Mick McKellar Update -- Day + 1761

For Better and For Worse

I suppose we all think the years will be better when we marry, and don't really consider the worse side of the equation. When I married my best friend December 18, 1971, I knew there would be bad days—everyone gets ill, everyone gets angry, everyone gets tired and cranky and sad—for a day or two.

Married life was no picnic for Marian because of my short sojourns aside for a vascular migraine, for cataract surgeries, for various and sundry cases of pneumonia, for skin cancer surgery, for breast cancer surgery (benign), and for removal of a malfunctioning gall bladder. However, her biggest test came in May, 2010 as a suspected problem with my blood sugar levels suddenly blossomed into leukemia.

I was in good shape when we married. We had four healthy and intelligent children and things were good, despite the usual problems with jobs and moving and life in general. So we were looking forward to our retirement, making plans and setting dates, when my 17+ year job at Michigan Tech suddenly ended without warning in 2004. For six more years, as I struggled to rebuild both career and retirement funds, Marian was supportive and encouraging, especially as the flood of rejection letters continued to accumulate.

Then blood cancer changed everything. Through it all, my best friend weathered every test with me, even the ones that left me screaming in hospital beds until morphine stopped the pain. For over five years, she has spent countless hours in waiting rooms, hospital rooms, and emergency rooms. I've lost count of how many crossword puzzle books she has filled while waiting for me. She watched while my medical expenses devoured our retirement plans. She learned sterile procedures to change bandages. She stood quietly by when massive doses of steroids made me mean and chemotherapy made me sick. She held me close as I lay in bed, shaking and shivering, wondering if I would wake in the morning.

Now, as my lungs are failing, she does the heavy lifting and snow shoveling. Marian knows exactly when I need a helping hand and exactly when to tell me to shut up and shut down the pity party. After 44 years, she is still the love of my life and the best part of us. 

I am a lucky man.

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1698

October 16, 2015—A Fruitful Journey

First, we are home—and I drove the entire way! Woohoo! We saw only a few flakes out by Winona, onM26—otherwise we had sunshine with clouds and dry roads all the way home. Even our 2009 Focus cooperated and achieved 37.5 mpg average mileage for the trip as a whole. This was remarkable considering we were buffeted by a substantial headwind from Red Wing, MN, to around Hayward, WI.

Second, I had a good checkup at Mayo Clinic. When we arrived on Wednesday, we walked from Founder’s House to Canadian Honker Restaurant (a good half-mile) and back. On Thursday, we walked to and from the Charlton Building and Gonda Building for my tests and consults. I also went shopping with Marian—now that’s a marathon!

The blood tests all fell within normal ranges for healthy folk, which was very encouraging. Most of my pulmonary function study scores were actually higher than last visit, which likely means that my lung function has stayed stable. I already know it cannot improve because bronchiolitis obliterans causes lung tissue to become fibroid and non-functional (a one-way, irreversible process) so, no change is the best I could expect. 

However, during the oxygen stress test (climb a stair, up and down for three minutes), I did manage to set off their low oxygen alert. Usually, get tested on a single height stair, this time it was a double height stair and the extra stress caused a sudden drop in my oxygen (below 85%) after 2.5 minutes. This means that I qualify for medically-necessary supplemental oxygen. However, once again, I declined. I refuse to use that crutch, though it might make me a bit more comfortable. I manage quite nicely by walking slowly and resting when my internal censors tell my oxygen level is low. I guess something good came from being an asthmatic child -- I know what it feels like when my oxygen level drops.

Goodbye Cellcept!

He said it! Marian heard it, and it’s true! My doctor said, “You can stop the Cellcept now. Don’t take another pill.” Cellcept is my anti-rejection medication and is the pill that supports my immune suppression. As this wears off, my own immune system should kick in. Also, as soon as my supply runs out, I can stop my Fluconazole -- an anti-fungal medication. In three months, I can also stop my Atovaquone (Mepron) -- the evil yellow suspension that protects me from a particular form of pneumonia to which some transplantees are susceptible. I am so looking forward to stopping my daily dose of yellow road paint. Yuck.

We celebrated by going to an early dinner at Olive Garden, Marian’s favorite restaurant. Then I took Marian shopping. We looked at everything. We bought nothing...except a couple of bags of Halloween candy. If she can spend endless hours in waiting rooms, I can endure a few hours of window shopping.

