my day.  However I was initially weak and lethargic as a result of the long hospital stay so it was best I didn't try to jump back to a regular pace. 

After about a week I started feeling like myself again and my body begain to readjust.  Aside from a tube I had hanging out of my arm I was pretty much normal and could do just about anything I wanted.  So gradually i started staying out and driving around and having a little fun.  But what I enjoyed most was being able to talk to my love again without having to worry about long distance bills or catching her offline.  And there was something very normal about it.  After 2 outpatient weeks I was given an additional week off.  This was meant to help correct my kidney function but it gave me time to think.  i felt so free and so normal I started to doubt whether or not I wanted to subject myself to more treatment.

But some persuading from friends and loved ones, as well as the doc, convinced me of the need to continue. So back to the hospital I went. After a week of treatment I was let out for a couple days but after 4 or so days I had to return as an outpatient for a blood transfusion. That transfusion somehow went wrong I spiked a fever and ended up in the Intensive Care Unit.  ICU is slightly different in that they keep you hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood pressure machine that checks you every 15 minutes.  My blood pressure had dropped severely and I was on numereous medications.  I also had contracted a disease that eats red blood cells.  All in all I was very close to death, which is one of the primary reasons they put a person in ICU.  For me this was a wake up call that I was not well and death was still very near me whether I chose to remember I had cancer or not. 

I recovered from the stay in ICU and was transferred back to Specialty Care Unit, my home away from home over the past 4 months.  The rest of my stay was pretty uneventful, filled with bed rest and only made more pleasant by a couple phone conversations with my love.  After a couple weeks I recovered and gradually physically recovered.  Once I was back on my feet again and walking my morale recovered a bit.  That small victory was followed by my regained ability to eat solid foods which ushered in the doctor considering letting me go.  A couple days later they did just that and i went home for another break.

Still awake and not quite bored to death go on and continue, you glutton for punishment you.

"You're the Inspiration" Chicago.  This is for wild cause she was and always has been my inspiration.