I've been feeling sad and scared about Nadine lately. Her neutrophil (one kind of white blood cell) count has stayed low and tomorrow it will be 3 weeks from when her chemo cycle should have been resumed, but hasn't (it will be 6 weeks from the beginning of a normally every-3-week cycle).

The medical staff scheduled a bone marrow test for Nadine Thursday.

I've been reassured that the chance of leukemia relapse is relatively low, as her other blood counts (hematocrit (red blood cells), monocyte (other kind of white blood cell) and platelets are all okay. But still this is upsetting.

When I was told about the scheduled bone marrow test yesterday, I felt like the ground had tilted. I remember feeling that way at the Strong Hospital emergency room after Nadine was originally and suddenly diagnosed with leukemia. Then, I wandered aimlessly around the emergency room, feeling like the ground had tilted. It reminded me of the earthquake I felt in a playground about 15 years ago, when the ground had slowly shifted at an angle.

Nadine's feeling relatively okay, although pale as usual. So far, the medical staff hasn't found an explanation for the problem. Last week the neutrophils crept up, but still not enough. They actually went down this week.

The drop might have been caused by a low-grade virus, although she showed no sign of being sick; it might be a reaction to the new antibiotic (Bactrum) that started the last cycle (it will be changed next cycle); it might be something they never figure out.

But I feel helpless, and remember how serious her illness is, even though we've had amazingly nice times and amazingly hopeful times, even exhilarating ones.

The worst time is at night. I do better in the daytime. Yesterday I decided, quite logically, to put off reacting to Nadine's condition until the bone marrow results come in. She could be fine, she probably is fine. I felt pressured to feel fine. Nadine was away at her friend Sylvia's house overnight -- the doctor said this was fine. I felt queasy when I left her, and stopped the car and walked around looking at the brightly sunlit trees. I felt better, went home, did a bunch of chores, felt excellent about them. Prepared myself an excellent dinner-for-one and enjoyed it thoroughly. At about 11PM I lay down in bed and felt a sick, horrible feeling in my chest. Worry and disbelief seemed to invade me. Waves of guilt coursed through me -- feelings that somehow, inexplicably, I might have caused her illness because of my attitudes; feelings that Nadine, such a giving person, was giving up her health for the sake of others; other terrible feelings. Plus mundane worries about what I had and hadn't been doing right over the last few weeks.

I wanted so much for there to be someone to call, but it was too late. I got up and finished backing up the defective computer, finding a recording of my own improvisations (which I was glad to have), and a recording of Nadine exquisitely playing Enesco's Cantabile et Presto for Flute and Piano; I missed her playing so much! It could make me cry. I realized how beautifully she played. Would this come back? What would happen to her? What will happen to her?

I finally got back to bed, finally got some rest, got up, and went off for my day. I met a friend fro out-of-town for lunch, looked at two houses in the South Wedge that had sounded hopeful but were icky, finally mailed back my defective computer on the last allowable date, shopped for gifts, and went to pick up Nadine at Sylvia's house. I dropped her at the TLC (Teens Living with Cancer) meeting, going in to find a lively, giggly group of wonderful young people, even more than at the last meeting. All the adults were "kicked out" (I knew this was the plan) as the "kids" were planning a program that would be a surprise to us. Lauren insisted I take a lot of the gorgeous home-grown tomatoes she brought. I used my free time to go to the 19th Ward Farmers' Market, where I enjoyed the late-day and early-evening air and Mitzi Collins's dulcimer ensemble and excellent conversations and the opportunity to buy fresh vegetables and fruit (even berries, yum), vegetables, locally raised meat and delicious bread. The day was soft and sunny with beautiful blue sky and picture-perfect white clouds fluttering through the blueness. It darkened to rich evening colors as I stayed at the market. I went back here, unloaded the vegetables, and started to write this.

And now it's close to bedtime and I feel the wistfulness coming on. I think I might call a friend this time, before it gets too late at night. Just in case.