Everything going as expected. Stem cells transplanted back into me 2 days ago. I am officially on "Day +2".
I feel like f*cking dog shit. The best way I can describe it is it is 10x worse than the worst hangover I ever had (and I have had a few doozies). Combine this with a level of body anxiety that I can't describe accurately. This will slowly get worse until about day +6 or +7 when my WBC and lymphocyte counts start to come back up. This is normal. Both the Stem cells and the preservative they are frozen in make you ill post transplant. It is crazy. As they are going back in through a "pic line" in my left arm straight into my left ventricle, you can taste them and the preservatives. To me it tasted like rotten raw fish with ketchup mixed in. They have really strong anti-nausea medication which works, kinda. The anti-nausea meds are causing the body anxiety. Honestly, I think the body anxiety is worse than throwing up more.
I need targets for just about everything so I have set my sights on getting the F out of here by Day +14. That will be 24 days total for this. This will be back to our home only for another month or so. Hard to put dates on things as my "counts" will dictate what/when things occur.
Friends have decided that we are taking a group to St. Maarten next February and have asked that I get it researched/organized. This because they want to go, as do the wife and I and I suspect to give me something to do with the miserable down time. Right up my ally. My best friend just started going through what will most assuredly be a miserable separation/divorce from his wife and declined to be part of the group. I asked him to come alone or bring a brother or whatever. He said no. I told him he may not get another chance with me on something like this. That pissed him off much more than I thought it would and yes, I know realize just how dirty that was of me. He is coming. I am planning to find him someone to bring and if he says no I will just fly her there and he can deal with it there. My wife doesn't like this idea one bit. Funny, but having your heart stopped three times, getting cancer twice, open heart surgery and now this month long transplant, all in 30 months, will alter just how many f*cks you give. Very few. I may not have any left. Piggy and Mikie probably have noticed an uptick of my opinions on FB lately, LOL. Patswin for sure has on X.
Wow, that last paragraph was a massive left turn. My brain...
Thanks for letting me say some of these things I don't tell the people around me. Always has been cathartic.
It's 5:51 AM here in Dee-Troit, Michigan (yep, I'm really in Detroit). Sleep's been playing hard to get lately. My condition keeps me on my toes with round-the-clock care from multiple angles. That pretty much rules out a solid night's rest. To top it off, the pump on my smaller IV pole decided to throw a party with four false alarms last night. So, I've been up since 3 AM, a bit grumpy but hanging in there.
The docs tell me every day that I'm "on track" with my body's recovery from the stem cell transplant process. Today marks day +8. Days +3, 4, 5, and 6 were a real challenge—probably the toughest I've faced in the last three years. Yep, that intense. It’s been a bigger hurdle than even the first week after open-heart surgery last March. This process just keeps coming at you, no breaks to catch your breath. Gotta hand it to Karmanos, though—they nailed the timeline for Lynn and me before the transplant. They were spot-on about when things would happen, how I’d react, and how rough each day might feel. With past procedures, I’ve managed to outpace the recovery schedule, sometimes by a lot. Late last night, I think I hit a turning point. I got up, went to the bathroom, came back, and sat down without feeling like I was about to throw up or pass out.. Putting your own stem cells back in sounds like a breeze compared to dealing with rejection drugs from someone else’s cells. Fingers crossed this works—I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of doing it again but tougher.
A few times a day, I get these bursts where I feel about 25% of normal. Sleep’s still off the table, but it’s enough to have my wife and kids visit. Sometimes it hits out of nowhere, so I use those moments to tackle the bills. It’s a small win, but it feels good to do something for my family. Lynn thinks I shouldn’t “waste” my good spells on that—ha, men and women, right? After the bills are paid, I check out the chaos on Kevin’s FB page and toss in a few zingers of my own. I was right, by the way—zero fucks given. Recently accepted a FB friend request from another very well respected and liked PP-er. I think she probably regrets sending it.
Funny thing: unless you’re in my tight-knit crew of maybe 12 to 15 people—you’d never guess the last three years have been a rollercoaster just from my Facebook. But here on Patriots Planet, I’ve laid it all out there when the moment feels right.I’m optimistically chewing ice and sipping on ice water. Been at it since about 3:15 AM. What’s the big deal? No nausea. I’m praying that corner’s been turned. The fatigue corner and the bone pain corner are still lurking somewhere over the horizon, I think, but I’m ready for those two to throw in the towel soon too. Another hilarious “feature” of this process? Extreme bloating. I feel like I’m gonna look like my body’s just hanging on my bones once I get home and ditch the constant thousand-milliliter bags of fluid. They’re literally 24/7. I reckon I’ll end up looking like that former Secretary of State from Trump’s first term—can’t recall his name (yep, another “feature”). If you watch current events stations, you can’t miss him making the rounds. Ready for this? I’m up over 30 pounds in fluids. How do I know it’s all fluids? Because I haven’t eaten a thing since day +3. I’m gonna need an extension cord in the bathroom when I get home—even the latest iPhone Pro battery won’t survive the marathon I’ll be running in there dumping all this. And yeah, that’s gross and probably TMI, but I shared it anyway. Oh, and the other thing? Mike Pompeo. My freaking brain—ugh.
I’m past the midpoint of this ordeal, so I should be home in the next two weeks. I’ll be hitting up PXG when my strength’s back, and then heading to SC with my son E (Ethan) in late May. All booked—an early birthday present for E (my son Ethan) and a life present for me. I can’t wait to sprawl out on the couch when I get home and watch Seamus figure out I’m home. He’s been camping out in my office lately because he can see the end of the driveway and part of the road. We don’t deserve dogs.
I need a break, so I’ll wrap it up here: Thanks for listening. Yeah, yeah, I know—reading, but it feels like listening to me.
PS - Last thing for now: I don’t write these for pity. I’m proud of how I’ve handled this crap. So, please don’t think that’s what these posts are about. Also, I will win.
PPS - I’m using Siri and AirPods (4 ANC) to dictate this. It’s gotten way better. Add in the near-zero noise here at this hour, and it’s smooth sailing. I also used Grok to tidy up the spelling and grammar mistakes—I make way too many.
- Jimmy
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