Throughout all of this stuff, I was taken for a test or two on my arm(x-ray, I believe) and had some more painkillers. Tiff had given my parents the news about probably having to be in the hospital for a few days, so my dad had offered to hop on a flight the next morning to keep me company for the stay. It was around 3:30am on January 19th by the time they wheeled me out of the ER and brought me to a ward to settle down for the night. I was placed in a private room(or at least a room with no one else in it) with a little couch-like thing that Tiff stretched out on. I have no idea if she slept, but with a head full of morphine and body finally off of a stretcher and into a decent imitation of a real bed, I was able to conk out.
I don't know what time we were awakened at, but it was early. I'm pretty sure it was still dark out when the infectious diseases doctor came in. After my last entry, Tiff assures me that the doctor who came in the morning was a different doctor than the one who spoke with us the night before, but with the amount of doctors I saw in those few days, I remember them as being the same. There's almost no doubt that Tiff's right, of course. Anyway, this doctor confirmed(again) that I had an infection, and that I'd be treated with more anti-biotics, and asked me all those same questions I was asked the night before. He even did the injection move, much to my enjoyment. He didn't really have anything too new or exciting to say.
It wasn't until later that the excitement started. That morning, and the next few days after, are quite a bit of a blur. Things started happening quickly, I had a lot of medication, and a lot of people were in an out of my life quickly. I doubt that after the ID guy left Tiff and I would have gone back to sleep. There was just too much going on. At some point very early, Tiff's dad Ted stopped by for a visit, probably on his way to work. There were a few doctors in and out, nurses of course, and then my own Dad came, I'm assuming mid-morning. He had an overnight bag with him with a few changes of clothes since he was only planning on staying a few days. He'd come right from the airport.
I was in a "regular" hospital ward, where they treat people who have common-enough issues, like, I assume, infections and serious fevers and broken legs, and things like that. At some point, someone decided that whatever I had wasn't "common" at all, and I'd have to be transferred to the ICU. I even had the doctor on call for the ward I was in at the moment tell me that he really wasn't comfortable treating me because he only dealt with "family" medicine. Great to know I was in good hands.
All this time, we were under the impression that I had an infection, I would get treated for it, and I'd be home in a week or less. No one had mentioned anything further than this since the ER doctor mentioned the "L" word as being a possibility. But sometime that morning, someone came in and dropped the bomb. There would be further tests done, but the bloodwork and whatever else they look at to test for these things, pointed to a high likelihood that I had some type of Leukemia. I wish I could make the moment sound more dramatic, but like I said, things were a blur and I don't even remember who gave us the news. I'm sure when I heard the words I looked over at Tiff to guage her reaction, but I don't remember what it was. I was a bit shocked, having previously thought myself invincible, but I got over it pretty fast I think. I knew nothing about Leukemia, and I recall asking the question, "Is that a type of Cancer?" I'm sure we had a lot of questions, but I don't think the doctor who gave the news had many answers. An oncologist would be by to see me later that day, apparently, who would go over everything in detail that I would need to know. After a bit, the room cleared of everyone but me and Tiffany. She came over to the bed, and gave me a big hug. We both shed a few tears, her out of fear for me(I'm assuming) and me out of fear that she was scared. I think I'd kind of already decided that I wasn't going to be scared of anything regarding myself. Some people might call this brave or heroic or something, but it was nothing so noble. It was probably something closer to denial, and I've been living off it for 14 months now.