Today I had my first hospital appointment in six weeks. Since July last year, this is the longest I have gone without being poked, prodded, and analyzed by my medical team. It feels amazing. 

My transplant doctor is a force of nature. She is no-nonsense, utterly formidable, and surrounded by an amazing team (of predominantly women) whom I adore. Not because she is in any way evil, but because of the magnificence she exudes, I always picture my doctor walking down the hospital corridors to the theme song of the Wicked Witch of the West. I have grown incredibly fond of my doctor. If I knew she weren't so busy saving lives, I would ask her over dinner to pick her brains about everything she knows. 

My doctor is happy with my counts and progress. My no-nonsense, utterly formidable, but truly amazing doctor even got a tad shiny eyed when I told her that, for the first time since this whole AML malarkey began, I am starting to feel more like myself. My energy is returning, I'm running, and I've started working again. 

It felt so good to be able to go through the checklist and finally say no:
Have you experienced nausea?
Are you experiencing headaches?
Are you experiencing neuropathy? 
Are you having trouble sleeping?

My next appointment will be towards the end of October when they do the one year post-transplant tests. That's going to be a really fun day.* 

*It's probably not going to be fun. A full day of hospital tests including, but not limited to, a bone marrow biopsy, bone density scan, full blood work, pulmonary function test, EKG... I'm probably going to need a double serve of gyoza, and a nice big bowl of ice cream, at the end of that day!