Et Voila!

The much anticipated “guest writer” has decided to make an appearance. Please welcome…Jane.

Where to start? I suppose we can start from today, Day +7. Mike is through the worst part of the transplant, fingers crossed. In typical form, he is riding his in-room stationary bike almost daily. He is fighting an unexpected but nonetheless exciting skin rash—one of the myriad side effects of the 3 toxic chemical infusions he was given two weeks ago. He is extremely tired, but still manages to spend time chatting with us, doing his daily physical therapy routine, etc. As expected, his white blood cell count hovers just above zero and will remain here for the next week or so. With no immune system to speak of, Mike is at great risk for opportunistic infection. When the girls and I visit, we have a strict “germ removal” protocol for entering his room (gown-up, wash hands for 3 minutes, face mask, booties).

14 days ago, Mike received the first of three chemotherapy drugs designed to delete his immune system. Called BCNU, this particularly gnarly drug can only be dissolved in and administered via alcohol and can cause hangover-like effects. “Can I see the cork?” Mike asked as the nurse was loading up the UV-protected glass bottle. He had an acute reaction to this drug (see Christmas Day entry titled, “Back on Your Heads”). Thankfully, the side effects diminished quickly when the infusion finished.

Over the following 5 days, Mike received two more infusions. (It’s a shame “infusion” makes it sound like a spa treatment.) He tolerated these better than the first, but with each one came an additional wave of fatigue and nausea. He walked the mile loop around the BMT floor most days when chemo was not the main act of the day (22 laps = 1 mile). On one such walk, as he lapped another identically dressed BMT patient-walker, he commented, “Nice pants.” He was on a roll that day. After 11 laps, I asked him if he wanted to sit down for a break. “No,” he replied, “I’m on a mission.”

On the 7th day, he was officially “born again”—he received the stem cells the doctors had carefully harvested and stored weeks before. This was Day Zero. The following day, Day +1, he received his own juiced-up T-cells (Patient 1A’s wife calls this the “magic potion”), pre-programmed to hunt down and kill the few remaining cancerous B-cells. (See picture above.) Mike will be laying low while his immune system regenerates, and will hopefully be out of the woods in the next week or two. We’re all sending good vibes to those little busy cells of his.

All of The McGuires wish you and yours a very Happy New Year. We look forward to next Christmas and New Year back in our own hometown!