Yesterday, Dr. Ashish explained to me how some people feel a difference in their body even with the first mini test dose of stem cells and after less than 12 hours--I do! He warned me that the "difference" could be anything, and even extra pain wouldn’t be a bad thing. Any change means something is happening. This is so similar to Lyme that I accept the concept right away: the healing crisis as it’s often called.

With Lyme Disease, as the bacteria dies off, it can cause toxins to be released at a faster rate than your organs can process and it causes this uproar in your body. So, when I am at my worst, I often tell myself it’s better than being stable (hey, it works).

I was woken up much too early today by some sort of argument or ruckus outside my window between two men. I praise the device that puts all early risings to rest--my iPod. I’m listening to Karisha, an up and coming artist. Her voice is beautiful, spiritual and strikes a chord within me. It’s 5:30 a.m. I’ve been up since 3 or so. My internal time clock is still ticking to California's beat, so even when I fall asleep at night here, I don’t stay that way for long.

I am doing the work I promised Dr. Ashish I would. I am babying my baby stem cells, resting and thinking good thoughts. I picture them as glitter shimmering in every crevice of my body. I am surprising myself though as I am much more protective than I thought I’d be. There is a book called Messages From Water by a Japanese scientist in which he proves his theory that energy and vibrations (positive or negative) have a huge impact on the structure of water molecules. This sheds light on how these same things affect our health. He collected water from various environments and then watched under a microscope how they reacted to different energies--violent music, loving words, etc. The results were astounding. I have to believe it’s the same for our cells too. And between water and cells, that accounts for our entire body's make up. I want these cells to have the best energy and chance possible. I find myself avoiding the television--what if I watch something with violence or negativity? I do the deep breathing exercises they keep encouraging here--this is to keep me relaxed and full of oxygen. I stay off the computer more than usual--electromagnetic fields?

After the unwelcome wake up call this morning and before dawn, waves of almost goose bump like sensations began raining in sheets over my lower body. I have never felt this sensation in my life. It's not the tingling like I normally have because of my nerve damage. It’s more like quick hits of the chills. Every few minutes, it floods my lower body and then intermittently, it runs up the right side of my upper body.

In just a few hours I will get my first full dose of stem cells. I cannot fall back asleep. I know something is happening and I don’t want to miss a second. Ok, let’s be real...the chanting from the temple down the street and the honking horns are helping prevent my sleep too.

I had my first day of physical therapy today. The room is decorated cheerfully with bright colors--yellows and blues. What sounds like Hindu rap music sets the mood. One patient seems to know all the words and while regaining his upper body after a paralyzing motorcycle accident, he dances with his shoulders and chest which are starting to come alive.

My therapist Chavi is adorable. She is highly sensitive to the prospect that she might be hurting me, so she constantly asks. It’s almost like verbal short hand. Every time she moves a limb even an inch, she smiles at me and says “Fine?” People use that word here in abundance, just as we say “ok.” I’ve already caught on. They understand that “fine” means move on, all done, it’s all good and a host of other things. It gets the point across for almost anything it seems. Try to use something else, communication becomes a blur and your conversation can last an hour. Say “fine” and life is easy.

After physical therapy, which consists of me doing almost nothing and Chavi bending and stretching my body, I go to the infusion center for my first full dose of stem cells. A nurse administers it with great care. She goes to a back room, brings it already dispensed into a syringe and starts rubbing it between her hands to make it warm. It’s kept at a temperature in which it can be preserved and it’s too cold to be put into the veins immediately (maybe just because it would be uncomfortable). She carefully shoots the small needle in my right arm and slowly infuses it. It’s over within a couple of minutes and I am sent to my room to rest. But, it doesn’t last long. Within five minutes of being in my room, I am called to go get my MRI and two other tests done.

The morning doctor who scheduled the tests tells me these are just “across the street.” I figure I'll be back soon, so I head off alone in a taxi (I now realize it was suspicious they put me in a taxi to go “across the street”). After I am uncomfortably far from the hospital and my make-shift ambulance has already been hit by a motorcycle, I conclude I should have taken one of my parents. I am steadying my bench in the van by wedging my foot in between the oxygen tank and the driver’s seat. Ironically, this emergency car is the last place I’d want to be if I were in need of help. The gurney is rolling around the back and the bench I am sitting on is so high, even I, at less than five foot tall, have to hunch over a bit to get in or move around. I become increasingly nervous when I realize by “across the street,” it seems the doctor meant down the block, around the corner, down that street, through two lanes of unbelievable steady traffic (on foot), over a center divider (yep, still on foot) and then finally “across the street” (through two more lanes of insane traffic).

