Why is it that being admitted to the hospital feels like being imprisoned? Not that I've been to prison, but still...the similarities seem striking.
We met with my doctor this morning after consulting with multiple other hospitals and doctors. I was admitted around noon to the sixth floor and will begin chemo either tonight or tomorrow. We decided to do the FLAG therapy, and we're still debating about whether or not to use mylotarg along with it. (Leaning against it per advice from Sloan-Kettering and some other "big" institutions.) In the meantime I'm headed downstairs for a MUGGA test to make sure my heart can handle idarubacin and will most likely have my central line pulled and replaced.
It's hard to be here again, and there are a lot of emotions. My room is without much of a view, but thankfully there is a courtyard several floors down that I can gaze down upon, so it's not all brick walls staring back at me. I miss my Gary, but I am fighting for him.
Please pray for endurance.