This meant that I would have my brother's blood. However, not all of the news was funny. I would have to go through five days of chemotherapy before transplant. I would most likely not be able to eat for at least a week, I would be in the hospital for six to eight weeks, and I wouldn't be able to be around large groups of people for up to six months. It also meant that I was going to scrutinize every move of this procedure down to its finest details.
Fear can make a brain that seemed full retain more information.
Once you're in the hospital you start to learn the effects of all sorts of medicines you can't even pronounce. I learned that Cytoxan and ATG would be my main course of treatment, that for my bladder to remain undamaged by Cytoxan I would need to take Mesna, and that since I had an allergic reaction to Methyltrexate, I would have to be on Prednisone. After a certain point, you actually start reminding the nurses that it's time for your blood draw or dressing change. You have already learned the names of the procedures, the risks involved, and now you move on to the hands-on experience. After a week of watching the process, it would be impossible not to know how to sterilize a table or perform a dressing change.