Last Not so Wild Weekend

The only way out is through

Fritz Pearls

Two or Three Tanuki

I tell you having cancer is a full time job, and I am only 9 days away from the curative transplant and less than 2 from admission. Tomorrow is my last day of seeing patients for months.  Last day to point people in the right direction. Last day for months to experience the privilege of that most intimate and tender and fun of careers. Very poignant, but it might help me turn off my doctor gene. Tell me this isn’t doctor stuff. It is just  fastidious patient stuff: I found a mismatch on HLA-typing paperwork for my transplant which would have meant my donor was not a perfect match, but thankfully it was just a typo. I have made a list of all my concerns, and will give them to my admission team.  My wife and I are working with the very helpful dietary staff to make sure I get enough calories and protein on my weird organic vegan diet. No salads or raw foods or restaurants for 100 days. No left overs. No artisan breads. HELP!

But now I got to get back to packing and make sure my IPOD has the songs I want.  I need my books on Zen and Kabbalah. Organic clothing.  And Dr. Bronner’s soap for sure, but no toothbrushes allowed. Pack my photos and computer, and camera, but no room for art. Maybe my wife will bring her guitar and my son his harmonica, and the other son his banjo and my son in law the digeridoo. This could be fun.

My insurance files, my medical files, my financial papers. We updated our will and trust, and set up funeral plans (yeech). I need to make sure all the contacts are lined up.  I need to make sure my kids have all the daddy doctory stuff done for the next few months.

I am starting to feel overwhelmed. Better get back to work. I am looking forward to the hospital for some rest.