If my body could be doing something right now, I think it would breathe an obnoxious exaggerated sigh of relief. After endless consecutive days of abusing my veins with needles and tubes, they get a break for a day.

Some days I need a vacation from it all, but I’m pretty much stuck with myself so that’s not possible (ahhh…the challenges of life). I’ve learned during these times, the best I can do is minimize the “sick” stuff as much as possible, even if it means skipping a dose of pills or eating the oh-so forbidden candy bar. As entertaining as I admit I can be, I’d love to leave myself at home one night and go out.

Several weeks ago I was put on an IV antibiotic for two reasons: as a test to see if the Lyme Disease is stable, and as a way to keep it under control while the new stem cells are trying to settle in my body. The drama of swollen veins, sleepless nights rolling over on the catheters in my hands, and inserting lines to feed medicine through (then removing and re-inserting) have gotten the best of me.

I have been enduring this to see if I will get a Herxheimer reaction ("herx" for short). When a person with Lyme Disease is given effective antibiotic treatment, they will often have this occurrence -- an intensification of their symptoms due to toxins being released by the dying bacteria. I’ve been on this very strong IV antibiotic for three weeks now (in addition to my oral antibiotics) and so far have not experienced this (as I usually do). So, we’re doubling the dose. When I still don’t get a herx reaction (note the positive intention in this sentence), I will feel confident that it’s safe to stop the twice daily doses of liquid that is so pungent I feel like the scent is spilling out of every one of my pores. Dr. Ashish only has to find about eight more days worth of veins before this whole issue can be put to rest. I wish him luck.

I really wanted to do self-injections of this antibiotic for the remaining time like I did last time I was on it. It makes me feel better when I can be a do-it-herselfer. But, with this big dose, intramuscular injections won’t work. You cannot put that much medicine into a muscle without possibly damaging it (in addition to creating a very lumpy butt and subsequent unpleasant experience any time you sit). Because medical staff has to do the IV infusions, I’m having to fight my most inner “toddler” trigger constantly. Although the nurses here are sweet beyond belief, I am overly sensitive to the flip flopping of their shoes in and out of my room, the s-l-o-w and cautious pace they do everything at, and the constant doting. I have successfully (whatever that entails) lived as a sick person for this long by taking my own medicine, keeping adequate body temperature and blood pressure, and probably not sterilizing everything properly. And, that’s how I like it. I’m the type of person who rips off a bandaide and moves on. Here, they take 15 minutes to drown it in alcohol which loosens the adhesive, so they can peeeeeel it off in the tiniest increments ever known to man. As grateful as I am for their tender care, I am self-conscious that I’m unknowingly wearing my little nephew’s disapproving look on my face, when someone tries to help (and we don't think we need it).

As I listen to the chanting of Sunday’s services down the street, it sounds extra holy. I have no idea if they are singing extra loud, my emotions are extra intense, my body is extra relaxed or I am just losing my mind extra fast in this crazy city. It’s hard to know lately. The ebb and flow of feelings I have are reminiscent of the time in my life when I donated my eggs to an infertile couple -- unpredictable, silly, trying, but totally irreplaceable. I picture my emotional graph like a jagged EKG reading where the doctor condescendingly points and says, "This line should be all within this range, but see how it's going up an down and up and down? We want it more over here. Yes, that would be healthier."

My stem cell dose increased as of Saturday and it seem so has my emotional and physical reactions. No matter how much food I consume, I am always still hungry. Last night after dinner, I had a “snack” that could have easily passed for another meal. My neighbors across the street living in tents could have made it last a week. Guilt creeps into my head as I stand over the jar of peanut butter dipping anything I can in it, while visions of a huddled and cold group of people sharing one bowl of rice with no utensils, dance in my head.

Although my many balancing tricks in physio don’t prove perfection yet, I still haven’t fallen into walls or tables in weeks. I am more stable in “real life” than I expected to be by now, and standing on one leg with my eyes closed doesn’t come up very often in that world, so I have plenty of time to keep trying. As I’ve experienced with myself and seen with other patients, there is a lot of fluctuation until the body stabilizes and starts to continually progress forward. Like Louis, another patient here always says, "Three steps forward, two back." Even though it will take time, I know eventually I’ll get where I’m going. I didn’t think I’d come this far this soon, so any stunts where I'm still upright at the end are a blessing. Some days, I can “walk the line” in physio so well that I’d feel just as safe if I were on a tightrope (if Johnny Cash only knew how many times I hum his song in a day). Other days, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere above ground level if my life depended on it. We’ve increased my sessions to twice a day and added strap-on Velcro weights to my exercises, which makes the under-toned muscles in my legs shake.

Since embryonic stem cells have no “memory,” I need to teach them what to do. I’ve always worried about screwing up my kid if I were a parent (doesn’t everyone?) and I find myself concerned about the same thing with my baby stem cells. Will I not rest enough to give them a chance to grow and thrive? Will I rest too much and not do enough of the vital exercise that makes them learn how to function in the body? Would they really be worse off if I had one glass of wine than if I didn't? I think as with all little growing beings, it’s about balance. I’m just grateful that in case I do slip up here or there, I won’t have to pay for their psychotherapy to reconcile the situation later.

Concentraing on Chavi's commands

I have consistently been able to manage the lower dose of my painkillers and I expect that to get even better as I try to cut it back. I know each day might bring slight variations so I have to be flexible and not too hard on myself (practice, practice, practice). My heart medication is still sitting on my nightstand, although now at the back collecting dust. In all fairness, that takes like two seconds in Delhi, but I haven’t needed it since before Christmas. I’ve had a few incidences when it felt like my heart was racing a bit, but not enough where I would normally take that prescription.

No big excursions have come my way lately. I’m more inclined to stay close to “home” (that has to be a nesting phenomenon) and visit the local coffee shop on the main drag more often. I see enough coming and going to sustain my curiosity and need for life's unusual sightings.

Decoration outside a beauty shop in Greenpark Market

A dog who lives at the "furniture store" in the market


A man and his monkey (in a dress)

Yesterday while browsing the Internet, I saw that a hotel around here has a very well rated (I have no idea by who) Sushi restaurant. My well-balanced meals full of curry and lentils are nourishing my body. But, let’s face it, some seared ahi would nourish my soul -- or at the least hold me over until I can visit my favorite Sushi bar at home. That might have to be my next outing if it doesn't stop softly calling me as I lounge in bed trying to focus on things other than food (the saga continues).

Tomorrow starts a new day of hunting for healthy veins, blasting through at least eight days of pokes, prods and high dose medication -- all while staying calm, trying not to eat myself to death, salvaging tissues for my endlessly tearing eyes, going to physio, and staying grounded with the ability to love this experience for everything it is. But I feel ready. It’s amazing how one lazy morning of listening to chanted prayers can do that to you. I’m sure by the time the day is over, it won’t have ended without major food cravings that can't be satisfied and crying over something ridiculous, but at this point, I’m grateful for five minutes.

While writing this, I realize that Sunday always brings less horn honking than usual outside my single paned windows. Ah-ha! The mystery of today has been solved. Forget not having an IV tube and an entourage of nurses testing my threshold for patience -- I suddenly have decided that even if all that came rushing back but there were fewer beep-beep-beeps, today would still feel just as holy.