Day 2, Wednesday, January 30th, 2013

We slept with the window open, which was actually kind of nice - at least for me. Mom's side of the room still smelled like feet and farts (not her fault!), though the carpet seemed to have dried somewhat. After we'd showered, Mom called down to the front desk. A few minutes later, a couple of people showed up to check it out. One, a tall, well-spoken and well-dressed woman with dark hair, appeared to be an administrator; the other had the fixit look of a maintenance man: slight hunch from concentrating on stubborn objects, gnarled but powerful hands. She apologized profusely while he poked around, looking for the source of the problem. She promised to refund the cost of the night's lodgings, and moved us immediately to the room next door, which smelled mostly of new - new carpet, new countertops, new paint; much the way the rest of the building smelled. It's also the mirror image of the room that we left, which was oddly fun.

After re-unpacking, breakfast (I had a turkey sammich), and terribly slow internet, we walked over to the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance building itself, which is about six blocks North of us. We sauntered, taking in the neighbourhood.

This part of the city is undergoing a serious renewal: there are upscale apartments and flats, lots of cool little restaurants, an espresso place, a coffee place, a greek orthodox church (which is not part of the renewal, but looks neat anyway), and everything is shiny and new. On the sidewalk, we passed what appeared to be either a homeless couple, or a couple of really ragged backpackers, who were walking the other way. She, a fat lady with faded goth clothes; he, a skinny fellow holding the leash to a very healthy looking dog; they, having a screaming, crying argument. Avoiding eye contact, we continued making mental notes about places to check out later, when we had more time.

Folks, the SCCA is nice. It appears to be brand-spanking new (I've always loved that expression), and every single staff-member that I had the pleasure of meeting was friendly, efficient and helpful. We registered, then went over to blood draw. They wanted blood? I gave them blood. Oh such blood did I give. Later, I would find out that my blood impressed the hell out of the techs, with its levels of things (hemoglobin, etc). I shit you not. Would I shit you? I would not.

Post bloodletting, we had an hour and a half for lunch, which we used to check out the Red Brick Bistro, on the second floor of the SCCA. Buffeteria style, everything was delicious, inexpensive, and gluten-free. There is gluten-free food here everywhere. I've never been so happy about people who don't understand nutrition jumping onto bandwagons. Thank you, hipsters, faded yuppies, and fashion junkies in general. I know you don't actually need to eat this way, and normally, that would drive me rather around the bend of sanity, but your shallow trendiness is, for once, making my life a lot easier.

I had corned beef and cabbage, by the by. And a Snapple.

At 12:40(ish), we elevatored (I am aware that that is not a word, in the usual sense) up to the 6th floor, where I met with Kerry, my physician's assistant, or PA. We dicussed my treatment history in detail, the staging tests that I would undergo this coming week (including two more bone marrow biopsies and a lumbar puncture, gah), and the possible ways in which this could affect my upcoming HSCTs. The most hopeful of the outcomes revolves around my still being in remission -we may be able to get away with one, repeat one, transplant, with extremely minimal side effects. Fingers, and any other prehensile appendages, flanges, phalanges, and or dangly bits you may possess, crossed.

Then I had a physical. There's nothing like having someone grade you and heft your junk in a professional capacity to really set off the day, you know? At least there were no cavity checks.

Afterwards, when I'd re-robed, we met up with one of the nurses, by the name of Jemma (I'm pretty sure, I never did see the named side of her name tag-lanyard). She was delightful. Tiny, chipper, and adorable, Jemma ran us through the upcoming, fairly loose, schedule, and then gave us the, as she put it, "ten-cent tour." We received a doggy-bag of forms to read, but not fill out, and walked home.

Home, we spent time in correspondence, working vainly against the rather middlin' wifi at the SCCA House, then went for supper at MAD Pizza, just around the corner. Kickass gluten-free crust, met the owner, had Coca-Cola in a glass bottle. Five stars, would buy from again.

Home again, some exploration of the premises - we went up to the roof, by way of the stairs, which is how I know, I know, that there are six floors to the SCCA House - then more correspondence, a little persual of our doggy-bag of forms, a game of cribbage, reading, bed.

"Get rid of that Negative Nancy attitude. Yes, you CAN-cer!" - Ashley Crampton