Day 300

Livin' in the sunshine

We made it to day 300! Sometimes it’s still hard for me to believe Ramón was diagnosed with leukemia last May. It’s even more difficult to believe that, after about nine months in remission, it occasionally feels like we’re back where we started. But, on the bright side, we’ve had 300 love-laden, laughter-loaded, gratitude-packed days. When you’re living in a hospital and constantly reminded of life’s fragility, every moment takes on a deeper level of meaning.

As I typed that, a helicopter just flew overhead. It could be carrying a person or a vital organ; it might be on the way to get one. Whatever the case, it’s unlikely to be a joyride. Instead, the helicopter will likely determine someone’s future. It’s occasionally overwhelming to be surrounded by such significance, but, more often than not, it heightens life with a richness that’s challenging to describe.

Despite some discomfort here and there, Ramón is doing quite well. Right now he’s not getting any infusions. He finished chemo on Wednesday and got his final clinical trial infusion on Friday. Now we’re simply waiting for his counts to drop, at which point he’ll start receiving blood and platelet transfusions. (Visit https://www.redcrossblood.org/ to find out where you can donate to help others in similar situations; the need is constant.)

Though we’re doing our best to take one day at a time, next steps should include another bone marrow biopsy, followed by transplant when Ramón gets the all-clear. We try not to think too much about what’s yet to come, instead focusing all our energy on pressing decisions such as what show to watch, where we should order dinner, and whether we can get away with one more day in the same clothes.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll continue to say it: we appreciate you all. Yes, there have been some tough times sprinkled throughout the 300 days, but above all, we’ve felt loved and supported. Keep the good vibes coming, and channel some positive energy to Ramón as he plays me in Words with Friends; he might be able to beat cancer, but he can’t seem to win against me.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Putting the dent in President's Day

Grief: A hard pill to swallow

It's just a game. But I still hurt.