Mick McKellar Update--Day +48
"But he was molting, and looked revolting..."
It's a line from a song that I cannot at the moment remember, yet seems to apply to my person. I've been spending 3 hours plus twice, each day, covered from head to foot in steroid creams and wrapped up in wet gauze and pads, like a modern mummy. I must lie still for those three plus hours. Meanwhile, I get IV steroids to attack the problem internally.
The problem?
Graft versus Host Disease (GVHD) has elected to go after my skin and my liver. Of the five liver functions three are normalizing, but the other two are not, so treatment continues. There seems to be some progress on the skin condition, but as predicted some of it is going to come off -- like peeling after a very bad sunburn.
The condition is serious and I must remain in hospital as they balance steroid levels against the advance of the GVHD. Plus maintaining my blood sugar levels is a nightmare. On the good side, my kidneys are not only out of danger, but appear to be functioning normally, if a bit irritated by the whole thing.
So far the GVHD has left my mouth and intestines pretty much alone, which is also a good thing. So, folks, yes I am quite sick. Yes, I require daily care. No, I am not worried.
Why am I not worried?
First of all, an entire bucket of worry won't help my condition at all. Second, I know there are people praying for us and that is extremely positive. Third, with God on my side, why should I worry?
A welcome visitor.
Shirley, a local parishioner, cancer survivor, and Eucharistic Minister dropped by this afternoon, to offer Holy Communion. We talked for nearly a half hour afterwards about how surviving cancer changes lives and how each day becomes a gift not to be wasted. It was a long and comforting conversation. She is a 39 year survivor and has lived every day as I am learning to live each one. What a wonderful half-hour of sharing our near death experiences and how our points of view on God, religion and family have changed.
First we talked about the peace that comes with lack of fear of death. I really am not afraid of dying. I don't want to, of course, and I am fighting to beat this disease thing, but the final decision is not really mine to make, but God's to take. Each day is a gift from Him and I am not to waste it wallowing about in worry and concern for myself. In an odd way, it frees me to fight against the GVHD as my enemy and leaves my self out of the way.
Second we talked about the need, the absolute drive to learn something new about myself each day. I learn to push the limits and and ask the tough questions about what motivates my comments and statements. Am I really interested in an answer, or am I trying to make some self-important point? Am I trying help myself, help some one else, or just be hurtful? Is is real, or just "poor, poor, cripple me?" The answer sometimes makes me blush -- not easy with a lobster-red rash already in place!
Third, we talked about our concern for today's children, so out of touch with family and isolated in their electronic worlds. So certain are they of their invincibility, they have no framework on which to depend when something goes really wrong. I don't fear death, but I value life. They can't imagine death, and do not value life for what it is and what it can bring. I learned to value life, in part, from hours spent with my grandparents and from conversing in poetry with my mother. They spent valuable hours on me, and somewhere along the line, I fell in love with them and that core time which gave my life value. I want to live longer to spend time with my grandchildren and listen to their stories and learn about their lives.
Finally, we talked about living on, using the gift of each new day in the best way possible. Patience has become a tool, rather than a virtue and has given me strength I did not think possible. Enduring the mummy/Gumby sessions is just another test and time for reflection instead of an endurance test (although my bladder and I have some conflict). And I am not afraid to talk to others about their conditions, because just like me, they want to talk about how it affects them physically, but they also want to discuss how it affects them emotionally. If by listening, I can help their pain, then it is time well spent.
Speaking of time
They are soon coming to wrap me up like a mummy again, so I will stop here for today and once again thank all of you for your prayers, your thoughts, your chants, your messages, and cards. Love from home feels warm and wonderful.
God bless you all,
Mick