I began this blog three days ago, when I felt well enough to write. Unfortunately chemo-brain is real. And the lack of sleep, nausea and pain don’t fuel the creative process.

I could tell you all about my burning feet and palms, diarrhea, and trouble swallowing food. I could tell you it’s not pretty; in fact, it’s ugly. Or I could chose to focus on being thankful. Extended family, church family, friends, and neighbors have all stepped up to take care of me and my family. Jeff, my girlfriend Kelly, my sister Stephanie and my mom have all taken turns playing nurse and spending nights in the hospital. I call it a slumber party, which when I get my way, is mostly slumber.

I’ve even sparked a social life. My neighbors, T. – whom I fondly refer to as my twin (having received our transplants on the same day); and D. – who received her new cells Wednesday are both from the Maryland-Virginia area, have children, and had related donors. It’s good having them around. I would not want to do this alone.

Yet deep down, I’m somewhat envious of them. I cannot help wonder if having a related donor makes a difference. Unfortunately it was not a real option for me. I can only stress that the path to recovery following a stem cell transplant is no sprint. No cancer journey ever is. My marathon is more like a blinding race through an ever-changing topography that can create a ripple of panic through the spine of my medical team. Anything just beyond ordinary seems to solicit a need for more tests. The test du jour is a CT scan of my abdomen, which I have politely declined…at least for the time being.

Today, I will determine what’s ordinary and what isn’t.

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