Booker is the biggest lil' bear closest to the lamp. In his short lil' life he has met a lot of people and been a lot of places. He has been to work and met all the staff of the Cathedral and the Synod Office, he has met my favorite prof and has even met all of those whom have been formentioned on the blog. Daily, he comes with me - clutched tightly in my arms - to the Cross.

Normally, he is quite the lil' flirt - getting "coo's" from the nurses and other patients.

However, today he decided to behave like a radical. When I was told that my day was going to start off, not with a blood test but with the injection of someone else's platelets... he just sat there.

I tried to fight it - I really, really did. Eventually, I lost the battle. My arm was taken, stabbed with the iv needle, and I just had to lay there... completely helpless as someone else dripped, drop by drop, into my fully established and perfectly fine blood stream. With each drop, a piece of my own identity was lost and a tear shed.

And what did Booker do? Sat there, smiling innocently, allowing this all to take place.

I am on the home stretch and they had to shatter that with the events of today. Do you know what I get to look forward to on Wednesday? The testing of the bone marrow!! Which, truth be told, has got to be THE WORST and most horrible feeling procedure in this whole thing. That's okay... if I will it not to happen, it won't.

Or at least, that's what elder-english-crazy-hat-lady promises...