Back to the Hermitage

Very soon now, I will resume my hermit persona, and stop attending gatherings where more than a very few people come together. This self-withdrawal from gatherings has served me well in preventing exposure to flu and colds and other infections.

It was an encouraging and successful trip. We don’t have to return until next May, when they will once again sample my bone marrow. If things look really good in May, they might stop my anti-cancer medication! THAT would be truly marvelous!

Thanks for all the prayers and good thoughts. It really matters and helps immensely! Good evening and God bless!

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1662

Michael & Stefanie

Remembering Moments
As I think back, reflecting on my life, I remember moments. Moments of joy elevated my enjoyment of just being alive. Moments of sadness seasoned my existence with the bitter herbs of loss and the salty taste of tears. Moments of fear tingled my spine with the electric shock of adrenaline, and moments of anger scorched my fingers with sudden fire and intense heat. The cool, quiet moments of peace and harmony filled all my senses as cold spring water fills dark caverns and sunny valleys, eased my frantic brow as an icy stream freshens a mountain ravine, and stole away the fiery anger in my heart as twilight steals the heat of the day.

Most of what I remember are the moments, and I forget the years in which they were born, they lived, and they passed into my history. Hence, the telescoping effect of passing time seems to make it move faster than it truly moves, and I have forgotten my youthful ability to live in each moment as it passes, experiencing the fullness of time as it flows forward, and letting it carry me along.

As I age, my tendency is to stand firm and resist the flow, fearing I will come to the mouth of time’s river, slowly settling into its infinite delta and merging with the great sea of all things past. Resisting the flow causes the moments to flow by me so quickly, I only get to sample them instead of flowing with them and taking in their full measure. And so, I am learning to once again live in the moment and “go with the flow.”

Rafting Time’s River
Our recent trip to the state of Washington for the wedding of Michael and Stefanie caused a ripple in my experience of time’s flow because of the shifting time zones and different environment. Jet lag, even a simple three-hour shift, reset my time clock. Spending two weeks outside my normal environs shifted my view -- in much the same way our four-month stay in Rochester, MN altered my perceptions and granted me an opportunity to jump on a raft and ride the river of time.

Staying with Heather, Chris, Eli, and Rose allowed me to let go of at least some of my daily reminders of chores needing to be done and projects unfinished, of messes needing organizing and even those pesky bills that must be paid. Of course, their ghosts trailed me about, but I became a moving target for a time, and immersed myself in the joy of just being with my family and sharing in the happiness of a newly minted family -- just starting out.

At Snoqualmie Falls

We did a little sightseeing, visiting the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium with Eli and Rose and spending a day with Heather when we visited Snoqualmie Falls. However, I wasn’t there as a tourist. I came to enjoy family and share in their lives for a time. The wedding was wonderful. It was simple, elegant, and tasteful. There were few of the party trappings of some receptions (a band, dancing, hours of sitting on metal folding chairs), but there were the things that really count -- including some terrific food. It was a happy celebration with family and friends.

Perhaps the greatest gift I received from my recent raft ride on time’s river was the happiness I felt having all my children around me again. All of my grandchildren were within hugging distance -- at least for a day. Sharing a small part of their vibrant lives for this extended moment remains a cherished gift that will be with me always.

Good evening and God bless!

Mick
 

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1654

Travel Agency

n.

A business that attends to the details of transportation, itinerary, and accommodations for travelers. Also called travel bureau.

Michael & Stefanie

I suggested we book our trip to Seattle/Tacoma for the wedding of Michael and Stefanie, and a visit with our children and grandchildren, through a local travel agency. Fear of mistakes and bad bookings forced my hand, and I ponied up additional dollars to guarantee no circus of horrors or the absurd on this special trip. Oops…

Stage One: Get to SeaTac

Our route to SeaTac was a bit circuitous, connecting via Chicago and San Francisco. Dressed for Summer, we loaded into the Skywest plane at Houghton County Airport and literally chilled for about 55 minutes to Chicago O’Hare. It was cold on the plane, but one can be stoic, I thought. Why not tough it out?

