Bread & Blood

I was born in 1969. So the televison shows, The Brady Bunch and Happy Days are as ingrained into me as my ABC’s. Both shows are on here every afternoon for an hour each.
Michael being older isn’t so amused.
But me, I just settle in under a blanket and watch like I’m a kid again.
Another cool childhood thing is they have Home Pride bread here.
It may sound silly but I grew up, until the age of 17 when my parents divorced and my mother and I moved to Colorado, eating only that bread.
They didn’t sell it in Colorado and they don’t in Georgia either.
It’s such a big memory and tastes so familiar and good that I’ve had toast and or a sandwich almost everyday I’ve been here. For someone who’s basically given up bread for the past couple of years, I’m wallowing in a PBJ, grilled cheese and tomato, French toast type of heaven one can only dream about.
The thing is, I know childhood memories and comfort food are helpful when you don’t feel good but, I don’t feel bad. Michael has been giving me two shots in the tummy every morning since Saturday.
It’s mildly unpleasant as you can imagine but it doesn’t really hurt.
I take two different pills twice a day and other than getting a little sleepy, I feel fine!
I go into to the hospital tomorrow at 7am to get a line placed into my neck (been there done that). We will sit in a room with the same type of machine that was used on my rounds of Plasmapheresis and after five hours or so, I should be free to go.
They will take out as much blood as possible and as long as I give enough Stem Cells in that blood, I don’t have any other procedures until we check into the hospital on September 6th one week away.
So, I spend another night in the apartment, hoping it’s my last.
I just want to go home.
I want it to the point of tears.
I cry when they tell me I’m 40,000 shy of my two million minimum Stem Cells and I’ll have to come back tomorrow.
I take a Xanax and crawl into bed ridiculously early.
I feel too frail to fight the despair.
So I don’t.

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