A few days after we received Jimmy's wonderful report, the phone rang and the caller ID said "Emory Medical." We stared at each other for a moment before I answered it. It was only about scheduling for a future appointment, and we later laughed because we had had the same reaction: that maybe they were calling to tell us that they had made a mistake, that they had given us another patient's diagnosis.
It has been a peculiar thing. As thrilled as we are, and as blessed as we feel that the last transplant was successful, we've had a hard time quite believing that it's really true. My friend Mary Young Manning, who has worked as a volunteer at Pearlman Cancer Center for years, assures me that this is a very common reaction. From now on though, we'll probably be looking over our shoulders for what may be sneaking up on us, but we'll also think of every day as a gift to be treasured, never to be taken for granted.
Jimmy's doing so well, but I'm sorry that I can't say the same for Mrs. Dewar. She's at home, is peaceful, and doesn't seem to be in any discomfort. She sleeps most of the time now, and we get very little response from her. Her body is still hanging on, but her mind seems to be gone.
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