Mick McKellar Update--Day +78
As I welcomed the first golden tendrils of sunlight this morning, watching the morning haze thin and vanish, a forgotten vapor, I did not sense the leap directly into Summer ahead. As I write this, the temperature is 86 degrees and the sky remains a blue bowl filled with cotton balls. A touch of Summer has painted Rochester warm and almost fuzzy.
The intrepid walkers walked twice today, neither time to the hospital. The weather invited us outdoors and we did not resist. Walk one took us past St. Mary's Hospital to McDonald's, where Marian sampled their new frozen strawberry lemonade. She liked it. I had a cool glass of water, and we walked back.
Late in the afternoon, the call of the outdoors soared past our windowpane and drew us out for a walk to Kutzky Park. It's a neighborhood association maintained park and development site along Cascade Creek, a tributary of the Zumbro River that runs past and through Rochester. We walked along the creek for awhile, but old Mick runs out of gas quickly, and we headed back. I figure we walked over three miles today, so I count that as a positive outcome.
Testing the rash?
I was also testing the volatility of my rash in direct sunlight. It seemed largely unaffected by the sun. However, some of my medications warn against excessive exposure, so I stayed indoors for the bulk of the day.
We seem to be holding our own against the rash with copious applications of a steroid cream. I talked to my doctor on the phone today and they are still working on the hemolysis problem. Something is killing my red blood cells. Currently, the suspect is Dapsone, the replacement drug for both Bactrim and the drug they used with a nebulizer and triggered an asthma attack. Guess I may be moving to the fourth shelf for medication to prevent a particularly nasty form of pneumonia to which BMT patients are susceptible.
Kvetch time...
My diabetes coordinator called. Although all my readings have been well below 200 (most below 150), she wants them below 130 now. So she upped my insulin dose to 33 units each morning. She insists on three balanced meals with 4 hours of no eating between each meal. I tried explaining that, for example, yesterday -- our consultation and meeting schedule was back-to-back meetings from 11:15 AM until well after 2:30 PM. Hello, lunch?
Even when I manage the rigid eating schedule, my afternoon glucose readings can be elevated because of my medications -- which keep changing -- and the amount of exercise I manage -- which depends on the weather and my appointment schedule. I'm beginning to feel like a contestant on that Wipeout program -- something is always ready to knock you from your feet with a big, wet slap and drop you in the soup. Otherwise, I appear to be doing well.
Truant poet
The poet took a day off today, choosing to spend his hours tramping about and traveling shank’s mare in the warm embrace of spring sunshine. For a time, as we walked in that unaccustomed glow, the amiable sunshower pushed back years of accumulated chill, and I felt I could capture the spirit of the light, a crystal vial to hold the brilliance of the sun, a radiance to fill the dark hours of the long nights.
I did not want to waste a second, or forget the uplifting feeling of Spring's first really warm day. The last gold and crimson rays of the setting sun now caress my windows, and the long shadows of twilight stretch beyond my view. Houses crouch in shadow, frosted with the day's last light. Patches of city grass paint dark green velvet accents to the cooling concrete and blacktop, as the trees, now tipped with bursting green buds and baby leaves reach toward the gray-blue sky. The never-ending traffic hums rather than screams this evening, and I swear there were fewer sirens and speeding emergency vehicles than I remember for months. All is quiet as twilight tiptoes through the neighborhood, under the watchful eyes of the medical buildings and parking ramps, the last mirrors of the setting spring sun.
Fatigue settles on my shoulders tonight, not as the familiar heavy, wet blanket I've come to expect, but a gentle pressure, pushing me deeper into my chair, and dragging my eyelids down.
Your e-mails and communications have been wonderful. Your prayers and good thoughts have been a source of hope and power for Marian and for me. Thank you so much.
God bless and good night,
Mick