I am scared for my life crossing the four lanes, but there is no other way. I weave and edge through like Pac Man. No one is stopping and my toes are nearly removed by tires several times. I turn around at the other side and my driver has disappeared into oblivion. I have to get these tests done though so I decide to worry about it later. I get to the front desk and they tell me it’s a 45 minute wait. This will mean well over an hour. They also break the news that one test is there and the other two are somewhere else “down the street.”

Everyone in the waiting room is staring at me. I pay for my service and wait outside with my camera. Through the lens I see the chaos of the streets. I feel safer this way for some reason. Every once in awhile, someone stops and looks directly at me, filling up my entire screen. I don’t move and they eventually leave. I go back inside to continue waiting. I am confused by two workers who are flirting with each other like school boys...in love with each other. Their lanky bodies are almost intertwined and I see one man pat the other’s butt and laugh. I thought homosexuality was illegal in India, but if so, these men aren’t intimidated by it. Another man comes over to join the party. He seems to like both of them as he holds hands with one behind his back and bats his eyes at the other. No wonder this is so slow--half the staff is occupied with a love triangle.

FINALLY it is my turn. I am led to a locker in which I am supposed to lock up my belongings...where they keep the key. Seems backwards to me, but I am tired and aggravated so I agree. I then am directed to change into a gown and “please remove all undergarments.” This also doesn’t seem legit, but how am I supposed to know? When you are in another country, you just have no idea about the little things until you live through them. I do as the man says with the door bolted shut. I hear my mother’s voice in my head: “What, just because a man is a doctor and says please, you take off your underwear?” Ugh...I ignore it and press on. I’m tired.

I walk into the MRI room and realize I should thank god that before I left, I didn’t consider the possibility that MRI’s here might not be open like at home. I start to get nervous when my eyes confirm I am right. I might have chickened out if I knew. I get on the table and a nice radiologist sets me up. He clips a weird cage-like thing over my face and tells me to stay still. I ask how long it takes and he quickly replies with “twenty minutes.” I know it’s a lie. It’s like a default answer here in regards to time. He puts me in the tube and turns on loud clanks and noises that sound like machine guns. In the U.S., we have earphones for music and a microphone if you want to get out. Here, you just close your eyes and hope for the best.

I feel unusual pressure on my face. I figure it is just the horrific noises and vibrations coming from the machine. It soon becomes unbearable and I call for the man. No one hears of course. Five minutes later, he comes over, pulls me out and asks if I have earrings on. “Yes, six” I say. He belts out an almost musical line. “Ahhhh...I seeeee.” I guess that explains the pressure and pulling on my face. I was inserted into the tube as a human magnet.

The ordeal is over in an hour, not 20 minutes. I am escorted to the film reading room to meet the doctor. I think this is kind of special but I’m so happy to have my clothes back on that I don’t fully appreciate it. He asks me a few questions and tells me they will hand deliver the results within two hours. It sounds faster than lighting to me. And, hand delivery of tests? Unheard of. We'll see if it happens.

I walk out expecting to have to find a new taxi-ambulance-car-thing back, but my guy has returned for me. I confirm I’m going back to the hospital and he agrees. In about eight close calls to a traffic accident later, we arrive...at another hospital. This is how I find out where I need to get the other two tests. After much word finding and fake sign language, I tell him I want to come back tomorrow. When we get back to the hospital (this time the one I’m staying at), my dad is in the lobby. I’ve never been happier to see him. I feel at that moment that if from this day on, I only see the life of Delhi from my window, it will be more than plenty.

On my way up to my room, I meet a patient from the U.S. I’ve been hearing about. Him and his wife live up to all the nice hype created for them. I hear today, after two weeks of being in Delhi, he has taken his first steps in nine years with the help of calipers (like braces). They seem high on hope and life, and are heading out to brave the streets. It is so amazing being amidst all this changing. Some patients seem discouraged as if their progress is too slow compared to others. But, I think everything, each journey, each potential step will eventually come...in its own time.

Within an hour, I recoup, settle down and love the sound of the city again. Tonight I’ll get another dose of stem cells. I think I’ll watch a movie. I need to do something extra relaxing after exposing them to the loud banging and buzzing of the MRI machine. If I think too much about it, I get upset. My ears are still ringing so I can only image what the vibrations did to the rest of my body. Good thing the stem cells are embryonic---they have lots of time to grow up, mature....and forgive me.