It’s Tuesday, January 13, and it’s a very good day, because today is my very first birthday, one might say. A highly unusual birthday that is for sure. Unlike any other I’m sure you’ll agree; when I tell you that December 11, of 48 was the day my mother gave birth to me! Of course, we celebrated that one, just one month ago, because it was the birthday few thought I would know.
It was because of what happened, one year ago today, that me and my treasured life, got another chance. It was also the day, a year ago now, that the nurses at Stanford Hospital sang me a song. A tune so magnificent, it brought tears to my eyes, the best rendition of ‘Happy Birthday” I’ve ever heard, one filled with sweet care and loving kindness as well.
What caused all the ruckus in my room that day, was the completion of my bone marrow transplant everyone would say. The nurses walked in a little before noon, bringing with them smiles and two clear plastic bags. In an hour it was over and everyone cheered, then it was time for the cake and I wished a cold beer. Yet, it truly was amazing, even without the suds, how it all had transpired as I lay in the bed.
Two days later I was alone in a new room, that’s if you don’t count the doctors, the nurses, and Bobbie to boot. Each evening at eight they drew some new blood, to see if my cells were beginning to grow. Each day, for eight days the numbers kept declining, then on the ninth they started to climb. We all were so happy to see those signs that my bone marrow was making new cells by this time. It became quite apparent all was going to be fine and two days later I was kicked out of my room.