I do waiting quite well now. A good friend with Lyme Disease once told me his doctor gave him hilarious advice after he started a new medication. “Now what do I do?” my friend asked. The doctor calmly replied, “Hurry up and wait.” Oh, how true it can be of life sometimes.

I was all set to find out this morning exactly when my journey here would end. I was even going to get kind of dressed up, but Dr. Geeta Shroff and Dr. Ashish got here before I was ready for the day. I could almost taste the sweetness of home when I opened my tired eyes, knowing today was the day. And then I discovered that I wouldn’t find out for sure (or, is anything really for sure here?) until the 10th. A little part of me wishes someone would say, “You are free as planned on the 14th.” The other part of me is so glad they don’t. They are in no hurry here to adhere to a schedule, which would drive some people insane. But, after being caught in the complex rat race that is the American medical system, I welcome the s-l-o-w, undecided pace they move at. If they need more time with you, they take it. They don’t worry about planes or commitments (yours or theirs). They worry about you. I so appreciate that since I’ve traveled this far, for this long, and worked so hard, Dr. Geeta Shroff and Dr. Ashish don’t just want to send me off. They want me to be well. And if it’s going to take more injections, physio and Indian food (gasp!), so be it.

On the 7th, I will brave a repeat brain scan (oh, how will I ever re-live that experience without my mother?) and get more comparative blood work done. If all is stable, Continental will have one happy traveler very soon. If there is something they see that they aren’t totally satisfied with at this point, India will be home for a bit longer.

I sent my doctor in California an update e-mail today. I kept re-reading one particular line, still in semi-amazement: “Would you believe that my worst problem at the moment is that I can’t stop coughing from the pollution?” I have a feeling he wouldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t, that is, unless he’s been to Delhi and knows the horror of air so thick it burns your eyes, while your throat takes a beating in a desperate attempt to save your lungs from being coated in black dust.

Dr. Ashish has mentioned the chance of me getting a spinal procedure before I leave (depending on several different things). All of the patients here have gotten “spinal procedures.” This general term refers to injecting embryonic stem cells directly into the spine by a few different methods, as they are larger in number than the other doses (by shot or IV) and clearly, according to patient results, incredibly effective for certain conditions and symptoms. Most patients see miraculous and nearly immediate results with these procedures (for spinal cord injuries). I dream about what it would do for the nerves and muscles in my legs that are trying so hard to recover. Would it make this whole process go faster? When I receive my large IV dose every two weeks, I get a little glimpse of how the other patients feel when they have procedures scheduled. I know, because as opposed to the intramuscular shots, I literally feel my IV doses working. You’ll often hear mumblings around the hospital like, “I wonder when I can get another one of those.” It’s like a group of addicts; stem cell junkies, if you will. We are always thinking about tomorrow's dose even as we so gratefully receive today's. We compare who gets what and when. We discuss schedules and are disappointed when we think someone else got more than us. The whole thing is comical, like kids at Halloween comparing sacks of candy. A mother’s reprimanding voice rings in my head….”You don’t need more, so just be happy for your brother.” And really, we are happy for each other. But, still -- when you are sick, a little extra in your pile couldn’t hurt now, could it?

Tonight, as I sit trying to breathe easily even though the tainted air is seeping through the windows, I have absolute trust in the doctors. I know they won’t let me go on my originally planned date if they think there is anything else they can do to increase my chances of wellness; and they won’t have me stay unless they whole heartedly believe it’s best.

Until the decision is made about spinal procedures and departure dates, here I am, waiting in the wings -- typing, reading, napping, and eating. I’m keeping Skippy peanut butter and the carrot cart on the corner in business. I buy what seems like a million carrots for 12 rupees (about 30 cents) and always tell the vendor to keep the extra 3 rupees change from my 15. He never wants to. I fight with him and end up running away. It’s the little things here that make it so easy to remember the bright side -- and just when you think you can't possibly live through another day choking on air pollution and the smell of curry.