And the results are in: I stink.

I stink because instead of instead of immediately posting the what-I-say-is-good-news, me'n'mo had some freedom today. This monkie-in-the-bubble went outside in the fresh air today, and took photos.

In other words:

Got all packed up to stay for awhile at clinic, expecting platelets (based on my track record so far). But during the time I rest, I think about visualization like my aunt told me to do. I said, "I don't know how to do that, man." But she said, "Try it." Since she has battled, rallied, and won her fight with breast cancer for the last 3 years, is it now, gee whiz -- I'm taking her every word for it, yep. Plus she knows how to grow soybeans, cotton, and pretty much anything else you can grow.

So, I think of a number. And, I eat My Folic Acid Experiment -- leafy green spinach/spring mix, avocado, cucumber, dried cherry, vegetable-laden, kalamati olive, feta cheese, basamic and sesame or olive oil salads with protein of choice on side everyday, with orange juice. (My Experiment today was to obviously shift into all fried chicken livers [yeah, I admit it] and chocolate cookies, I guess to celebrate, huh? Let's see if it makes a difference. Wait, I ate carrots. It was penance. Penance carrots.)

So anyway, to visualize, I've just been shooting higher in my head during Cyclosporin, thinking "56, 56, 56."

Last platelet count on Friday was 24k -- this morning, I expected 10-17k, but I got a 20k! No transfusion. Next clinic visit is Wednesday.

The way that I look at that is (1) "holding platelets" and in my mind, I say, (2) "building platelets". I also reckon since I'm growing a groovy, side-effect moustache, I HAVE to be growing platelets, too, right? Roll up and see the bearded lady. Bring the kids!

So anyway, me and the mom just stood there and looked at each other at clinic, like uhm, free? What is this "free"?...then I said to my saint of a mama, my showtune-singing friend whether I like it or not, "Whatever YOU wanna do, we're doing it." And we did. Bought some beads, bought some white roses to spruce-up and Valentine-up my dad's *campsite* (hate to brag, but that man has a nice plot, wanna see pics?), took her out for a meal that she didn't have to cook, and loved every minute if it.

Commercial break: She just stopped me, has no idea I'm writing over here about her. She stood up from the couch and put her hands on her hips, and said, "'Ey, Look at me, I'm dancin'," and started shakin' it. No reason. I laughed, "What would Daddy say about you doin' that spontaneous dance?" She said, "He'd say, 'What's wrong witchu, yacrazysummabeep?', and I'd say, 'Oh you can't charm me that easily!' and keep on dancin' and singin'..." I really don't see any hope or need for me ever being normal.

So here's a cellpicture of his campsite view. I'm standing by the coolest two trees that have grown together at the base and entwine each other -- an oak and a cypress.


There's a tiny white dot up in there that's a crane, see it? Me neither. But we also saw a wood duck mother and two babies. And here's my dad's little roses on the campsite, Spooner being a family name he was proud of. They almost named me "Spooner", I think. I'd have liked it. I'm sure my schoolmates would've pelted me with rocks on a daily basis though. Builds character.