Mick McKellar Update--Day +53
The skies are dark and gray outside our room at Gift of Life Transplant House and they offer no light for my keyboard. Still I type on because I am sitting in a chair in our room instead of in a bed in Rochester Methodist Hospital. I was released to outpatient status this afternoon and must return each day to the hospital for blood tests, IV steroids, and insulin treatment. Marian and I must treat my skin with steroid creams back at the transplant house, but I do not have to stay in hospital, and that is the best news.
Some medical details
What follows is a more detailed report on what actually happened to me during this first acute GVHD challenge.
I read through my discharge report and was surprised to find out how close I came to kidney failure and severe damage to my liver. My skin rash was a 3 on a scale of 4, covering nearly 90% of my body. Quick action brought my kidneys around within a week to functioning at nearly normal levels. My liver is responding well (tough organ the liver) and although my skin looks horrible at the moment, the dermatology folks are pleased as punch. They are reducing the steroid levels every three days. I appear to be on the mend from this attack of acute type II Graft versus Host Disease.
All wet and rashy
In the process, I spent six days, 3.5 hours twice per day, in cold, wet, wraps with steroid creams. It was the worst of times. I don't ever remember being so cold and damp, but would do it all again to escape that raging rash. Imagine a rash so hot you can barely touch your skin, while underneath you are shivering as though in a snow drift, while your actual body temperature varied no more than a point or two from completely normal. It was that rash that nearly destroyed my kidneys, because it burned off so much fluid, almost nothing was left for them to process. It also burned off so much energy that I lost about 10 pounds of body weight and had so little energy left I could not even stand up. Now, that was a rash!
The rash formed in less than a few hours and went unnoticed until my legs collapsed. I can only credit the quick action on the part of Mayo staff and physicians for realizing what was happening, despite the obvious red herring of the bactrim reaction. Their conservative approach covered the right bases and rescued me from a potentially fatal attack.
I am also just as certain that God was looking over their shoulders and gently providing guidance throughout the process. I know that I could not have endured the "wets" without His help.
There are more harrowing details, but they involve numbers that represent creatinen and bilirubin levels and other medical terms that I have not looked up yet. But, enough of that.
Comfort Zone
I find the transplant house a comfort zone. It is incredibly quiet in our room, without the buzzing machines, flashing lights, and the constant hubbub in the central nursing area just outside my door at the hospital. Each hospital room has a nice flat screen television, with network programming, Mayo programming, and even complimentary movies. I switched mine off most of the time because it just added to the noise. Odd that, coming from a self-proclaimed TV addict.
Inner Zone
My experiences have led me to a richer inner life, and I find more value in my inner journeys than I ever thought possible. I've certainly had time for reflection, sometimes to the point where everything is mirrors and sorting takes incredible effort. There are mirrors in my mind, as in all minds I would guess. And I have favorite mirrors, as with some carnival mirrors, that are more generous with their reflections or distort away self-images I do not want to see.
I have been fortunate to have been given time to see past some of the more troublesome mirrors, but they still exist and are still visible at the periphery of my vision, casting shadows and images, but very little light. Some, like ancient mirrors I have seen have lost much of their silver backing and appear dark glass with faint shadows only distant and incomplete. New quicksilver flashing mirrors sometimes race past, not yet complete.
An amazing place, the human mind, full of light and shadow, sound and fury, silence and peace, and now smoke and mirrors. Little wonder I find a need for guidance now and then, just to navigate back to me.
Thank you all for your messages (and jokes), your cards, e-mails, and prayers. I believe your communications help guide me through the labyrinthine hours and the immense self-involvement of battling this condition. I hope my imagery is not too disturbing, but that it perhaps "reflects" our need to find true images of ourselves. God grant we can find the true mirrors.
God bless you all, and good night.
Mick