coming out fighting

Last week was all about the itch, this all-over-body relentless itch, which left me powerless to resist the myopic pleasure of scratching. No sooner would the relief (and guilt) of satisfying the intense itch on my forearms wash over me when the skin on my chest would grab the baton and start its own sizzling temptation. I know, I know, the more you scratch, the more you itch, and round and round you go. The nurses said I simply needed to break the cycle with soothing cremes. But topical anti-itch potions were proving futile and a slowly worsening rash creeping up my arms had me worried. When all of a sudden, my toes were struck by intense and mysterious burning pain (started in the shower of all places), we called the hospital again. Because hands and feet are two of the places Graft versus Host Disease likes to originally manifest itself, they asked me to come in.

They still weren't too worried about my rashy arms, claiming that the kind of rash it was (bumpy, itchy) was not characteristic of GVH. And the itching was more likely a fun side effect of one of the medications I'm taking than of GVH either. (which med? how could we ever know?) But my red toes and aching feet, in combination with the above, plus a not-perfect GI tract, led to the diagnosis of mild GVH, the disease I had felt trained to fear and do everything in my power to avoid.

What's this now? "A little GVH is a good thing"? Apparently, although it is indicative that my graft or donor cells are attacking my own body mistaking the natives for invaders themselves, it proves that my graft is active, kicking butt and taking names. I imagine a little cowboys and Indians battle going on in my pelvic bone (where I visualize my marrow cells hanging out most often though their offspring are actually coursing through my entire bloodstream). The graft cells are of course the westward moving cowboys walking with bowlegged machismo, attacking peaceful Indian campsites just to prove their virility and claim their new frontier. Leave my Indians alone, dumb cowboys! Can't we all just get along?

This is, of course, an inane metaphor because "a little GVH is a good thing". A little Trail of Tears- not such a good thing.

Another good thing is that the four additional medications given to me to deal with these symptoms have succeeded in virtually eradicating all my previous discomfort. I feel very good in body and spirit.