A New York Serenade
June 17, 2026
My three-week trip to New York for treatment started early Monday morning with a stop at my local oncology office. Blood was drawn, numbers were reviewed, and we discovered my platelet count had dropped more than we would have liked.
There wasn’t any immediate concern. The likely culprit was a combination of a busy weekend, not enough rest, and spending more time than usual in the heat and sun. My body still likes to remind me that it has limits, even when I feel stronger than I did a few months ago.
To stay ahead of things, we decided to restart and increase my Romiplostim dose. Nothing dramatic, just enough to give my bone marrow a little extra encouragement and keep my immune system operating where it needs to be.
With my appointment behind me, I had a little time before picking up Maria from work. Rather than sit in the car scrolling through my phone, I wandered through a bookstore. I spent some time browsing, making mental notes of titles I might come back for one day.
One important update for the members of the “Let Maria Be The Passenger” committee: I drove the entire trip this time. Every mile up to the hotel. Every traffic jam. Every toll booth. You can all take a deep breath and rest easy knowing I finally did my part. I’m sure Maria appreciated the break, even if she still had to listen to my commentary along the way.
The morning of treatment arrived with the usual challenge of navigating New York City traffic. This trip came with an added wrinkle: World Cup traffic. What is normally a manageable drive into Manhattan turned into an extra hour of inching our way through crowded streets. Fortunately, we left early and built plenty of extra time into the schedule. Getting frustrated at traffic accomplishes absolutely nothing.
Once we arrived at Memorial Sloan Kettering, things settled back into the familiar rhythm that has become part of these visits. Check in. Wait. Labs. Treatment. Repeat.
While waiting for my infusion, I walked over to one of the windows overlooking Roosevelt Island. My sister Tara loves the island, and over the course of my treatment it has become a tradition for me to send her a picture from the fifteenth floor during each visit. The view has become one of those small constants in a season of life that has contained very few of them.
As I was taking the photo, a young woman walked over and began singing about looking out the window. She was completely making it up as she went, turning the moment into a freestyle song. It caught me off guard and made me laugh. Before I could really respond or thank her, she turned around and went back to her chair.
The entire interaction lasted a few seconds, but it stayed with me.
Hospitals can be heavy places. Everyone sitting in those chairs is carrying something. Some are worried. Some are exhausted. Some are waiting for answers. Some are celebrating good news. For a brief moment, one person chose to bring a little joy into the room. It was a simple act of kindness from a stranger, but it made the day a little brighter.
The infusion itself went smoothly. I’ll continue the booster shots for the next few weeks while my immune system keeps working its way back toward normal. My next trip to New York is scheduled for early July, when I’ll have my six-month scan.
That date has been sitting quietly in the back of my mind for a while now. No matter how positive the recent news has been, there is always a little uncertainty leading up to these appointments. I’ve learned that worrying about the results today won’t change what they will be tomorrow. The best thing I can do is focus on what is in front of me.
For now, that means following the treatment plan, listening to my doctors, enjoying time with my family, and appreciating small moments, and seranades, when they appear.