I completed my grueling, pre-stem cell transplant testing this week.

I also learned I am right on schedule to undergo my autologous stem cell transplant (using my own stem cells) beginning Monday.

The plan is for me to stay on the Moffitt Cancer Center Transplant Unit for one or two weeks. At that point, I would be moved to outpatient housing nearby for an additional two or three weeks, as I start my long road to recovery.

I hope to be able to continue to write my column weekly throughout the process, sharing some of the ups and downs I experience along the way.

Overall, my pre-transplant testing experience was a positive one. Of course there were a few painful jabs and pokes. There was also a lot of waiting and wasted time—which I hate!

But what I will remember most about the experience are a number of strange, almost bizarre things I experienced and witnessed while hanging around a multi-cultural institution like Moffitt for two long days. Like the saying goes: You can’t make this stuff up!

Moffitt Cancer Center is located on the campus of the University of South Florida (USF), just north of Tampa. It is probably average size for a research/cancer care facility.

But what makes it unique is the racial and ethnic diversity of both the patients and staff. Each department seems to have its own subculture and individual identities. This mixing of cultures and different departmental personalities can lead to an unusual number of miscommunications and misunderstandings.

On one hand, this is a really cool thing. Each department functions like a small village, designed to help patients feel like they are part of a family.

On the other hand, since staffers from each department move at a different pace, I observed lots of interesting, crazy staff-to-staff and patient-to-staff interactions as I moved from department to department. Let’s just say communication is far from seamless.

For example, while I was trying to check-in on my first day, I found myself standing between a pair of staffers from somewhere in Africa, speaking one language, and two staffers and a patient’s family, speaking animatedly in Spanish.

There I stood—trying to check-in—caught in a multi-cultural crossfire! I finally sat back down and waited for the dust to settle before trying again. My day hadn’t even started yet!

Once I was checked-in and processed, I ran into another interesting dilemma: specialization.

I was scheduled to receive an antibiotic IV in the Bone Marrow Transplant Infusion Unit. You should have seen the face of the nice, forty-something nurse after she discovered I didn’t have a port.

She began nervously pacing and fidgeting, leaving and entering my room several times before admitting she hadn’t started an IV for years. Neither had another nurse she flagged down in the hall. Really? An infusion unit where no one knows how to start an IV? Turns out everyone who comes to the unit already has a port. Who knew?

And I believe her, since it took over ten minutes for her to find the supplies necessary to even start an IV—and then ten more minutes to find another nurse willing to stick me.

By then I was too busy shaking my head and laughing out loud. You can’t make this stuff up!

I’ve saved the best for last. One of the great things about Moffitt is the front door, valet parking. All you do is pull up and leave the keys in your vehicle, and the young, hard-working USF students do the rest.

After finishing a long day of testing, I expected to find my vehicle parked back in front of the entrance, running and ready to go. But my van was nowhere to be seen.

I had given the attendant my claim-stub. Check. A tall, USF student had literally run into the parking garage, keys in hand. Check. So why was he walking back without my vehicle?

They had lost my van. Seriously, how do you lose a Chrysler Caravan?

Turns out the attendant had put my keys on the wrong numbered hook that morning. It took three staffers 15 minutes to find it—and that’s after I helped them identify my keys! Good thing my lucky Green Bay Packer medallion was attached to my key ring.

The least they could have done is replace my six year old van with someone else’s shiny new sports car.

Sometimes you just have to laugh…

Feel good and keep smiling! Pat