Life is what happens when you're making other plans

No gardening today, because I was scheduled for a blood transfusion instead.

"Whaaat?!" you say. I know; it's not how I would have chosen to spend my day, but things have happened.

The thing is--and the reason this blog is called "Married With Garden"--is that life really is a random kaleidoscope made up of so many elements, and I know I'm pretty typical in that on most days, the garden is not the priority. I love gardening, but sometimes you have to do other things. The laundry, the vacuuming, washing the dishes. Buying groceries. Being with family. Reading a good book; watching a good movie with neighbors; and of course, spending time with your spouse. Paying the bills. Doing the taxes. Having a blood transfusion.

Anyway, to [try to] make a long story short, back on the 10th I had a Neulasta shot after my chemotherapy, to boost production in my bone marrow of the cells that are in short supply because of my CLL (chronic lymphoid leukemia). A side effect of the shot is that the immune system goes out of town for a couple of weeks, so it was not good timing on my part to come down with the respiratory virus that's been going around--instead of a basic head cold, I started running a fever and ended up going to the doctor, taking an antibiotic, and having a lot of blood tests done. What has been happening, to jump way ahead in the story, is that because of the combination of Neulasta and virus, my bone marrow (? I think) went crazy producing antibodies that started attacking my red blood cells. My hematocrit (red blood count) went from a decent 36 at the start of chemo, to 27 when I saw the doctor about the fever, to 22 today. They never could get the blood transfusion really going this morning, and the upshot is that I'm writing this from my room on the oncology floor at Good Samaritan Hospital, where I'm receiving massive doses of Solu-Medrol (a steroid) and IVIG (immunoglobulin) to get the berserker antibodies under control. Once that's been accomplished, they'll try the blood transfusion again. So I'll be here until that's been accomplished--with any luck, I can go home on Saturday.

This could maybe have been done on an outpatient basis, but the oncologists said doing it in the hospital would be much better, so in the hospital it is. But in spite of this one problem, I'm fine and in good spirits. Now would be a good time to mention, as I have before, that cancer is a terrifying thing to contemplate when you've never experienced it, but when you're in the journey, most of the time you really are "living with cancer." Most days, I just live my life and never give it a thought. But I know how fortunate I am to have a treatable, manageable form of cancer, and that I've not had to endure surgery or radiation as well as chemotherapy. I'm also fortunate to have a fantastic support system, and to live in a part of the world where first-class care is widespread; I'm being treated within 10 miles of home, and everyone is great, from the oncologists right through the nurses and CNAs and the various specialists.

In other news, the food at Good Sam is great, too. I know you want to know what I had for dinner--what with all the craziness, I didn't get lunch (although the infusion center gave me an Otis Spunkmeyer apple cinnamon muffin and very good coffee while we were trying to get the transfusion going this morning). So I made up for lost calories this evening and ordered Yankee pot roast (so tender, so good!) with mashed potatoes and gravy, and steamed broccoli. Also a bowl of roasted garlic tomato soup (I want that recipe!) and bread pudding for dessert. I'm already thinking about what to have for breakfast--probably "Vanilla Yogurt Parfait with berries and our Homemade Granola" and a blueberry or bran muffin. They give you a room service menu, you call from the room phone and place your order, and they bring your meal about half an hour later. How great is that? Room service hours are 6:30 in the morning until 7 at night, but they also brought me a carton of yogurt and a container of fresh fruit for a midnight snack if I get hungry. Ahh...

Actually I do have a snippet of garden news to share. At the Infusion Center, on the second floor of the Richard Ostensen Cancer Center, the infusion chairs are arranged facing a wall of windows that look north--you can see over SR512 to the Puyallup Fairgrounds and the North Hill. In front of the window is a planting bed with a low concrete wall around the outside edge, and in this is planted a narrow garden. There are sedums (I'm guessing 'Autumn Joy' or similar)--the leaf rosettes have started growing up from the base, but the old dead flower stems are still attached so it looks like a past-its-prime dried-flower arrangement. There are grasses: I couldn't get close enough to decide if they were Mexican feather grass (Nasella tenuissima) or one of the green hairlike sedges. There were several low deciduous shrubs, still not leafed out, and again I couldn't get close enough (tethered to my infusion pump) to decide what they were--from the color of the bare stems I think some kind of dwarf red barberries. And, incongruously, every 8 feet or so, there's a low rhododendron blooming with white flowers. I say "incongruously" because these were the right plant in the wrong place: the other plants are fine in warm dry growing conditions, but rhodies are not a good match for those conditions and these were definitely under stress: the flowers were sparse, not fluffy, generous trusses as they should be; leaves sparse too, and an unhealthy yellow. Altogether they were thin and twiggy and sad. I would bet a grande mocha that what's wrong, even though the bed is north-facing, is too much reflected heat from floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows; also, the bed is on the roof of the overhang for the sidewalk underneath, so the soil (another grande mocha bet) probably gets too warm. Rhodies are best with filtered sun and a cool root zone with consistent moisture and plenty of organic matter.

Really, when a plant person is tethered in an infusion chair with something like that to look at, what else is she going to think about? (I was trying to read "A Room With a View" but Forster is like Jane Austen--you have to pay attention to what you're reading--and there's just too much interruption in that situation.) What would I plant there instead of the rhododendrons? I'm not sure; I'll have to think about that and get back to you.

The photo I've uploaded with the post is actually from my first round of chemo in 2009. But the infusion centers I've seen are like this (all both of them). You would never know they're a life-and-death battleground, so comfortable and bright, with reclining chairs and smiley nurses, and snacks and beverages on request. The only difference between this picture and now is that my hair has grown out and now I'm salt-and-pepper curly, and I'm wearing a hospital gown. (No faux pas so far like Jack Nicholson in "Something's Gotta Give" but that could change when they pump me full of Benadryl and steroids.)

Oh, this has to be too much information! And they're coming to hook up my next round of Solu-Medrol and IVIG, so now is a good time to wrap this up. As Mark Twain said, I'm sorry this is so long; what with various interruptions, I haven't had time to make it shorter.

To be, of course, continued...