Nothing Much Happens

For those with limited time: Jon did fine with the first day of chemo and so far has not suffered. The PICC line is uncomfortable but that should stop feeling so tender in a few days.  The end.

******

Anna told me "Nothing Much Happens" is the name of the podcast she listens to so she can go to sleep. That's what I hope this current Baltimore chapter of the blog is like, although it might cause the readers to wander away and doze off. She says there is a lady who just talks and talks about little nothing stuff and you just fall asleep and sometimes you wake up hours later and wonder who that is, still talking.

We got here a little over 24 hours ago. We ate Chinese food, Jon did some work for Al, I went to bed really early because I no longer have Thalia duty (alas). I woke up at 2:00 and thought for sure it was time to get up for the day. Then I just spent the rest of the night dreaming such complicated and bizarre stories.

We were down at the breakfast room by 7:20 (which is sort of the middle of the night for Jon). We are staying in a pretty swanky place, with real food and real dishes and so many people tidying up and greeting us at every turn. I just texted some friends who are more savvy to ask how to handle tipping the valet parking guys. We don't want to appear ungrateful or cheap. The reason we are in such a fancy place is that the pharmaceutical company that engineers the T-cells is very invested in the success of this process, so they support the patients by housing them close by. It increases the probability of a good outcome greatly if you are within minutes of the hospital and you are getting good rest, it seems. We didn't choose the hotel, but it is just a 10 minute walk from the hospital, and that is ideal.

For those who have never had a chance to hang around at Johns Hopkins, you might not know that it is a huge complex right in the middle of a lower-resourced area. I can imagine that the people who live around here might have feelings about the continuing sprawl of this upscale institution. Across the street, in all directions, there are blocks of small houses that look like they were built as a subsidized development. And on the corner of every block that holds a hospital building there is a blue security box with a person inside, night and day. The security structure is the size of a phone booth. Windows on all sides, climate controlled, but no kitchen or plumbing.  From our window, facing north, I can see four blue boxes. I am sure that it makes everyone who is part of Hopkins feel safer.  What a deadly boring job. But I walk all over the place without worrying, probably because of those people in the blue boxes.

Jon was in his chair at the IPOP (In Patient Out Patient) clinic right on time. They gave him a big bag of fluids and told him he would be getting an infusion for the next 2 - 3 hours. I left to go for a walk. As we have said over and over, we have done this before. Jon has to sit in a chair and have chemicals dripped in, and I go do something else for a bit. I went to take a look at the Chick Webb Memorial recreation center that is still getting renovated (I used to swim in the old, hot pool). It won't be finished while we are here this time. Then I went home to practice piano and diddle around.

We went out for lunch at a Mexican restaurant that was so authentic that we didn't recognize some of the dishes (it was all in Spanish). The one employee/proprietor didn't speak English and we ordered some dishes that were not completely what we thought. No regrets. We love one-of-a-kind places and that was worth it, even if an enchilada smothered in beans is exactly that -- a bean enchilada inside with black beans all over the outside. 

After doing some shopping for groceries and treats, we came home for naps and sports on TV. If Jon keeps feeling fine, this will just be a weird vacation, all expenses paid. If he feels bad, then I will have something to do (hover and offer tea).

I cannot stand to watch the news. There is no end to the madness. There is way too much happening outside of our bubble.