Day 76, Friday, April 12th, 2013

I have been in a holding pattern for the last week, and I will remain in said holding pattern until the 17th, when I go back in for another bone marrow biopsy, followed closely by a CT scan on the 18th. This shall be my between-transplant-restaging, where they assess the current level of cancer in my body, which will have downstream effects; most notably, the final decision regarding the type of chemo and the amount of total body irradiation that I'll be getting prior to the second transplant. If, as I am sure they will, things continue true to form, then I shall come out of these assessments with minimal-to-no active cancer cells, and no major changes to the current pre-transplant week's stated programme.

My holding pattern is a simple one: every three or four days, I head over to the SCCA and let them have a bit of the red stuff, and then I hang out with my doctor team for an hour or so, to discuss the numbers obtained from said red stuff. Generally, I get praised during this part, which is lovely. People generally don't just shrug off a stem cell transplant like it was nothing, but apparently I am all that is man. Except for facial and body hair. Other men are better at hair, and they can have that. My desire to resemble a man-carpet, a marpet, if you will, has decreased steadily every year since puberty, when boys wish they were hairy and haven't considerd the consequences.

Ash took the train to Vancouver on Wednesday night, and flew back home Thursday morning. I miss her. Mom and Dad drove down early in the week, getting here on Tuesday afternoon, while Ash and I were at the SCCA for one of the aforementioned praise sessions. We had supper together (Ash, Dad, Mom, and, of course, me) that night, and again on Wednesday, before we dropped Ash off at ze train station. Dad flew out Thursday morning, so it's back to business as usual with Mom and I, except that we're more or less touristed out. Of course, this is a bad time to be doing that sort of thing anyway (I tire easily, and I shouldn't really be marinading in the masses), so we'll spend a lot of time at home.

On Wednesday, we went back to the Lunchbox Laboratory, and you know what? I think I'm all 'burgered out for a while. Ever since the total body irradiation, I have had significantly reduced stomach capacity, and the Lunchbox is a "this is why you're fat" sort of restaurant. The two are mutually incompatible, and not only did I not even finish my fries, I spent the rest of the night casually and thunderously belching, as my gastric processes attempted to handle the work order I'd submitted so surreptitiously. The guys working the digestive plant were not amused, and threatened to strike several times, until the numbers clicked for them about the overtime pay.

On the plus side, Dad brought down my ridiculous gaming computer, so I can at least resume distracting myself with flashy electronic blips, bloops and massive explosions (games have gotten a lot more 'splodey since the days of the NES). I played a new online game today called Hawken, and was the best at it immediately; this, I felt, was personally rewarding. (You drive a giant robot around a city and shoot at other giant robots. Don't you judge me.)

A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. "But why," they asked, as they moved off. "Because", he said, "I can't stand chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer."