I had to postpone my trip to Washington for the dog races. Last week my doctor in Sacramento put the kibosh on my plans to go to one last race. "There will be other dog races", she said. If I was hurt and break something then it would be a huge setback. I crash enough just training my team. Racing increases my chances of crashing about a thousand percent. The factors of running new unfamiliar trails and passing alligator dog teams are just a few of the hazards typically encountered in a race.
Tomorrow I go to UCSF to prepare for my bone marrow transplant. I may be in the hospital for four to six weeks depending on how eventful my experience will be. I am hoping for a very uneventful time. First there will be some more chemotherapy to wipe out my bone marrow. This should be the most intense chemo I have yet to experience. So far the chemo I have gone through hasn't been that bad. Chemo plays tricks with my sense of taste. I couldn't taste food or it tasted bad. I could swear that the fresh pineapple that they were giving me was prepared on the same cutting board that the kitchen had used to fillet raw fish on. Raw fish juice and fruit is not a good combination. Its enough to make anyone nauseous. In spite of that I had very little nausea during my first two rounds of chemo. I remember that during family road trips I was always the last one to get carsick. By that time my Dad so was tired of stopping all the time for all six kids that he just said, "Open the window and go. I don't want to stop now". Maybe that was why I was always the one to scrub the dried vomit off the station wagon after we got home. Since then a few years ago I saw another car with the tell tale splatter. I don't know why we didn't think of using a barf bag back then. With our family, a barf bucket would have been better.
I have been doing all that I can during my stay at home. I have gained my weight back and then some. I have been riding my bike regularly in spite of low red cell counts. I actually improved my speed some so that no more recumbents have passed me since those early days at home.
When I return to the real world I won't be the same person. I will have to protect myself from the sun because of all the carcinogens I have been exposed to. Billie can help me with that. Her episode with melanoma has made her avoid the sun like a vampire. If I ever get back on my bike again it will be long sleeves and tights all year long.
The one unknown variable will be Graft Versus Host Disease. I should get some GVHD but not too much. The doctors will have to try to balance it with anti rejection drugs. I need Maura's blood to take over the immune system in my body and attack any residual cancer cells that my own blood still harbors. Hopefully after a few months I can be weaned off the anti rejection drugs and go on with life. Commonly the GVHD attacks the skin and most can live with that. The worst scenario is GVHD attacking the liver.
The first few months after I am discharged from the hospital will be the most critical. I will be weak at first from low blood counts and susceptible to the million or so opportunistic afflictions. I can't see anyone except for my immediate caretakers and the doctors. I can get out but I won't be able to shop or go to restaurants. I will need to be revaccinated for everything I have ever been vaccinated for. I could easily be another victim of Jenny McCarthy and her scientifically illiterate horde of anti vaccination crackpots. All I need is to get whooping cough or measles because the population has lost it's herd immunity.
Overall I am feeling pretty stoic about this whole episode in my life. I can't say I am angry or afraid. I just accept that we have to do all that is possible and throw the best science we know at this beast. I am more worried about Billie and the rest of my family and friends and how they are going to deal with all this. The constant anxiety of this disease rearing it's ugly head again weighs heavily on us all.
Take Care.
Mike
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