The Gangs of Coletta

Anger is one of those emotions that can be easy to default to and rapidly multiply – not unlike the bastard leukemic cells that invaded my body. As I lie awake processing the news from the night before, my instinct was to rage, to amplify my indignant stance with such vigor that it would disengage my comprehension and alleviate my terror. This of course was an alternative to the Delorean time machine that I would have preferred but that might be on purchase order for the next several decades. Great Scott!

Time seemed to stand still as my anarchist mind abandoned all control of its optimist environment. The Gangs of Coletta we’re multiplying- dominated by The Wicked What Ifs, Hellish How Longs’ and Angels of Death. I felt as though I was having an out of body experience, staring at someone that I didn’t recognize and never wanted to be. I’m sure this is true of any diseased patient that is playing cliffhanger in their mind and so you might think I drew comfort from that universal commonality. Fuck no – because logic and reason were abandoned in my brain- remember ^?

I continued to overload my brain with a barrage of pessimism, a short circuit ensued that would have me catching Zzz’s for a few hours.

Day 2

Waking up on a makeshift bed in a hospital cell, my hopefulness in the possibility of the dirty L word being a figment of my imagination quickly dissipated. Reality can be a crude state, especially when it materializes from the unexpected – bluntly stabbing with every breath and consideration for the downstream impacts. As I started to transition from the “me” side of the equation, a new set of concerns mounted as I anticipated the hysteria from my family. I should mention that this is now the Saturday before Thanksgiving so you can appreciate my reluctance in wanting to reach out and make any impromptu announcements before clearings up some of those x’s. I did call one person…

Everyone has that 1 go-to person to level set, a walking talking Ativan that you want to have to navigate a bad situation…introducing my sister, Magellan. I’ll refrain from going into the details of the conversation and allow you to infer the reaction of any sister who has been told that their brother has cancer…

With my pregnant wife at my bedside, I was eagerly awaiting the ominous transport to Princess Margaret. With my sister en route and still in the discovery phase of the grim news – I decided to sidestep this conversation with my other immediate family until we knew more.

Upon my arrival at PMH, my senses were wildly sensitive to my surroundings. I can distinctly remember being attached to my first IV bag and the corresponding oncology stamp that lit up the screen of the IV pump – another affirmation of this grotesque reality.

Throughout the course of the day, my processor was being overloaded with hypotheticals though it became clear that a bone barrow biopsy would be required before ordering treatment. Again, true to form, my situation would be more complex to manage because of my existing anti-coagulation therapy. Translation : the medical team have to manage my mechanical heart valve (that uses blood thinners as a preventative mitigation tactic for clots) against the fact that the leukemia is essentially suppressing every back-up clotting protocol (which puts me at high risk for internal bleeding) HENCE the catalyst to this adventure, the blood in my urine.

“Let us have the specialized teams weigh-in on this and we’ll get back to you with their recommendations ”

We were inching but knew more than the day before. And so day 2 came to a close.