Today is day 57 since my transplant. Counting down, there are “only” 43 more to go. I am getting “short” and fervently hope that what is to come is less eventful than the first 57.

I have learned to fear Zoster/shingles. Several days ago, one of the nurse practitioners intimated that I am very lucky because once the Zoster disseminates (as it did in my case) it can get into (destroy) vital organs. Now I check every zit, blemish, pimple, rash, bump and stain like a fanatic. I inventory the suspicious item and check back on it every few hours to see how it is going. Is it Zoster, the mysterious incoming threat – or am I into a Paris Hilton appearance fetish? I know we all fuss from time to time over some blemish, but this I assure myself, is a long way from vanity. It is pure fear that drives my obsessive behavior – not something that is hypothetical. If I get it again it can kill me. Every day I take three big blue horse tablets to prevent its return – an incidental reminder that my fear is not unreasonable. Meanwhile, my head throbs with the residual nervous attacks of last month’s bout with the shingles. They say that it can go on for months. This is a virus from hell.

The squeamish can skip this paragraph. I have recently become familiar with long distance hurling. My body seems to reject commercial pharmaceuticals like an almond pit, cure for cancer, health nut. Its method of rejection is affirmative and unmistakable. One can find no equivocation in a projectile containing the last six hours of nutrition sailing five or six feet. But practice, as they say, makes perfect. I have had many opportunities to perfect my technique. I can wait for the bucket to arrive. I can call my shot. I am entitled to many style points, not to mention points for distance and quality of content. Indeed, I am quite proud of yesterday’s effort. Very tidy. Nothing missed the bucket. No doubt you will soon be seeing me on reality TV and I look forward to your continued support.

The next 40 days and 40 nights are big ones for graft vs. host disease. I am going to be laying low. All prayers, chants, good vibes, gratefully accepted. After that I will expect you to be lining up for visits. Bonnie’s been great and my kids have been around a lot and are duly appreciated, but just the same, it would be nice to see some other people. Hopefully I will be able to introduce you to my 20-year old trophy wife blood. We can say things like “really” and “cool” and do 20-year old things (whatever they are) and IM each other while we are in the same room. I could get carded when I try to by wine. We’ll have fun, fun, fun ’till daddy takes the T-bird away. That’s what’s keeping me going dear friends during these long, boring days before release, as microbial swords of Damocles constantly lurk overhead. You.