Two-hour yoga, tennis slice, and other fun stuff

For New Year's Day, I first checked Serenity Yoga to see if there were any classes – there weren't – so I tried Yoga Center Amherst  and saw that they had a two-hour class combining music, chanting, and asanas.

So I signed up and went. It felt like the right place to be. Apparently a lot of other people felt so too. We were packed in. That was OK. It created a good energy inviting you to talk to your neighbor and go with the flow.

At one point when we were left to do our own thing and it got a little confusing, I got into one of my favorite and most calming poses, legs up the wall, supported by a block, only legs in the air, without a wall, like this image from Gaia. (I read someplace that you should do legs up the wall every day. It's a great way to get your thoughts to take a nap.)

I had vowed to take the day off from writing, but that didn't happen. I walked over to the Black Sheep Deli and got a coffee and a treat and sat in a favorite window seat. My resolution of staying calm got hijacked by the the caffeine. I guess going with the flow meant going and getting a coffee and writing.

Next I went to the Hadley Target and found it packed, like the yoga studio, only with a different vibe. It seemed like everyone who wasn't at yoga was shopping.

I had called Monday for my ride to Boston (for the light therapy, or ECP) but everyone had left early. I waited on hold early Tuesday morning for about 45 minutes, and when someone finally picked up, they said they couldn't do same-day service. I remembered to book ahead through February, but in the meantime I drove myself.

Due to accumulating scar tissue in my left arm, the nurse has had to jiggle the needle around. This is not a good feeling. Once in, it stung and then hurt, but some Tylenol took the edge off. Since I have been using two needles, the process goes much faster, around two hours instead of three.

Three sessions ago, I was curious about why my hematocrit was a little low, a little over 29. The curiosity bordered on concern. But two weeks ago it was 32, and yesterday it was 33. (Normal range for women is 34.9 to 44.5.) The doctor who visited me said that the lower count resulted from loss of blood in the procedure.

I slept at Diane and David's and then got up early enough to get to Bay Road on time for my tennis contract at 10. The traffic leaving Newton made me a little nervous. But it cleared up and I made it. We had some good games, but I don't understand what's up with one of the women. Sometimes she's friendly, at other times prickly.

She doesn't like the way I slice when we warm up at the net (says it isn't a good warmup because she can't hit it back), so today I hit it flat. The last time she said it, I said that's how I play, and I continued to do it, but in the interests of a good warmup, I did it differently today.

One of the players in George's summer group said that when she goes to Florida, her slicing gets everyone mad, so it must be the same effect. It's hard to change, because when we're with George, we hear about it when we DON'T slice. By the way, it works pretty well in a game.

Roger's backhand slice

Then, when she was at the net warming up, she didn't think I got enough to her, and she complained that she wasn't getting a good warmup. THEN when, in between points, I hit the ball over to her and said "heads up," or "coming," (one of the two) it didn't come near her, but she said something in an annoyed tone because she didn't like the way I sent it back. I'm still not sure what the problem was. I think maybe she wanted me to throw it instead of hit it. If I had thrown it, it wouldn't have gone very far.

Geez Louise.

I've been on the verge of saying something to her, and some day I might, but it hasn't come to that. Some day when we're warming up, maybe I'll ask to either be with her or hit opposite someone else and say that the reason for it is that she doesn't like the way I hit. Maybe that will get the point across that I've paid George and The Enfield Tennis Club a lot for that slice and I'm not going to give it up.

Life in the 'big house'

This is a nice hotel, which is a good thing because I’ve been here three weeks and may not go home until after my new transplant, which is now scheduled for Jan. 30.

I wake up at least twice a night drenched in sweat, and help is only a buzzer away. A PCA (personal care assistant) comes in with a new hospital gown, and I sit in a chair while she changes the sheets. It’s just sweat, but I told her the other night, “I feel like a little kid.” When she is three-quarters done making the bed, I climb back in and she puts a clean sheet and new blanket on me and tucks me in.

Bright and early, a nurse comes in with my pills.
“Your pills, madam.”
Well, more like, “Good morning, I have your morning pills, how was your night?"

The list:
Labetalol (for my blood pressure, which rose when I came into the hospital), Prilosec (antacid), Levofloxacin (antibiotic), Tricor (for high cholesterol, also new for me), Valcyte (anti-viral to treat and prevent CMV), Voriconozole (anti fungal for the pneumonia), Lexapro (anti-depressant), folic acid, multivitamin and sometimes magnesium.

Then a nurse or the unit coordinator brings me coffee, mustachioed Steve drops off the New York Times, and I lounge half the morning and then go do my 20 laps.

I get platelets or blood every few days or so, and, as needed Ativan or cough syrup with codeine. Sometimes I feel like I’m being held together with tape. On some days I thought I would write but I could barely find the keys, and my hands shook. I get Benadryl with every transfusion, and I’ve also had some Demerol when a fever was coming and I had the shakes. But my fevers have decreased, and they discontinued the Demerol in favor of warm blankets, which are really comforting.

The other night there were workmen in my bathroom after midnight doing battle with a leaky faucet. I said I didn’t mind the drip that much, and suggested they return the next day. They kept at it for a while and then did come back the next day, I think around 8 a.m. A woman came in to do another EKG, and I said, “There are men in my bathroom.”

She eyed me as though she thought I was delirious, but as if to humor me, she went over and knocked on the bathroom door. Sure enough, two workmen were squeezed in there. She told them not to come out until she finished the EKG.

The pneunomia is continuing to clear up. I can take a full breath without coughing, and the oxygen saturation that they check with my vital signs is nearing normal again. A week ago I couldn’t get past about 85 percent, and I went on oxygen for a little while one night. Now I’m back up around 98 percent.

A hairdresser from the Friends Boutique at Dana-Farber is coming to give me a haircut this afternoon. I hope that’s as exciting as the day gets.