It’s 4:00 a.m. and the door opens.

Omg Keanu … Go to sleep!

Since learning how to climb out of his crib and wander around the house like he’s about to buy the place, Keanu — my 3-year-old toddler — has been sleeping in my bed. But I don’t hate it. Just the opposite, really. He tends to interlace his tiny fingers with my (also tiny) fingers and lathers me in kisses. It’s a manipulative effort to stall, mind you, but I don’t care. I much rather him stay with me than creep into the living room in the middle of the night, grab our remote, and whisper into the microphone things like, “Pway Mickey Mouse on Disney Pwus.”

And sure, I did the whole sleep training method when he was a year old, but sleep regression happens. And once he figured out how to ninja his way out of his bed, I didn’t have the energy to start up again. Mainly because, like I said, I love it. Even when his head is digging into my ribs, even when I get the occasional slap to the face or boob, I unequivocally love it. I know it won’t be forever, but I want it to last as long as it can before it gets weird.

Quickly, I gather my bearings and realize it’s not Keanu opening the door. Rather, it’s the night nurse coming in to get my vitals. Something that happens every four hours. Sometimes two if I run a fever. Because, duh, I’m not lying next to the world’s smallest mouth breather. I’m sleeping on a somewhat uncomfortable hospital bed at UF Health Shands in Gainesville, Fla., where on February 23, 2022, I received an autologous stem cell transplant.

Continue reading “Day 12 (Post Transplant)” →