Engraftment

Before I ever arrived in Seattle for treatment I would have guessed the word “engraftment” had several meanings.  It could be a project in an advanced calculus class.  It could also be a verb that describes the flowery designs made with a bunch of plastic gears and a pencil and paper.  It could even be the act of trying to get used to the habits of the ASD superintendent.  (His name is Mr. Graff.)

Now that I’ve been through two stem cell transplants, I understand a completely different meaning.  It happens after the new stem cells have planted themselves into my bone marrow.  Engraftment is when those stem cells start pumping out new blood cells.  That’s what I’m going through right now.  It’s usually not a big deal, but for some odd reason, my body reacts with what they are calling “Engraftment Syndrome.”  It gives me a slight fever and a headache.  By itself, I would say “So what??”  I have a slight fever and a headache but life goes on.  At least a dozen side effects are much worse.

But while under the care of physicians who do transplants for a living, a slight fever earns a patient an immediate trip to the hospital.  During my first transplant, I spent weeks in the hospital on three separate occasions with nothing more than a slight fever and a headache.  Each day I would plead my case to leave the hospital.  I would walk three miles which equates to thirty-three laps around the transplant wing of the hospital.  I would try to act as healthy as possible for the doctors and nurses.  If there were more room, I would have done my former parallel bars gymnastics routine but it was all useless.  They would just stick a thermometer in my mouth and ten seconds later decide that my scorching temperature of 100.5 was enough to keep me there one more night.  This went on day after day after day.

So my goal for transplant number two is to stay out of the hospital.  I’ve already had two close calls.  I even admitted to a night nurse that my temperature was up but I argued like a debate champion that my white blood cell count was high enough to fight off what could be a potential blood disease.  After some checking of my blood counts and a consultation with the night doctor, they accepted my case and let me stay in the apartment.  

I had to make about fifteen promises first.  Yes, I would call if my temperature goes up any more, yes I would call if I start feeling dizzy, yes I would call if my big toe.....  You get the idea.  Then I realized, I was finally speaking the language of a stem cell transplant doctor.  I know what to say to make them happy and that makes me very happy.  It’s a small victory but I’m certain I slept with a smile that night.