Mick McKellar Update--Day +52
Escape! Things went well enough overnight that the doctors cut me loose for a four-hour pass this afternoon. Marian and I were going to wander about downtown, but it rained. So we went by shuttle back to Gift of Life Transplant House for a few hours and were greeted like long lost relatives come home for a visit.
Later
The still gray light filtering in my hospital window reminds me that I am back for the night. Marian and I walked the seven blocks back to the hospital and discovered that the temperatures can drop and the wind increase dramatically here as as home. However, I am pleased to say that I toddled the whole seven blocks without falling down or tripping on the sidewalk. The wind was bitter and cold, but refreshing after so long inside.
There is even better news. It appears that, if my numbers stay good tonight, I may go back on outpatient status tomorrow! It means coming back to the hospital each day for some treatment and testing, but spending the nights back at transplant house. What form that treatment will take has yet to be revealed, but I can assure you it will likely be inconvenient and messy and time-consuming...and so much better than sitting in a hospital bed.
My skin looks terrible, and everywhere I go, I carry my own snowstorm of shedding skin with me. It is like having the worst sunburn ever and peeling constantly. However, I am granted the two most important reprieves possible: It does not hurt, and it does not itch. Thank God.
Still getting back to GoL is like going home -- well almost.
There were some wonderful cards and messages waiting to be read and I enjoyed every minute of catching up on the "snail mail." It is humbling to be remembered and prayed for by so many. Those minutes needed no sunshine to warm my soul. Thanks.
Hand Massage?
After my hospital dinner (much better than you might expect) a couple of young student volunteers stopped by and asked if I would like a hand massage. I'd not heard of it, but cleared it with the nurses and found that these volunteers offer the massage to patients at the hospital. They use a special oil developed by Mayo Clinic and carefully rub it into hands and forearms. I agreed and am happy I did. It warmed and loosened my hands like nothing before.
Back when I had my accident at about 16 months old, it was not just my feet that were terribly burned. My hands were damaged and left with a form of arthritis which has hampered both my handwriting (terrible) and flexibility of my hands all life long. Guess I was never going to be a surgeon or a pianist with these clubs. But this oil actually penetrated the scar tissue which is the palms of my hands and left them flexible and comfortable for the first time since I can remember. What a blessing!
It appears my dark clouds have silver linings after all. Perhaps, after all these years of feeling sorry for myself, dealing with funny flat feet and walking like a duck, painful hands (typing can be torture you know), hieroglyphic handwriting, and all the other daily problems with breathing and sleeping and my own self-made prisons, I can admit that all these were merely challenges and bumps in the road.
Life is not about how easy I can make it, life is simply about living it and doing the best with the gifts God gave me. I regret all the years I griped about the aches and pains and setbacks. I should have been more grateful for the opportunities to overcome and realized the value those experiences would have later.
On May 26, 2010, when I came within a few hours of "not making it" I gained that new perspective. In the months since, especially since I began writing my journal and sharing with you, that perspective has broadened and brings each new lesson into bas relief for me. My fears were darker than I could imagine and have been wiped away by the light of the gift of each new day.
Could I still simply take a nap and not wake up? Oh, yes...this precious disease is sneaky and quick -- the rash that put me in the hospital developed in a matter of hours and literally robbed me of the ability to even stand on my feet. Yet, with the efforts of the doctors here (and steroids, of course), we walked back to the hospital and I hope to walk out tomorrow.
The difference now is that I no longer worry about tomorrow because tomorrow is in God's hands not mine. Right now, I am getting the best care anywhere, and I know you all are praying for both Marian and me, thinking about us, and sending good thoughts. My own prayer list has grown so long, I had to write it down and much of it is simply: Thank you.
God bless you all and good night from a blessed man.
P.S. A nurse described the tops of my legs as a coral reef today. An ugly coral reef, but an accurate image of how they look, but they also functioned well enough to walk back here. How bad can it be?
Mick