Thirty-one days since transplant! Things are looking good, though the GI issues continue to devil me, and the docs seem to just be throwing darts to see what will clear it up.
Nonetheless, it has been a fairly easy recovery. I still have most of my hair, and no other common issues like mouth sores, skin problems, nausea or assorted other maladies that often crop up.
And I have been so fortunate to have my daughter and her husband with us --turns out he's a great cook! Christmas evening he pulled together seafood chowder to die for, then made stock with the shells to create a swoon-worthy paella the next day.Alas he must return to Chicago so dear Esteban the French bulldog doesn't jump ship (and maybe Karl can work some too).
Boredom is now my cross to bear. My various Santas gifted several good, meaty books, a subscription to the New York Times games site and a weekly storytelling program that will compile my family stories into a yearlong memoir of sorts.
And then there's the medication management. I take 16 different pills and concoctions to fight everything from potential fungal/viral/bacterial infection to liver function to graft vs host disease and cell rejection. Those all have their peculiarities (take with food or empty stomach; space 4 hours apart but don't take before lab work, etc.) so it's a complicated array. Good thing there's a app for that.
Between stuffing my face with food or meds, I try to get out at least once a day. The little Highlands neighborhood where we're renting a home is eminently walkable for a bust of sunshine and maybe a trip to the grocery. I'll work up to longer distances and more exploring if the weather doesn't turn too wintry.
Being idle is difficult for me -- I want to get things done without help. Asking someone to make breakfast for me just goes against my grain.
But better safe than sorry so I take baby steps. It's not a race, but a journey to better health.
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