Day 1

... Really day 2 for Kristi. She's watching Conan, I woke her up with my clickety clackey key board. She really likes to fall asleep with the TV on. Not really something I can do, I have a hard time shutting the brain off. Considering, I probably won't find it easy to sleep either way. We just finished a big deadline, The Vis Deadline, she cranked out a paper with Roni, helped me with mine, and very nearly got one of her own out. We were all, arguably, tired. She really didn't complain (more than usual). But towards the end of the deadline, last Friday, her energy level began to drop sharply. Over the weekend she started sleeping more and really "feeling" the stairs in her apartment. On Monday she went for a haircut. The salon she likes is just down the hill from MEB. She called me after and said that she was really huffing on the way back. We had been talking about how she's been "dying" since the deadline, and I mentioned that she sounds anemic. I advised (my professional opinion) that she take some vitamins and have some "Special K" for breakfast. More importantly, that she should see the doc. Taking my advice, she upped her red-meat intake and "had a delightful lamb schwarma and delicious lentil and rice dish at Maza." Tuesday morning, she went to the student health clinic. They were very concerned about her spleen, as she was showing classic symptoms of Mono (the kissing disease). Admittedly, she likes to kiss. She called me at noon to complain about the blood work.

Things Kristi hates: seeing blood, needles, and anything getting near the dimple just below her throat and just above her collar bone. The initial blood work came back in the afternoon. She had a hematocrit of 16% (strongly anemic) and elevated white blood cell count (indicating an infection). This was reason enough for her to go to the hospital immediately. 16% is significantly less than half of the low end of normal for women (36% I believe). She calls me again, Liz will be driving her. She arrives at the Huntsman Cancer Institute. They inform her that they have been waiting for an hour. Surprised, she informs them that she didn't even know that she was being checked in. She calls me again. I book a flight. They start transfusions immediately. She's type A negative. Sadly, I book too late to catch the last flight of the day. Miriah stays the night in the posh hospital room with her.

Wedensday morning. I wake up at 5am to catch the first flight out. Sadly, I don't make in till 11am. I miss the bone marrow sample, involving a very long, thick, rigid needle being inserted into the pelvic bone. She had no major complaints about the procedure thanks to expert use of local anaesthetic. I enter the room approximately 1.5 minutes before the team of doctors arrive with the very first news. We have long enough to kiss, and say high to the standing-room only crowd of friends. The initial word: She has very few viable red blood cells, she has a very large number of (abnormal) white blood cells, she probably has leukemia, and we can't really know anything for sure till the marrow results come back later in the afternoon. She's currently on her third pint of borrowed blood (the average human has eight pints of blood in them) and getting a fairly broad spectrum of antibiotics. Even though she has tons of white blood cells, they aren't functioning, and she's running a fever. She's still loopy from the morphine used for the marrow extraction. None of the news sinks in, for either of us. I take and deliver a dozen calls to concerned parties, holding out hope that the tests come back with anything other than leu....

I spend the day in and out of the room. The nurse begins a fourth pint of blood. She insists that I run out and get her birth control. The type she's on allows her to skip periods. It would be unfortunate if all of this effort spent trying to get fresh blood into her ends up wasted. While I am out, I miss the cardiac ultrasound. A necessary base line for things that may come later. Apparently they violate the "dimple" area in the process, she was not pleased. On my way back, I grab four DVDs.

Miriah and Aaron bring us dinner from Sawade Thai. Just as we are starting, the doctor returns with news. The marrow test showed that she has at least one specific type of leukemia and that her healthy bone marrow is all but completely gone. The (tenative) diagnosis is Acute Myeloid Leukemia. The "goal" is "cure". Given her young age and perfect health (otherwise), she is a good candidate for complete recovery. This will definitely include 3-4 weeks of chemotherapy and possibly a marrow transplant. The latter depends on what specific variants or mutations the abnormal cells exhibit. This will take up to 10 days to complete, involving gene sequencing and other sci-fi procedures. We finish eating and move the topic of conversation to lighter things. I run home to feed the cat and grab some more cloths and shower items. The cat is quite lonely already. While I am out, I grab her a cute sleeper outfit from Victoria's Secret. I really can't help wanting to get her any little thing that might make this situation seem better. It's the smallest gesture, but all I have time for. When I get back, we get her disconnected from the "octopus", taped up, and into the shower. She expresses deep satisfaction in being clean, finally. Our first movie choice is pretty lame. She's asleep before it's over. Then awake. Then asleep. Awake. Asleep. Nurse. Awake. Asleep. Beeping. Awake. Asleep. Clickety Clackety.....