My transplant doctor has faxed Medicaid a letter recommending I be treated in Seattle. This is a necessary step for me to have my coverage moved temporarily while I am being seen at the Hutch. This is (big picture) a good thing. Let's take a moment to celebrate a burst of activity in the process.
There's a funny scene on Parks and Recreation in the second-season episode where Ann (Rashida Jones) throws a Halloween party that starts out pathetically boring. Tom (Aziz Ansari) sees all the low-key guests glumly milling about the kitchen and tells Ann "they all look like someone just told them they have to have a bone marrow transplant!" The humor is in the truth. I'm pleased to have some momentum building because the stagnation and endless surgeries and acid burnings and laser oblations are making me feel a little unhinged. I am not pleased that this momentum is building to a crescendo of pain, hair loss, general horrible feeling, and potential fatality. I don't handle this internal conflict well, except to partially compartmentalize both feelings enough to let the happy one out in most company.
I found out all-around good news, though. Don't let my earlier ennui fool you. I had some genetic testing done to determine if my chromosomal abnormalities are hereditary or acquired and they are not hereditary. Wonderful! This means my liver and lungs should not be at a higher risk of GVH issues or tumors later. More importantly, it means T is not likely to have the genetic problem and does not have to screen for liver- and lung cancers once a year and can be my donor. I don't want anyone else's marrow but T's. It just seems right.
R and I signed our Advanced Directive documents this week, making us each other's advocates when the other is incapacitated. It's like being almost married. Like my almost cancer, but awesome. It was necessary to do because the transplant is actually coming into view, but it feels surprisingly lovely to have made that commitment to one-another.