Dear Friends and Family,
Today is Nancy’s first full day home.
As is my usual habit, I woke up this morning at 7 a.m. My face was warmed by bright sunshine streaming through the sliding glass doors that make up the south side of our bedroom, as I lay in bed quietly not wanting to wake Nancy and thinking about where life has taken me in the past months of Nancy’s illness. I felt rested, more so than in weeks. Together, Nancy and I were in our bed. We were comfortable together. There had been no interruptions for vital signs. There had been no pills or blood work to awaken us at 5 a.m. There had been no sounds outside our room, save the sweet gurgling of the brook just beyond the deck. I wasn’t surprised that Nancy was still asleep.
After a while, I decided to embrace the luxury of laziness, so I simply watched Nancy dream for the better part of a half hour. It is a beautiful sight to see her peacefully breathe in a normal fashion. I daydreamed about the many things she and I might do today. Thinking about the simple rhythms of our life together and the freedom of being home almost brought me to tears.
When the sunlight crept to her side of the bed, Nancy opened her eyes. I rubbed her head. “Good morning, sweetheart. What are your thoughts on the day?”
“I want to feel what it’s like to walk places without dragging an IV pole around. I want to go there.” Nancy pointed toward the glass doors through which we could see the flowers on the deck and the grove of aspens at the river’s edge.
“But I do have one thing to do today. I have to go to Salt Lake City and help Jaret with a paper that’s due tomorrow. It’s funny, I’m really looking forward to the drive down to the city. It will be exhilarating to drive again.”
“Okeydokey. Then turn away from the sun and take another nap. I’m going to make you breakfast and serve it to you in bed.”
“What are your plans, Winnie?”
My mind replied, “To whisk you off to Morocco for a ride on a camel.”
Unfortunately, my mouth conveyed a completely different comeback: “I have a dentist appointment this afternoon, and after that I’m planning to ride with Chuck. I might get my hair trimmed if Stephanie can fit me in. I need to stop at the bank . . .”
So much for being lazy, I mused, “Oh . . . And if you can believe it, Emmy is making us dinner again, so I’ll pick that up while I’m in Park City. I could also make a DVD run if you are up for it. How does that sound?”
“Great. All of it.”
Mundane, day-to-day stuff. It’s hard to believe. Things seem so normal.
Not long ago, we started a new early morning tradition that I’ve hinted at in previous notes. I now give Nancy countless small kisses across her fuzzy dome each day. “These are sent from your friends,” I tell her, though truth be known, at least half are from me. I give her only one hug, though I make it a very long one to reflect the many friends who end their conversations with me not by saying “Good-bye”—but instead declaring, “Give Nancy a hug for me.”
This morning, as I wrapped Nancy in my arms, I noticed her eyes close and her mouth form a large grin. And just as I unwrapped my arms and gave Nancy a final kiss, the phone rang.
“Good morning, Winnie. This is Rachael Beers from the Transplant Unit at the University of Utah. I hope I’m not calling too early.”
Too early? (Even a 5 a.m. call would be welcomed from Rachael. I have faithfully been contacting her each day the last few weeks, hoping for any news about a possible donor.)
“I believe that in our last conversation I told you that of the twenty-one potential matches for Nancy identified by the National Marrow Donor Program, I requested seven for the next round of tests. Only five were still available and three didn’t make the next cut—but two did. The last time we talked, those samples were undergoing the final analysis.”
My heart was pounding as Rachael paused.
“I’ve got good news, Winnie. We have our donor.”
What does it feel like to win the lottery? A number of years ago, I watched a TV show about winners, but in all honesty, I was simply not able to grasp the concept. Now I fully and completely understand.
As Rachael uttered, “We have our donor,” my pulse accelerated and total exhilaration took over. My body trembled and goose bumps appeared everywhere. I effusively and totally embraced Nancy. My hug this time was only from me.
Rachael continued, “I am allowed to tell you the donor is a male. More importantly, he’s a 10 out of 10 match. That’s the best it can get. It doesn’t get any better than that. Congratulations!”
By the end of Rachael’s explanation, Nancy and I were jointly clutching a box of Kleenex. Our wait was over. The carefully avoided question of “What if there is no match?” could finally disappear from the far reaches of our minds—forever.
“Thank you, Rachael! Thank you from the bottom our hearts!”
“We’ll talk later,” she replied warmly.
Indeed, we would. A few days later, we were sitting in the University of Utah Transplant Unit with Rachael and her boss, Dr. Finn Bo Peterson.
The process has begun.
Summary: The transplant gods have given Nancy a fabulous welcome home present. The National Marrow Donor Program has identified a “10 out of 10” typed donor. A PERFECT match.
Huge love,
Winnie