I'm on Day -9. It's really boring and it's reminding me of prison, besides the butt raping and being stabbed with a shank. The room is as small as a cell block. You aren't allowed to go anywhere further than your own floor. There is no hard labor or guys asking you to be their bitch, but you do have chemo, which is worse.
I'm even shackled. I'm attached to an IV pole and will be for three weeks. It makes doing anything a pain. They say you should give the IV pole a name because it's with you so much. I'm calling him Bill. He doesn't really say much. He's not spectacular. He's just sort of there. Sort of like a Bill (the exception would be Bill Hughes, of course).
And like the overcrowded prison system, the stem cell transplant system is bursting. They put me on an overflow floor which is supposed to be used for gynecology radiology. But it's being invaded by stem cell transplant patients. Speaking of gynecology radiology, any single fellas out there want to me to find them a good lady who's been through a rough patch, I can do that.
The pokie is scariest at night. So is this. Why, I already had a run-in with three nurses and two needles. Nobody could find a vein. Chemo makes the veins really hard and bashful. It takes a real pro to get a needle in. That's something that's universal with cancer patients and we all enjoy talking about our experiences like prison mates talk about theirs. It hurts like a motha.
So here I am. Doing time. Working on the railroad. Listening to some Johnny Cash. Enclosed is a picture of one of the greatest prison movies of all time, the Shawshank Redemption. It's a close call between that and Papillon.