Did I mention
that mom has a perfectly matched bone marrow donor?
This morning, I dropped her off at the James Graham Brown Cancer Center, where she's been getting daily high-dose GCSF injections since last Thursday (or was it Wednesday?). Today, they insert the central line and start the draws, which will probably take at least two days, maybe three or four.
They're collecting her stem cells because she's in full remission and they want to have something in the bank. At first, they said this would be banking against a relapse occurring before a donor could be found, but since that's taken care of, we're now banking against a failure of the transplant.
They can store her stem cells for five years, and it will serve as a stop-gap measure autologous transplant should something go wrong in that time.
BUT, she has a matched donor, and the donor is still willing to serve! When she's done with donating to herself, mom will find out the timeline for her transplant. I imagine she'll be admitted shortly after the new year. A week of high-dose chemotherapy, followed by the transplant and another month or more while we await engraftment of the donor cells. Once they start cranking, she should be good to go.
Mom just rang to tell me where she is and what she knows so far about her day's plans. Once things get going, I'll head over to keep her company. Unlike last winter, when she was in the hospital about 15 minutes from here, she's going to be just a couple of blocks from where I work. If it weren't so damned cold outside, I could walk it.
We're all nervous - none more so than my mom - but we cling to our hope to keep the nerves at bay. Besides, we have to remember to LIVE, else we forget how by worrying too much.
When I gave birth to Samuel, I was struck with a sense of my own mortality. That sense has been solidly reinforced almost daily, and I redefine my perspective on living day-to-day.
This morning, I dropped her off at the James Graham Brown Cancer Center, where she's been getting daily high-dose GCSF injections since last Thursday (or was it Wednesday?). Today, they insert the central line and start the draws, which will probably take at least two days, maybe three or four.
They're collecting her stem cells because she's in full remission and they want to have something in the bank. At first, they said this would be banking against a relapse occurring before a donor could be found, but since that's taken care of, we're now banking against a failure of the transplant.
They can store her stem cells for five years, and it will serve as a stop-gap measure autologous transplant should something go wrong in that time.
BUT, she has a matched donor, and the donor is still willing to serve! When she's done with donating to herself, mom will find out the timeline for her transplant. I imagine she'll be admitted shortly after the new year. A week of high-dose chemotherapy, followed by the transplant and another month or more while we await engraftment of the donor cells. Once they start cranking, she should be good to go.
Mom just rang to tell me where she is and what she knows so far about her day's plans. Once things get going, I'll head over to keep her company. Unlike last winter, when she was in the hospital about 15 minutes from here, she's going to be just a couple of blocks from where I work. If it weren't so damned cold outside, I could walk it.
We're all nervous - none more so than my mom - but we cling to our hope to keep the nerves at bay. Besides, we have to remember to LIVE, else we forget how by worrying too much.
When I gave birth to Samuel, I was struck with a sense of my own mortality. That sense has been solidly reinforced almost daily, and I redefine my perspective on living day-to-day.