Day One

I think I have a little idea of what it's like to send someone off to war. There they are standing next to you reaching for something, sitting near you at a dinner table, feeding the dog, making a joke, but you know...you know they are headed out there where it's dangerous. Where your intentions are good but the risks are great. They have to walk out into the fire, turn around, and hustle back without getting hit. Actually, they have to go out there, get wounded, and hustle back. Soldiers must justify their task in some way in order to forge ahead into confusing uncertainty, and so my sweet wife must do the same; to see the people she loves and love her, to let loose the things that do not, to focus on what's true and good. We left Rosina in the hospital tonight. She'll be there for about a month.

It looks boring.

We took pillows, a feather bed, an ipod and headphones, 10 books, knitting, art supplies, cell phone, photographs, a tiny buddah, notebooks, pamphlets, brochures, a bunch of clothes, and some slippers.

I'm pretty sure she'll just be watching cooking shows.

Her room, on the fourth floor, is in a "positive pressure" area. There is a kind of anteroom before four other rooms, and the air is constantly filtered. It is really for people who have had bone marrow transplants and have no immune system. Although the extra door makes the room a little less friendly, I do like the term "positive pressure", and suggest that it be applied liberally. Will, Nina, Sonia, and I (Jake is at camp) went and hung out for several hours. She got an IV line for some hydrating, and some rice and chicken that was apparently all about DE-hydrating. We were able to use a piece of the chicken to fix a wobbly table leg. The Sara Lee individually wrapped piece of chocolate cake had icing on it that could patch an ancient fishing boat. I still have some stuck to the roof of my mouth. THEN they give you chemo. Nice. Of course, all the people doing these things were perfectly friendly and helpful, and Rosina was so warm with them right away. Appreciative. I'm pretty sure she's going to win camper of the session. Honestly, tears and all, she's pretty amazing. She has an incredible light in her eyes and it's not about lights, or even eyes.

Oh, and on the food, for now, she can eat outside food. Has to be cooked and they recommend against restuarant food. Recommend. By the way, the hospital has a Starbucks in it, but no wireless interent. What's up with that? How's anybody suppose to write a screenplay in there? And to make things worse, Rosina's in no shape to wait in line for an iPhone. I asked her.

Visiting works kinda like this. Visiting hours are 9am-9pm and I need to manage it a bit depending on how she feels and how it's going. The best thing for now would be to email me if you'd like to come. Please, nobody feel obligated to visit her, it's nice, but not necessary. Part of this ordeal is submerging into it, coming up on the other side. Just lemme know if you want to, because you are welcome. A parking note: you can enter the Beverly Center off San Vicente and park there for a buck if so inclined. Also note: she cannot have flowers in her room.

Blood. Rosina will need several transfusions. Her blood type is A+. I know that some of you are also A+, or the universal donor type, O-, and you can donate blood that is earmarked for Rosina. Her room is 4SW 4925. The phone number for the blood donor office at Cedars is (310) 423-2416. They are open to 3pm on Monday, Friday and Saturday, and until 7:15pm on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. (also see link above) They validate parking and I think they give you a free movie ticket. It is located in the South Tower, the same building where Rosina is, on the ground floor. They said she'll need the transfusions in close to a week and since the process of cleaning, bagging etc takes a few days, now isn't a bad time.

She starts her chemo proper tomorrow and I will be there in the afternoon. Thank you everybody for reaching out so much, it continues to be very meaningful. xo ph