Quick flash of PTSD. What if something's wrong? Low white count has signaled trouble in the past. But this is now. I know the drill: Recognize the fear and let it go. The thought leaves a cloud, but a cloud won't kill you. My white count went back up the next day.
I have several new toys to get stronger and make life easier. Yesterday physical therapy brought a cane. Who knew I'd be happy to get a cane? It makes me steadier when I walk and especially when I do the stairs. The occupational therapist, whom I welcomed after she stopped quizzing me, brought me hand-strengtheners: a squeezing thingie that looks like a cheese grater, and a tub of green "thera-putty" to mush around in various exercises. Makes me think of the old days when we copied cartoons with silly putty. She also pointed out that my walking would improve if I stretched more (I'm very stiff), so I've been doing runner's stretches, leg extensions in the bed and making attempts to touch my toes. We also talked about yoga breathing, which is always helpful.
Two of my nurses from 6A, Myra and Pam, just came down to wish me well. Myra, giver-of-pep talks, gave me one again, joined by Pam: Don't dwell on the dark days, enjoy the present, don't waste time worrying, think of good things ahead. I mentioned that I was concerned that my platelets were taking so long, and Myra said she's had patients get platelet transfusions for a year. They both gave me hugs, said they missed me and asked me to keep in touch. I thanked them for saving my life and for generally taking such good care of me, emotionally and physically.
Buried lead: Tomorrow I get discharged. I'm going to stay at Diane's in nearby Newton for a while because I will need to come to the clinic every other day to have my tank filled. A physical therapist, home health aide and visiting nurse will come to the house.