11 months ago
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
So I'm in with the tan team, Tuesday, July 27. The room is crowded with my nurse Pat, Brandea Paulk, PA-C, and Derek Stirewalt, MD, all masked and gowned, masked and gloved, following clinic isolation procedures since I still test positive for para-influenza virus. Kathy LeClair is with us too but she isn't gowned up. My threat could be deadly for other immune suppressed patients. We go over my questions and I report again that I still can't jump. Even though I'm working diligently in physical therapy, it seems that no jump continues to be symptomatic of my post transplant condition. Stirewalt says my condition ranks in the upper 90% of patients at the clinic and then I hear him say "discharge in a couple of weeks." I stand up from the patient exam table, put my water bottle down, bend my elbows, hunch from hips and knees and launch. My feet make it off the ground. I jump two more times in succession for good measure laughing and exclaiming "I'm jumping. Did you see that. I jumped." And, just in case they didn't see it even though I'm right in front of their faces in a very small room, I jump again. My body was waiting to jump for joy.