October 11

The hospital is a condensed microcosm of humanness. People dying, people being born, frustration, grief, joy, and huge helpings of compassion. Looking down on the parking lot, I see the steady stream of visitors coming to cheer on their loved ones; they come and go, come and go. On the ground floor of the building I see a woman who might be 100 years old, wrinkled up with very thin wispy white hair, barely conscious, being pushed in her wheelchair by a young boy who is probably her great-grandson; it’s taking all his effort to push the chair but his Dad doesn’t help because the boy’s effort means a lot to all of them, especially the boy. There is a girl about 7 years old, bald as a billiard ball from chemotherapy, walking hand-in-hand with her mother; they are both laughing. The scene stops me in my tracks; it says most everything important there is to say about the human condition. On the wall of the hallway near my room is what’s labeled “Inspiration Highway”, an expanse of bulletin boards and blackboards on which patients over the years have left their thoughts and messages and photographs. There are some clichés, like “Miracles happen” and “Jesus loves you”, and some more heartfelt ones, like

There is no try. There is only do or not do. (Yoda and Glenn)
This place has lots of good in it.
I’m going to beat this and get the hell out of here.
It’s not over till I win.
Our Dad and Grandpa is a real fighter with lung cancer. We love you. (signed by 2 generations)

There are several photographs sent to the unit by former patients that underwent transplants; in each the patient is holding a sign showing the year of the photograph and the year of the transplant, sometimes in an exotic setting, sometimes showing the person on horseback or winning a racquetball championship.
Poignancy is thick in the hospital. I understand why doctors and nurses have to detach themselves a little.


Day 9 since the chemo. The stem cells are starting to do their work; I can feel them tickling in my bloodstream. I should be feeling worse side effects but it’s not happening yet, in fact the doctor is even letting me out for a couple hours for dinner; I'm dumbfounded . It’s Thanksgiving weekend. I’m thankful.