Whatever it takes!

Another week, another setback. Yesterday Lois and I got all packed up (again) and headed out to the hospital. We again walked the seven floors in the unairconditioned stairwell. We checked in at the kiosk and then I ran up and down the stairs over and over for a good 15 minutes, keeping my heart rate up around 160. When I was exhausted (and hot) from the stairs, I walked down the hall and then got a text from Lois that my name was up. I went back to the phlebotomist and she then ran in place with me and we did mirrored jumping jacks together until I was finally out of energy. And then she took my blood. She was so much fun! That's the thing about MD Anderson. The people are just so great. They will joke, laugh, exercise, and cry with you. Above all, they never lose patience.  They will do whatever you need to get you through to the next crucial junction. This is the epitome of what healthcare should be.

After the blood draw, we had to wait. We sat in the indoor "park" and talked. Then we went outside to watch the eclipse with our shared eclipse glasses (shout out to Kim, who passed those along). Lots of people (including clinical staff from the hospital) came out off and on to see it also. I'm pretty sure that the hold up on the blood count reports may have been due to the eclipse in the middle of the day. It made me wonder how much it cost companies in employee productivity to have people going outside for 2-3 hours in the middle of the day to see it. When we were tired of watching the eclipse, we offered our glasses to those around us and then headed inside.

Poor Lois was a little anxious (as was I) and wanted to find out what was going on with the results. Since I had been through this before I made sure I told her the story of actually being in the bed awaiting the medicine, only to be told that we would not move forward. I was trying to manage both of our expectations. Sure enough, Aunt Be called to say that some numbers were better but not good enough. Try again on Wednesday. Also, still no word on the scan that I'm due for. The sad part was when Aunt Be said, "How much longer do you plan to stay in Houston?" Lois and I both said, "Until you tell us we are able to get this done." So we've committed to seeing this through. At this point it's become this monumental fete to conquer. We've come so far, we can't possibly give up now!

As we were leaving the hospital, Lois jumped into "let's fix something" mode and suggested ways to try to fix the situation as well as things we should do to get other things done that needed to be done. I realized that I just needed to go home, decompress, and regroup. We went our separate ways and didn't talk again until this morning. Fascinatingly, we must have both sensed a giant letdown yesterday because we both slept a whole lot and slept in this morning instead of doing our 4 mile walk. We resolved again today that we will win this eventually. More bone broth!

I've decided that this is some sort of test. Whether it's the doctors, my therapist, the universe, or my own body, something is testing me to see how much it takes for me to give up or lose my cool. I recently read a great book called "Hillbilly Elegy" by J.D. Vance. If you haven't read it, you should. Some have hailed it political commentary on the plight of the rural whites in poverty. The author grew up in a family of Eastern Kentucky hillbillies. For those of us familiar with the culture, the book is more therapeutic than political. One of the many themes in the book is that even if you are just a descendant of the hillbilly culture and not currently living in it, the culture is still so pervasive that it affects you in both positive and negative ways. In the last chapter he says, "I believe that we hillbillies are the toughest [G**dam*ed] people on this earth." I think that he has something there...you never know what you are made of or what you have inherited until the going gets rough.