The Saga Continues

We left off meeting with Dr. Nair on Wednesday, July 31.

By then we were a little batshit crazy.  There had been too much running around like crazy, alternating with doing absolutely nothing.  One of the reasons I'm writing this is just to get it straight in my head.

It had started in early June, with Bob's usual annual appointment.  That's when his bloodwork was wonky and they sent him to the hematologist.  For 10 years he had been on a medication for gout (although it had been 9 years or so since an attack) that can cause anemia.  He was told to go off of it for 3 weeks and then come back for a followup.

So 3 weeks of doing nothing--and not worrying that much.  Normal activities, went swimming twice a week.  Figure things are probably improving now that he's off the drug.  Go in for the follow up (July 2).  Doctor looks at his bloodwork.  Looks at him--his palms, his inner eyelids.  We leave 6 hours later after he's had an emergency transfusion.

We were rather in a state of shock.

He has a bone marrow biopsy the next day.  Then again we do nothing for a week.  Go back, get the diagnosis of leukemia, and told that we need to go to Shands for a consultation.  Then came the really crazy time--because we wanted/needed to do SOMETHING and it took a week just to set up the appointment, another week and a half away.  Bob had an echocardiogram to verify that his heart is strong enough for chemo, and another transfusion just to keep him going.

We go to Shands.  We consult.  We wait another week (by now we are climbing the walls). Consult with Dr. Nair.  Find out he can be treated at home (happy dance!).  Now we have to wait for treatment to be approved--possibly another week of doing nothing but chew nails.

That was Wednesday (July 31).  Thursday morning at 8 we get a call:  can he come in at noon for his first treatment?  Yet another blow out of left field.  With fear and trembling we go in, not knowing what to expect (I was expecting maybe a couple of hours on an IV, followed by observation).  We get ushered into a little curtained cubicle.  Vitals are taken.  Nurses come in with gowns and gloves and check and double check the numbers on Bob's wristband.

They lay out four little syringes.  They give him four tiny shots and tell him he can go home.

It was rather anticlimatical.