April 7, 2009
Neupogen (which is the product name for Filgrastim, a human granulocyte colony-stimulating factor produced by recombinant DNA technology) is used to force the bone marrow to produce white blood cells. It makes me think of sending out the Mafia’s collection agents. . . the material enters the body via an injection into the sub-cutaneous flesh (the fat around the navel, or those hanging bits on the upper arms) and from there marches forth to make its demands. The marrow does all that it can, though not without complaint. . . the presence of the enforcer is made known by pain in all sorts of places including the jawbone, the back, hips, etc., wherever there might be some marrow capable of flinging out some more white blood cells. So far, there has not been a leap upward in the population of the latter, but it is hoped that this is because of the remaining presence of the chemotherapy. Today I get my last of eight injections, and on Friday, there may be a sign that improvement has come.
I am better now, with a settled digestive system. At the height of misery, I vowed that I would never eat again, but I am already cooking and baking and enjoying many foods. Charles has resumed his cooking lessons, and we are having a good time making things together in the kitchen.
This is Holy Week, when we remember and celebrate with the wonderful services that review Christianity’s long told story of redemption that takes life through death and back to life again. In this strange existence of such awareness of approaching death because of an illness that has no other outcome, the thoughts of heaven, or life after dying, are many. “We are all dying, you know” friends will say, and I consider why and how it is different for me. Perhaps it is because my physical being is always a little less than it had been not so long ago. Anyway, when the joyful cries of “Christ is Risen!” rise up from churches around the world, none will be more delighted than those that come from here. “He is risen indeed! Alleluia, alleluia!”