Mick McKellar Update--Day + 80
Phileas Fogg traveled around the world in 80 days (in Jules Verne's novel), and the intrepid walkers managed three trips to and from the hospital today. We traveled a little over three miles, at my top tottering speed, but at times it felt like around the world.
The 5:30 AM trip tested my stamina -- I did not know it at the time, but my blood glucose was 81 and I could not eat anything until after we returned. The second trip was pleasant, though rain threatened later. Our third trip was for consultations and a visit with my doctor. While cooling our heels at the pharmacy, the sky opened up and soaked a few unhappy pedestrians, however, by the time the world's slowest pharmacy filled my scrips, the rain stopped and the sun came back out.
The medical news is again a mixed bag. The steroid cream appears to be working very slowly against the recurring GVHD rash. The hemolysis mystery remains, as yet, unsolved. My hemoglobin count went up by a tenth of a point, so they are watching for further changes. My liver appears to be doing wall and my bilirubin (the detritus of red cell death) went down to a more normal level.
We are still waiting on the results of a special Chimera test that splits the results between red and white blood cells. Soon, I will be facing a plethora of tests again, including another bone marrow biopsy, a bone marrow density test, and a really nasty breathing test -- measuring lung capacity. All take place near the 100 day mark.
Bone Density?
It has long been a running joke in the McKellar clan that we have "big bones." (Maybe because the outside package tends to be rather large as well...) Truth be told, however, I have no knowledge of a single broken bone on my dad's side of the family, from my grandfather's generation to my generation. (That does not mean it didn't happen, but I have never seen or heard of one.)
When I had my first bone marrow biopsy, at Marquette General, back in May, 2010, I warned the assistant doing the procedure that we have "tough bones." After he nearly pushed me off the bed trying to force the medical instrument through my hip bone, to collect marrow and take a small bone sample, he agreed, wholeheartedly. I only had a local for that procedure and learned my lesson. I've had anesthesia for each subsequent bone marrow biopsy and the recovery is much faster.
As I pondered about important issues, the changing weather, dinner, bone density...an idea for a poem pounced into my head (with muddy boots on) and together we tramped out the poem below. It is roughly a sonnet in form and function, but really just a bit of fun.
At the end of a day filled with tests, confusing numbers, and mysteriously dying blood cells; not to mention morning mist, sudden showers, brilliant sunlight, and rising humidity; the cool gray of evening haze brings perspective and welcomes the night with the dying of the light. I welcome it with my constant companion, the fatigue I wear like a jacket that grows heavier and heavier.
Your cards, letters, e-mails, and communications continue to give us pieces of home. Your prayers, chants, best wishes, and good thoughts give us hope. Thank you all.
God bless, and good night,
Mick
And now, Big Boned
I've heard the phrase "big boned" since I was a lad, to describe most of the members of the paternal side of my family. Most of us (including me) started out skinny and tough as any kid on the block, but later added more than a few unwanted pounds. The whole big boned thing became the inside joke for an out-sized tragedy. We tend to be big people.
Still amazing to me is that I know of no paternal relative who has broken a bone. None. And that's not for lack of trying. I've fallen from icy roofs and off slippery ladders, and received only some nasty bruising. The question remains: Is it the bones or all that soft tissue padding that prevents breakage?
Mick
Big Boned
Wee Geordie, an ancestor must have been,
Or was somehow related to our clan,
For ev'ry male relative I have seen,
Has grown to be a large or burly man.
Skinny growing up, durable as hell --
I've never heard report of broken bone,
It's not we have not slipped or tripped, or fell
Or been dropped off a ladder like a stone.
There have been abrasions and cuts galore,
And nasty bruises when we hit the ground.
Perhaps those big bones let us carry more,
Of that wonderful soft-tissue padding around.
Or maybe that, pound-for-pound, ounce-for-ounce,
Big-boned people have a little more bounce.
Mick McKellar
May 2011