Day 2

Jimmy and Jamey, getting in some laps. Isn't Jimmy a vision?

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7E is the transplant wing. It is closed off from the rest of the hospital, and the doors are locked at all times. There are special air filters and fans to reduce germs and bacteria and contaminants, and the medical personnel wear masks. Visitors are kept to a minimum, and they have to wear masks in the patients' rooms. Children and plants and flowers and perfumes and, of course, anyone with any sign of infection are not allowed on the floor. Jimmy and I don't have to wear masks in our room, but Jimmy has to put his on if he goes out in the hall.

Jimmy still feels pretty good, but no matter how badly you feel, the last thing they want you to do is lie in bed all day. They want all the transplant patients to walk at least a mile, every day. The hall is a large circle, and twenty-one laps make a mile, so all day long there are masked patients walking the hall, often pulling their IV poles. Jimmy told me that he had periods of sleeplessness last night, so at 4AM, he got up and did seven laps.

This is such a petty complaint, but the stem cells that were transplanted back into Jimmy had been frozen and treated with a preservative, DMSO, and had an odor. Ever since the transplant, he has smelled like he was steeped in garlic for a month: he positively reeks. This lovely aroma will dissipate eventually, but in the meantime, I've thought about wearing a mask in our room out of self defense.