News from the front...
Mood:  suave
Now Playing: C'est la vie
Topic: Update

Brother Al took over as primary caregiver earlier this week, and brother Warren arrives this weekend for a few days before Verna returns early next week.

Mary's daughter Gail is coming from Austin Texas, on May 2nd for a week and former Pelican Rapids neighbor Ed McDunn is slated for sometime in May also. So far, we haven't had to rely much on many of you who kindly offered to help out with the 24/7 caregiver responsibilities. We've got the list of names posted at the apartment should the need arise though.

The BMT nurse-coordinator, Kathy Hodges, told Dad that Warren's stem cells are now 100% into Dad's marrow. Yippee! But she also warned him that he is still at risk for developing Graft-Versus-Host Disease, so we're not out of the proverbial woods yet.

I can't help but remember back to just a few weeks ago when I visited Dad on the BMT floor. I'd never seen anybody come or go from the neighboring hospital room just to the right of Dad's, but the nurses said the floor was fully occupied (and that there was a waiting list of new BMT patients). I thought it was strange that the room's vertical blinds were always closed whereas Dad preferred his open (except when he was napping). As I was washing up and putting on my rubber gloves-n-gown, their door abruptly opened. Out came what I assumed to be a motherly figure, followed closely by a slow-moving aluminum walker that the elderly use for stability. Guiding the walker was the skinniest, most wane spectacle of a young women I had ever seen. Her mask, pulled tight against her pale cheeks, barely hid the bags under her eyes. Covering her bald head was a bright do-rag that did little to offset her hollow, sunken eyes that were the deepest blue I can remember. Somewhere inside that shell of a woman I could barely guess at the stunning beauty she once was, before Leukemia. Every subtle movement she made seemed forced and labored. I could tell she didn't want to leave the safe confines of her room. Following her was her Dad. We made eye contact. I nodded, he reciprocated, and then dropped his eyes to the floor. Nothing else was said, but in that brief moment I caught a rare glimpse of the "there but for the grace of God go I" (or Dad) adage.

According to my calendar, tomorrow is exactly six weeks since Dad checked into the U of M hospital for his Bone Marrow Transplant. By all accounts, he's ahead of schedule, doing wonderfully, and on track for a completion of yet another miracle.