Mick McKellar Update--Day +31
The early evening is still bright, sunny, and chilly, here in Rochester, MN. I missed most of the late afternoon, because after we returned from a long day at the hospital, I sat down on the recliner in our room and...when my eyes opened, Marian had done two loads of laundry and two hours had passed! I remember none of it. Climbing out of that darkness took awhile. Perhaps I should not have climbed the stairway at the Gonda Building (for exercise).
My doctor says I am doing very well, though they are still having problems balancing my cyclosporin level, which they think is causing increased creatinen levels (not good news for my kidneys). My liver function is improving. Most of the other test information was not yet available. The desensitization to Bactrim is still on course.
Buy the medicine...
We're still playing a game of "buy the medicine -- try the medicine" to deal with my cough. My undeniable, everlastinggobstopper of a cough. Today we are trying a generic for Flonase and an albuterol inhaler. Initial tests indicate -- not much. If these don't work, next is some generic version of Sudafed. The beat goes on...(cough, cough, hold, cough, cough...)
Again a part of my childhood has returned to haunt me.
From age 5 (starting on a Summer's day on the shore of Lake Erie), I've had problems with bronchial asthma -- usually triggered by hay fever (and other seasonal allergies). The problem virtually ended in 1967, when my family moved to Dollar Bay, MI near the top of the Upper Peninsula. I say virtually, because some things can still trigger an asthma attack -- over exertion in extremely cold, dry weather and each year when something (I don't know what) blossoms.
Back in 1955, one did not have a lot of options for dealing with asthma. I remember that my parents would burn Belladona powder in a dish, and I would inhale the smoke -- it was awful, but it did help a little. Mostly, I spent my summers inside, in our bedroom, with the door closed so that my constant cough would not drive everyone else in the house crazy. I also spent each night sleeping (as best I could) sitting up in bed. I was wedged into a corner of the bunk bed, so I would not shift. A few degrees off vertical brought on spasms and long hours of coughing. I remember being frighted by the prospect of coughing my stomach out of my throat. I also remember praying for an early frost, which usually killed the ragweed that terrorized me.
I could not have a reading lamp all night, because my three brothers slept in the same room and it always bothered them. So I did some research and assembled the parts for a crystal radio. I was so proud of that magical device -- it let me fly past the walls of our house and listen to grand music on WJR, rock music, and best of all...Detroit Tigers baseball...I spent many an afternoon and evening fixed on the tones of Ernie Harwell, talking about Al Kaline, "Stormin" Norman Cash, Bill Freehan and others. Just me and my ear piece, searching the AM airwaves while the rest of the world slept. I remember floating in a cocoon of darkness, and I would dream of drifting over great cities and sports arenas and natural wonders -- in the dark -- in my cocoon -- while the world slept.
I was Lutheran back then, and I remember asking Pastor Friedrich if I was being punished for sins. He thought long and hard before answering...as we walked to the porch of his parsonage behind St. Matthew's Church. Finally said he could not imagine asthma as a punishment from God. "God loves children and would not inflict such a cruel illness on one of His own. God created the world and then man. Satan and the world and man created diseases. Maybe He is watching you, to see if you are strong enough to live with your handicap." I really liked Pastor Friedrich. Before becoming a minister, he was an assistant to Harry Houdini. Never would tell how any of the tricks worked...
I am once again sleeping sitting up in bed, without the crystal radio, but with questions. Isn't odd that, with all the doctors can do to correct, even cure, illnesses that were guaranteed death sentences back then -- that my asthma cough could return and be so difficult to treat? Am I still being tested after all those years? Was I being brought full-circle, back to face up to that little boy, and offer him some answer? I still had tough questions, and still no easy answers.
He is still there...
The frightened little boy is still here. When I grow very tired, especially late at night, he peeks out from his bunkbed hideaway, all shadows and nearly black eyes shining palely in the moonlight, and he asks, "Why?" Our eyes connect, and I can only say that I believe the disease is simply a part of me -- part of who and what I am -- a building block of the lumpy, frumpy old man still sitting up in bed. It is a reminder, in this age of magical medicine and wondrous technologies, that I still just a human -- imperfect in every way -- perhaps having gained the wisdom to admit that I don't know everything and will always have unanswered questions. He nods and smiles and drifts back to his crystal radio. I stare at the dark, perhaps seeking God's face, certainly asking Him plenty of questions.
However, now I know I will have a chance to ask those questions for both of us, one day -- but not today.
Thanks for the cards, letters, e-mails, and calls today. We really enjoy the little bits of home and reminders of friends. We thank you for your prayers and good thoughts.
God bless you all,
Mick