Next To Normal

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August 25th, 2010

In my hospital stays so far with this disease and the freaky blood clot over in Muskegon I’ve craved lots of different things. I was on a pizza jag for a while, then burgers. Pepsi Slurpees have always filled the bill and an occasional carmel shake has been delivered by my ever supportive family. But […]

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In my hospital stays so far with this disease and the freaky blood clot over in Muskegon I’ve craved lots of different things. I was on a pizza jag for a while, then burgers. Pepsi Slurpees have always filled the bill and an occasional carmel shake has been delivered by my ever supportive family. But the growing, all-consuming craving I’m experiencing these days is for normalcy.

I know I’ve given normalcy a bad rap sometimes in my life. There were times I’ve felt if things are normal, I’m not growing or expanding my horizons. Sure, it sounds pathologic, but I used to fear contentment. I distinctly remember a conversation with a long-ago girlfriend where I said, “If I start talking about end tables, just kill me.”

Yes, I capitulated and we have an end table these days. But back then it seemed so grown up, so settled, so usual, so normal. Now I crave normal. I crave my own bed. I crave not walking around with tubes coming out of me. I crave not having to schedule time to see my family. I even crave mowing the lawn.

I was moments away from getting a day pass out of this hospital last week to go see my daughter’s marching band show and at the last minute they rescinded it. I’m a grown man asking the teacher for a slip to walk the hallways. It feels so out of my control and yet I know all of this is for a great reason, my health.

But it’s going to be a while before I see normal again.

First my brother has to give me his stem cells. Even though they still call it marrow donation they rarely actually go in and take people’s bone marrow. Instead they extract stem cells just like you’re giving blood and then whisk it up to me where it’ll just drip intravenously into my Red River.

They will have given me even more chemo and a bit of radiation beforehand, then the recovery process begins with several more weeks in the hospital then perhaps up to a year of anti-rejection precautions and crazy things like getting all my baby shots redone since I have a brand new system.

I’m looking at normal occurring sometime mid to late 2011.

But will it ever be normal? Is this the new normal? Will I be able to go on vacation again and not fear waking up in the middle of the night with a blood clot? Or will my new normal include a perspective that I normally don’t have?

Will I be thankful for every day and treat those around me with a greater abundance of respect and admiration? Will I look at this as a second chance and an opportunity to get things right? Or will I be so thankful for normalcy that I just sink back into old roles and not feel affected by the shadow of cancer in my past?

These are all the random ramblings of a guy who’s been hospitalized far too much this summer so take them with a grain of salt substitute. I know my future holds change and growth and an appreciation far greater than I’ve ever experienced. But from the viewpoint of a gray hospital morning, that future looks vague and distant.

And then a large family walks, heads bowed, out of a darkened patient’s room a few doors down and their faces show incomprehension — the telltale signs the end is near — and I feel like a jerk. Here I am, hinting towards healthy and their options have run out.

Normally, though, you know I’m not like this.

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