Petrified.

Batman is scared. Very scared.

At 8:00 am tomorrow, a giant hand will hold me against the mud of an unknown swamp. With one giant blow, he'll hammer me into the ooze below my feet. Then I'll be hammered and hammered again despite the fact that my head is already below the surface.

Hopefully the giant hand will grow tired of this in a few days and let me eke my way out of the ooze.

Ed and I have talked about this: I'm not afraid of death, but I'm scared as hell of suffering on my way there. Tomorrow starts the suffering with the intent of avoiding death.

The truth is that I really don't want to do this. Conversely, I really want to be cured (or at least asymptomatic for some time), and we hope this will have some beneficial effects. I'll endure the suffering in pursuit of a greater goal. I just wish there was another way.

For you medi-technophiles out there, I get a massive dose of Melphalan tomorrow. It will cause ALL of my bone marrow to die. I'll be neutropenic (no immune system) for much longer than I was during a previous dose. It will cause side effects that put 90+% of patients in the hospital for 14 to 21 days. I'll have severe inflamation of mucous membranes. (Figure out where those are, and imagine stunning inflammations. Yup, eyelids and everything from your lips to your anus.) Unimaginable inflammation.

I'll have such poor blood numbers that I'll probably get several transfusions. We already have a couple of them planned.

I'll be so weak they'll worry about my ability to dial 911 or call Ed. As a result, they want Ed by my side 24/7. At the same time, they want me to come see them once a day, every day for 30+ days. Maybe the hospital would be a blessing.

It gets worse, but I won't bother with that here.

I'm scared. I really am.

In the meantime, I'll blog until I can't blog any more. Heck, it's time for more Christmas card pics!