Mick McKellar Update--Day +57
The wet snow that drifts past my window taps and sighs upon the glass and is full of ghosts tonight. My heart listens for the quiet pain of spring, but winter silently rests upon the boughs of the skeletal tree where spring sang but a week ago. The gray light seems not to touch the glass but drift, a fog of shadowless illumination that weighs upon the eye.
It has been snowing all day in Rochester, but clinging only to bushes and grass, soil and some rooftops. More is promised for overnight. The moist metal and glass canyons of downtown are wet, windy, and chilly for walkers, but we did our best today. Marian and I walked to and from my morning appointment and walked to my afternoon insulin injection. However, the return trip was by shuttle because our winter coats were growing heavy with moisture.
Changes continue this evening...
They called from the hospital a little while ago. Today's blood tests show some problems, so they have increased my cyclosporin (stinky pills) dosage and despite all the fluid I have been consuming, I will receive IV fluids tomorrow again. They decreased my IV steroid injection level this morning and that is a good sign. At least this time they called while I was sitting down, last time I was in a noisy elevator and could barely hear. They surely keep their patients on a short electronic leash (in my case, my ancient Tracfone).
Learning curve
Tomorrow morning I begin to learn to sample my own blood and inject insulin. I think the first order of business is selection of the type of meter and strips, etc. With the increase in cyclosporin (which amplifies my shaking hands) we'll need to find a safe way for me to puncture something useful. I have given myself subcutaneous neupagen injections after chemotherapy, so I have no fear of an insulin pen (those needles are so tiny!). My fear is shaking so badly, I cannot get the blood sample.
As with each step so far, I expect a way will be found, but not until I strain the patience of a few nurses and coordinators. I am a bit slow on the uptake yet, but now I have the steroids to drive my attitude.
My chemical attitude
Some of the new mirrors in my mind and even a few of the newer shadows have sharp edges now. They seem to move forward with an aggressiveness unfelt in the past. I believe the steroids have added a heightened assertiveness to some thoughts and are imparting an unpleasant edge to my conversations. I speak without thinking more often in the last few days. Patience plays hide and seek. Consideration lags behind me, a child throwing a tantrum, and tact is becoming a task.
As I have become physically shorter (I am now only 5' 10") my temper has followed suit. I pray to weather this chemical storm and once again find balance.
Brain storm, body storm
Brain and body are hardwired, and when clouds form behind my eyes, my gut knows about it, and all the subtle sensors that make up this wonderful gift of a body are aware of the severe weather advisory. Although much of my plumbing and wiring has recently been upgraded, and confusion reigns in some systems, I believe I will survive the storms and squalls, droughts and floods, and even the rough edges brought by the steroids with God's help and the prayers and good thoughts of our friends and family.
The earthy and lovely music of your prayers, chants, good thoughts, and communications to us floats daily to God's ears. I must believe He loves to hear the voices of His children. That so many pray for us is a light for my spirit in the dark hours of the night, when the steroids still manage to steal sleep away from me.
Thank you all so much, and God bless you,
Mick