Part Six - Recovery Is Not a Straight Line

Chapter 15

Fifty Days

February 2026

These days felt like a long voyage in a sailboat.

Progress was the plan.

A report of “nothing to report” was good news.

Hospital visits gradually became less frequent, and the possibility of going home began to feel real.

I still had to be careful. My immune system was immature. Fatigue cycled unpredictably. Standing too quickly caused dizziness.

One evening, after sitting for a while, I stood and felt blood rush away from my brain. Normally, I would have paused.

Instead, I decided the dizziness was passing and headed for the kitchen.

I didn’t make it as far as the kitchen.

I dropped like a bag of rocks.

Unfortunately, I fainted in front of Leslie and scared her badly. I could not have done it when she was out of the room and then yelled, “I’m fine!”

I went from walking to waking up flat on my back.

Nothing was broken, bent, or damaged.

Except my pride.

The Pharmacy on the Counter

I was advised to buy one of those pill organizers that previously I had regarded as something for “old people”.

I was glad I did.

I was taking more than thirty pills a day, with doses adjusted after nearly every visit.

I am fully convinced I would never have made it as a pharmacist.

The medications protected against infection, managed the donor immune system, supported organs, and treated complications.

Each pill had a purpose.

Together, they represented a full-time administrative position.

Day Fifty

Day fifty arrived.

I was halfway through the critical first-hundred-day period.

The graft was taking.

Aside from fatigue, I felt reasonably good.

I would not have reached that point without Leslie, family, the Mountain Crew, the cheering squad, and the eclectic collection of people from my past who had joined the journey.

Fifty days down.

Fifty to go.