Free at last... Not so fast

Poised at the blocks, ready to commence my Olympic track race toward my old healthy self, I can see me at the finish line, with hair grown, battle scars proudly worn, somehow wiser. But then, just as the gun blasts to mark that it's indeed been 100 days since transplant, I try to lurch forward with all my soul and strength, but find myself as in a dream, fighting to run through invisible molasses. Unseen forces hinder my progress forward, keeping me close to the starting line. All of my fellow runners have left in a blur of color and I thought I'd be with them, now, finally, but this tortoise has a few more lessons in patience to learn.

"Just use your common sense". Those were the words my fabulous doctor told me in clinic last Friday. He meant this in regard to crowds, being around (even slightly possibly sick) people, air travel, parks-- all the no-no's. I love him for this advice. I've hated the seemingly arbitrary nature of the 100-day mark and the 6-month mark and the 1-year mark. I know it's an average of scientific research (though bone marrow transplants are still a very evolving and relatively "new" procedure) rounded way up to to a round number. I took some liberties with Day 100, enjoying the fresh air and eating out by Day 90 or so. I prefer to use common sense when I must balance life with treatment. It's empowering, logical, and the right prescription for my brand of endurance.

As this journey goes on, I'm content to be conservative about what I do. I've come to a kind of peace with the molasses; in fact, it tastes amazing to just let yourself take the time to heal at a gentle pace. I don't want to be the runner who has a vast lead all throughout the marathon and then gets a leg cramp at mile 25 and cannot even finish. Things are going as well as one could hope with a mismatch allogeneic transplant and I intent to keep it that way.

For instance, I canceled two semi-planned trips for November. Keeping me out of planes is tough with family on the east coast and lusting to visit foreign lands again soon. I was somehow asked to be on this panel for a symposium on women entrepreneurs in New York, but, even though I'd be technically 6 months and 5 days post transplant (and according to the books, you can fly after 6 months), I declined--- JUST IN CASE. The risks are just too high. Too many stories of patients who endure infections, frequent hospitalizations, and death, because they were coughed on by the wrong person. In that vein, I'm trying to be more vigilant about reminding people that if they're ill, please let me know (read: stay away).

I'm stronger than 100 days ago. I've watched my body heal and grow; it seems to take 3 steps forward and 1 step back, but it's moving toward that finish line. I'm down to only 22 pills to take each day. I have honed a super relationship with my roommate/Mom. I have started counseling for all the mental crap that my daily pills don't address (and perhaps exacerbate). Because we couldn't do much but hang out at my place, I've been endowed with countless hours of quality time with friends who visit. And I've discovered that there is a lot of non-raw sushi rolls out there-- bring on the shrimp tempura and spider rolls.

Hold the sashimi. For now.