R went from walking the halls a mile a day to barely able to sit up, almost overnight. Stomach cramps started four days ago and have continuously gotten worse. The team finally had to give him control of his own pain management by installing one of those little buttons as pictured above that he can push when things get really bad. It’s designed so you can’t overdose. It seemed to help last night and he actually got a few hours of decent sleep. This is in addition to the mouth sores we were told were par for the course. They come from the chemotherapy that destroys the cells in the lining of the mouth, the throat, the esophagus, and the entire G.I. tract. He has a feeding tube that goes into his nose, down his esophagus and into his stomach. It wasn’t too comfortable getting it put in, but I think he’s gotten used to it over the past few days.

He’s being so strong! We are all soooo proud of him.

He did walk around the eighth floor today and made it two laps. Yay!

Testing revealed the stomach cramps are from an infection in the G.I. tract and diverticulitis. Apparently, these conditions are fairly common in his situation. The doctors are treating him with 2 kinds of antibiotics. His blood counts are now basically down to zero, which is the whole point of the chemo. It kills his own cells (good ones and cancerous ones), knocking out his immune system. This is necessary so it won’t launch an attack on the donor cells. The new improved cells will start taking over in another week to 2 weeks..

In the last blog post, I wrote that he can see friends and family under the right conditions. That’s when the cramping started and visiting with anyone became out of the question. Sorry folks!

Every tough day means he is one day closer to restored health. He’s in it to win it.

AND NOW FOR THOSE WHO ARE INTERESTED, THE LOVE STORY I BEGAN RECOUNTING IN THE LAST POST

CONVERTIBLE RIDES & A FLIGHT

I left off saying that I was smitten with R the first time I saw him—or shall I say obsessed? Uh-huh. Obsessed.

You will recall that I started going to my friend’s church on Sundays and it wasn’t for any spiritual reason.

My friend K and I took a bus to get there and back (15-20 miles each way) so R offered to start driving us home—in his convertible blasting music like George Benson. Jazz baby! Something I knew nothing about but added to my lovesickness. First, he was 18! Second, he had a small blonde mustache! Third, he offered to drive us home in his Firebird with the wind whipping through our hair! Fourth, he played jazz—like a real grown-up! I, on the other hand listened to the Bee Gees Saturday Night Fever album and watched Scooby Doo on weekends, but I didn’t tell him that!

It didn’t take long until I was so weighed down by my unrequited love that I sometimes went to the junior high nurses’s room to sob—too “sick” to attend class. I once found a stray hair of his and put it in an envelope for safekeeping. I think I still have it somewhere. Weird? Yes.

This went on for months. Me, listening to sappy music (remember Bread’s Baby I’ma Want You?) and sobbing, and him, oblivious to it all. Guys! Clueless!

A year and a half passed and we stayed friends. I promise he was a total gentleman! And then, duh-duh-duh-dummmm—he decided to go for a study abroad program in France. I instantly became anti-baguette and Brie cheese.

The last time I saw him before he boarded the plane, I gave him something deeply personal and heartfelt with instructions not to open it until his plane touched ground. I held my breath until I got his first letter. And did he acknowledge what I gave him?

Of course not.

I tell you. I had to stay on that dude like stink on sh*t.