The Schedule Has Its Victims

   The odyssey continues.  Yesterday my medical appointments included a visit with the stem-cell transplant team where I dealt with the upcoming issues of physical therapy and a schedule, and all it cost me was roughly 15 vials of my own blood and a little urine. The urine was no problem (they can have all they want), the amount of blood necessary was a little surprising but that was not too bad either. Then today I had to have some lung-capacity tests (I can blow hot air as successfully as just about anyone) and a bone-marrow biopsy which included a needle into my pelvis to extract some bone and some marrow.  After rolling up her sleeves and gritting her teeth, the nurse practitioner poked, then pushed, then shoved a relatively large needle (think a hollow metal inverted version of the Washington Monument) into my pelvis.  After she wiped the sweat off her brow and put her elephant euthanizing tools away, she congratulated me on my hard bones and said that they were an advantage for me during every day of my life except this one.  I was able to walk out of the procedure under my own power.  I am relieved to report that it was not quite as painful as I made it seem, but nonetheless neither was it a pleasurable experience.  All is well.  For the most part.
   But the schedule.  I did not like what they had to tell me.  One month from today I am scheduled to enter the hospital to begin a three-week stay to begin the stem-cell transplant.  This was not what I had hoped for.  I was not-so-secretly hoping that I could finish out the school year with my students.  Instead I will be the "boy in the bubble," watching from afar as my 39 favorite students wrap up the 2016-17 school year.  This is disappointing to me.  I think of all that has to be done and to be re-organized as this new reality is put upon me and the school.  My wife reminds me this is a good thing because it allows me more time to recover before school begins in September.  While this is true, it does not minimize the desire I have to be with Ainsley and Jess and Dylan and Emma and Carter and Drew and Sam and Noah and Whit and Eli and Morgan and Olivia and Josh and Sophie and Alex and Bernadette and Ross and Ocean and Zack as they complete their eighth-grade year and move on to one of several high schools.  I don't feel like I have served them well this year.  While I will Lord willing have the opportunity to be with my seventh graders again next year, I want to teach the eighth graders some more.  I need to be with them more.  I will be unable to help them finish their RCS learning.  I won't be able to assist with exams.  I will not be allowed to attend their graduation ceremony.  This has me frustrated.
   "Would You Rather...?" is a fun pastime I have played with these students this year.  "Would you rather be at school with 39 great kids or get your stem cells extracted, cultivated, then re-introduced into your body, all the while dealing with more chemotherapy?" My choice has been made for me.  I have to get past what I would rather do and do what I would rather not do.  One day at a time, sweet Jesus...