Night:

I guess there must still be some vampire left in me that the chemo hasn’t destroyed.
Because here it is midnight. And even given all the sleeping pills I am wide (or almost) wide awake.
And my mind is roaming, thinking about how this whole nightmare started.

It didn’t seem like a big deal. Not at first.
Seventeen years ago I needed back surgery. The surgery required a blood test. And the blood test led to MB getting a phone call from our Family Doctor, who just happened to be an old friend. “The surgeons found a little something in the blood tests. When Steve’s feeling better we should do some more tests.”

A little something in the blood test meant a visit to a hematologist/oncologist. Which led
to a bone marrow aspiration. A very painful bone marrow aspiration, which after 17 years of more humane aspirations, I now realize never had to be THAT painful.

The cavalier attitude with which the Dr. did that aspiration should have prepared us for what was to follow. But back then -- before I’d seen the dark side of life as a Vampire -- I believed that most people were like the people I called friends.
People who had consideration for others. People who knew that enough pain killers could help manage the pain of an aspiration. People who knew that hope can heal. And that words can not only hurt –- but kill.

How fast I learned that not all people are humane. Not all Drs. are gentle. And that some Drs. not only have no bedside manner, but are -– whether they mean to be or not -- cruel.

How else can you describe a Dr. -- who you’ve only met twice for a total of 15 minutes --telling you in no uncertain terms that, “with your MDS you’ll probably have 3 good years, 3 not so good years and with lots of transfusions, maybe 10 years total.”

We still have the note pad that MB was writing on as we listened…and it still has the long jagged line running down and off the page.

Looking back I don’t know how I was able to speak. But I looked at that Dr. and asked,
“Are telling me not to make any long-range plans?’ To which he replied, “Yes.”

Today when we look back at the appointment we always refer to the bearer of that
hope destroying news as Dr. Death. For if we had accepted not only his diagnosis -- but also his prognosis -- I would have missed some of the most memorable and meaningful
moments of my life.

Instead we began a journey that brought us to Drs. that offered hope. Drs. who urged that we try any and every old, new and experimental drug. Drs. who fought with us against insurance companies who tried to deny the help and the drugs we’d paid for.
Doctors who were humane, gentle, tough and innovative.
But most of all Drs. who understood that the wrong words and actions could suck the life-blood, hopes, dreams and will to survive right out of a patient.
While the right words could summon the hope that helps to heal.
It is to these Drs. that I am forever grateful. For these are the healers who helped us
on our journey to this hospital at The City Of Hope.