Mick McKellar Update--Day +93
The intrepid walkers braved the threatening skies of morning, armed only with their umbrellas and a deadline. Dark skies roiled and wind swept the steel and glass caverns, as their path wound on to Charleton Lab B. They arrived as planned, on time, and dry.
7:30 AM: I am given two extra-strength Tylenol and 50 MG of Benadryl as pre-medication for blood transfusion. Thirty long minutes later the nurses connect my Hickman catheter to a unit of whole blood. I began to read my book... zzzzzzzzzz
10:00 AM: I wake to discover they are taking vitals and preparing the second unit of whole blood. The switch is made. I began to read my book... zzzzzzzzzzz
12:15 PM: I wake to discover they are unhooking the paraphernalia and ushering my posterior out the door, because they need the room for another patient. The glowering fellow lurking outside the door with a cart and cleaning supplies must the room prep guy -- he looks impatient. I tried a "Good afternoon!" Must have sounded like something else through my thick mask, for his face moved not at all, and his eyes said: "Move it, buddy..."
X-ray barbecue
This afternoon's special treat was the bone mineral density testing. My part in the process was simple: I had to empty my pockets and lie down on the bed of a machine...lie still, lie very still. The arm of the machine swung over my head into view and stopped just below my neck. Then, for about 15 minutes, it x-rayed me from neck to knees. I asked how I did. The technician, obviously prepared for this question deadpanned: "You have bones."
I suppose I deserved that. I know they cannot comment on the results, but I nearly always ask anyway. Months ago, when they did a cardiac ultrasound on my heart, I asked the same question, and was told, "You have a photogenic heart." I blushed then. I am still blushing...no, wait a minute...it's a rash.
We are still fighting the rash, and though it may be wishful thinking, I believe we are slowly winning the battle. The war may go on for some time, if this skin condition converts from acute to chronic GVHD. I talked to my diabetes coordinator on the phone today and she lowered my morning insulin dose from 30 units to 24. It's a start.
Answers or more questions?
Tomorrow will start even earlier than today did for the intrepid walkers. A full panoply of blood tests will start the day (6:00 AM at Charleton Lab A). Later, a visit with a dermatologist will start my round of consultations, and hopefully we will get a few answers.
Anniversary
Tomorrow is May 26, 2011. I was first diagnosed with leukemia on May 26, 2010. Tomorrow I will count myself as a one-year cancer survivor. I doubt we will celebrate. Does one celebrate the anniversary of a death sentence? The date marks only one of the major turning points in my life, but it ranks in the top four, along with my birth, my marriage to Marian, and the day I received life from my brother's cells -- February 21, 2011 -- 93 days ago. In each case, my life altered course, steaming on in new and different direction. In each case, I was virtually starting over (or just starting). In each case, the focus of my life was altered.
At birth, I had no past and did not worry about the future. My focus was one minute at a time, living in the precious present. When I married, "I" became "We." My single past faded (mostly) and life became a shared adventure, focused more on the future and on the worry and doubt that comes with that focus.
May 26, last year, at about 10 AM, I heard a voice on the phone tell me I had leukemia. My future vanished. I was raised during a time when leukemia was a death sentence. Only a rare few had successfully fought it, and my brain was full of images of dying without hair. I made it to death's door that day, but through God's will, medical science pulled me back, and a new journey began.
During that journey from May 26, 2010 to February 21, 2011, I learned to live a day at a time. Until I received the gift of life from my brother, Kevin, in the form a two small plastic bags of dark red cells, my path was down a long, ever-darkening stairway, leading to the long sleep.
February 21 is now my own Gift of Life day, or birthday II. Although I hope to see more than a few of them, I look ahead in anticipation rather than expectation and/or worry. Each minute of each day is its own universe of experience, and is an exquisite gift. I treasure them, even when, as happened today, I sleep through more than a few of them.
I pondered today about my journey and had a dream about riding on a train. My poem, Train, describes that small insight.
It is dark outside and my eyes grow dimmer with the light. It is time too say thank you for your communications, our links to home.
God bless, and good night.
Mick
And now, Train
How often I have heard folks tell me that, life is a journey and I should enjoy the ride. I suppose, like most Type A's early on, I was just like the people who built the expressways and superhighways across America. My focus was on the destination, not on the journey to the destination. Then, I got my first motorcycle and I learned quickly two very important lessons. First I learned that I did not like riding a small motorcycle on the expressway. Second, that it is important to enjoy the ride.
I no longer ride a motorcycle, but I have learned to enjoy the ride. All of life is a journey and I want my life to be that journey, punctuated with the spice and bitters of destinations along the way. If my life were just about destinations, more than half of it would be missing. Life is a journey. Enjoy the ride.
Mick
Train
I slept, and dreamt that I was on a train.
The coach in which I rode had no window.
I could not tell the weather, sun or rain,
Had no idea where the train would go.
The coach was larger, ever than I thought,
And it held more people than I could see.
All held tickets just like the one I bought,
Some were short, some were long, and none like me.
Folks got on and got off, I know not where,
And so, to pass the time, I made some friends,
Yet, when I turned around, they were not there.
So, I often asked when the journey ends.
They said I'd know, I'd feel it, deep inside,
In the meantime, I should enjoy the ride.
Mick McKellar
May 2011