Change of Plans

Ha!  Every day there's a change of plans, sometimes major, but mostly minor.  I believe that to be a universal truth.  Mostly, we are taught at a young age to just roll with it, which I think is a good approach.  That same message is found in the Serenity Prayer to which many people grab hold as their special Guiding Light, even those not particularly religious. Have the serenity to accept those things we cannot change--just roll with it.

The minor change we're dealing with today is that my implant surgery has been pushed to Monday, Sept. 19.  My hemoglobin count is so low  that I need to spend most of tomorrow afternoon, the day originally set for the surgery, at Camp Dracula.

I make fun of the Andreas Cancer Center, calling it Camp Dracula, but let me tell you what it's really like.  One of the first things I notice when I enter the space is how quiet it is.  The next is how bright it is.  Sunlight floods the area on good weather days, but even on dreary days, there is still wonderful artificial lighting that doesn't allow the darkness in.  The center is relatively new and they must have gotten some input from cancer patients on how to make a potentially terrible place seem like a haven. 

When it's my turn, I am taken by a nurse to a station (which sometimes I get to choose--once I chose one where I could look out at a small courtyard area that was adorned with beautiful hanging and potted plants--it was glorious).  Once situated in my comfy recliner, I almost think I'm having a mahvelous day at the spa, except for the bag of blood to which I am attached.  The nurses are like busy bees, buzzing about, making sure I am as comfortable as possible.  Because they all work together, the vibe is one of positive energy. 

Most of the transfusions have been on Fridays, so my usual noon meal is grilled cheese on wheat with soup or salad and a dessert.  That's a Friday comfort food for a girl raised Catholic if ever there was one!  Pass the ketchup, please.

Each station is equipped with its own TV, so if I want to, I can watch "House" marathons.  I'm sure the irony isn't lost on you!  Nobody is ever disturbed by TV watchers because the audio comes through the remote, which people just place on their chests.

But, nothing is as remarkable as the patients. What I have observed could probably be characterized as a spiritual experience.  The place is filled with people who are "rolling with it," some reading, some dozing, a few with friends or family whom they have allowed into their little private place of pain.  I hear many thank yous for the care they are being given, and so far have not heard a cross word spoken.  Well, maybe I did once or twice to John--old habits die hard.  Some of the people I know, but most are strangers, even though their kind smiles belie that fact.

I told John last week that I almost look forward to going to Camp Dracula just to get a dose of what's right with humanity.  He agreed.

So tomorrow I'll order my cheese sandwich.  Life is good.