The view from here

In this situation, the deal is that you drive down the road to bone marrow transplant, whether that's your destination or not. So we're on the road. On Wednesday, Vlad begins three days of intense tests at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center intended to get a detailed picture of his status and needs as a recipient. The worst of it, they say, would be another bone marrow biopsy, but at least that's the devil he knows.

He's taking three days off work, after being back for three weeks, missing days for a hurricane. During that time his boss got fired and they brought the new one in. They also have a new VP he's getting to know. ODS is pretty good people, as my dad would say, but I'm sure there's a limit, especially in this economy in freefall, and Vlad isn't happy about being out another three days. But he's going to work Saturdays to make up for it. I think he's doing fine at work, but you can understand his situation.

After this, I can only guess what will happen: We'll wait to see what his blood is going to do. If it doesn't behave, they'll try to match him. Then would come the transplant. I don't know how long, how easy or hard that would be. We just don't want to go there.

I signed up to be a bone marrow donor. They approved me initially despite my thalessemia. I was surprised. But I may get the boot once they see my blood sample.

I'm going to be with Vlad all three days at M.D. Anderson. I did something similar with my dad (pictured on top of Deer Mountain in Colorado in the '70s) when he was getting tested at M.D. Anderson before they did surgery to remove part of one of his lungs, where he had a cancerous tumor. It was several days of tests. You run from one doctor's office to another waiting and waiting.

Doctors in Dallas wouldn't do the surgery because Dad was already compromised by emphysema and taking out part of a lung would make breathing very difficult. But at M.D. Anderson, the surgeon took it on. At the time we were so happy that they would cut this bad thing out. But I remember the anesthesiologist kind of cringing in our pre-surgery meeting. He described the surgeon as a cowboy. I think he was trying to warn us. And things did pretty much go downhill from there. But that's another story.

I treasure one particular memory from that adventure. At the end of the second or third day of this process of being pushed and shoved around the hospital, we were spent. We're both scared to death worried if he's terminal or curable. Neither saying what we're thinking. After a few days of this act, life gets surreal.

We walked into a cardiologist's office. We're sitting in a consult room, waiting, waiting, waiting. Almost asleep. The door opens suddenly and we're startled. This nurse with a huge smile, bottle blonde hair and deep suntan comes in and practically shouts, "Well hello y'all! It's so good to see you! How are you today! You look so good! FanTAStic! Well, the doctor will be here any minute now, so y'all just sit here, OK? Great! Now, y'all take care, OK? All-righty!"

It was like an explosion of sickening phony creosote. Amid the surreal surroundings, she seemed hideously ridiculous. We looked at each other and immediately burst out laughing. We laughed for about five minutes. Our sides hurting. Tears coming down both our cheeks. It was a release of all the horror and pretense and bravery and fear. I was thankful for her entrance, but not for the reasons she would think.