Michael · Rossman

It’s Day 48 after transplant, nearly four weeks out of hospital. I’m alive, bald, and doing well, except for this pain in my pocket where I shelled out four grand for meds, and a clammy scrotum that’they say will improve. I’m taking walks with friends nearly every day, they’re growing longer and brisker. I can’t go to concerts or movies yet, let alone a gym; but I’m cleared to pet dogs and hug my granddaughter, provided they’re clean and not sniffly. Besides watching Sopranos with Karen, mostly I’ve been working on my website mrossman.org, where I’ve put up a whole variegated shitload of prose. (Still no cosmetic face or graphics, but they’ll come.) I’ve gotten halfway able to respond to email messages, so don’t be shy..
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To look at me, with a neat cap on and a shirt hiding the Hickman portal in my chest, you’d think I was the very picture of health – and indeed, I feel so, so much that it’s hard to keep reminding myself that I’m fragile and vulnerable, and about one-third of the way out of the dark woods so far. But my blood system, or my sister’s, is definitely online, producing so dependably that I’ll never need another transfusion – unless various complexities with GVHD or relapse happen, but let’s not fret about that for now. So to all my friends still longing to give blood for me, I say: go do it anyway, someone else needs it. And get yourself put on the Blood Marrow Donor Registry. All it takes is a blood sample to qualify, and so little fuss to give your stem cells if needed that you’ll be as surprised as Devora was. And this ain’t like an ordinary pint of gore – you can really save the life of someone for whom you’re a good match.
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More anon. May your holiday be as joyful as mine.
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  Michael