We scurried to make our connection to a United Airlines flight to San Francisco, making it just in time for boarding, and leaving me wheezing and honking enough to frighten folks into offering aid. As we clambered aboard, I noted with dismay a small pillow and blanket upon each seat. I never used an airline blanket, so I gave mine to Amanda -- a decision I later came to question. We waited to be pushed from the terminal, and waited, and waited. The captain’s disembodied voice came through the loudspeakers to announce a slight delay, to repair a broken arm rest. In about 15 minutes the plane began to move until a “crunch” was heard and it stopped. The tug driver cut the wheel too sharp and bent the push/tow connection to the plane. It would have to be examined...it would have to be replaced...more time was lost to mechanical delays.

As the refrigeration units came online, our chariot of the skies leapt into the morning sun. I shivered mightily for more than four hours, until we landed in San Francisco -- just as our connecting flight to SeaTac was taking off. The captain’s reassuring voice floated over our heads as he mentioned connections missed (ours included) and quickly rattled off a phone number for UA customer service. I fretted about having no pen or paper handy and a good samaritan handed me a PostIt note with the number. Thank you anonymous nice person! I called UA CS while afloat in the chaos of deplaning humanity and they booked us on another flight, leaving in about two hours. Great! I asked about our luggage. “Oh, you have to call Baggage -- Click!” Panicked, I cornered a hapless target -- the Customer Service agent at the gate through which we deplaned. He kindly followed up on my questions, and an hour and a half later, we journeyed on, with our luggage, to SeaTac Airport. Once again, our boxcar in the sky was a refrigerator car. Flash frozen, I shivered my way to join our luggage and Michael en route to the home of my daughter and her family.

Stage Two: Get Home

Despite the criticisms of my use of a travel agent, I considered the foibles of our flights as accidents and coincidences that could happen to any traveler, whether booked by agent or online. Enter the Trip from Hell.

We arrived two hours early at SeaTac for our red eye flight home to Hancock and points North. The line at the American Airlines counter (American Airlines? Yup, that’s what the itinerary says!) was longish, but not frightening. What was frightening was the look on the ticket agent’s face when I presented our receipts, all of which said: United Airlines. First she looked at the receipts. Then she looked again, quizzically. Then she mumbled, “I cannot accept these, they are from United.” Fear touched my spine (and other things) and my Scottish eyebrows went into scowl mode. I glared at her from under their canopies. She called her supervisor over, and both listened to my explanation.

More than an hour and four frustrated agents later, they had survived professional phone tag with United and reissued our tickets and our boarding passes. They also waived our baggage fees ($75) and marked our passes TSA Pre-checked, which saved us precious time. Once again, we arrived at our boarding gate just in time -- with me wheezing and wobbling about.

The plane felt cool, but not cold as we settled in our assigned seats for our midnight ride in a meat locker. Once the air started, triggering my goosebumps and shivering -- I asked for a blanket. The attendant replied: “We don’t provide blankets on this flight. I’ll ask the pilot to warm things up a bit” (He did warm it slightly. Note: as we later deplaned, we noted blankets scattered about in Business Class.) I quaked and quailed, shivered and shook, for nearly four hours in a dark aluminum tube. I could not sleep and read until my eyes were sore from reading in a dark place. No sleep was found in my vicinity. We arrived in Chicago just before 6:00 AM, perfectly chilled.

Our layover in Chicago was 4 hours and 41 minutes -- almost long enough to establish residency. At 10:00 AM, we started boarding our Skywest flight to Hancock. I was cheerfully optimistic because I finally had my window seat for a daytime flight. Then the cockpit door opened and the captain said, “I have bad news. Hancock has thunderstorms and heavy fog. Visibility is below our minimums. We can’t fly there now.” He said it would take some time for the weather to clear, so we deplaned and went back to warm our seats in the terminal. Eventually, things improved, and we arrived in Hancock at 1:58 PM instead of 12:50 PM. Safe and sound.

Oh, and did I mention that the wedding was wonderful, the visit was a total joy, and I would do it all again to see everyone I haven’t seen in so long...and thought I might never see again.

Good night, and God bless!

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1612

Our Bandaids were too small...

Seriously Unfunny

This might be funny, were it not so sad. I did something incredibly clumsy this afternoon. I was working at my computer when Dante began a barking frenzy, probably at some noise outside. I didn't hear anything. As requested by his owner, I jumped up to grab the spray bottle and dissuade him from his noisy alarm. My sudden move frightened him, and he ran under my feet, tripping me. My stability is poor, even on a good day, and he felled me on the spot.

I must have been an amazing sight, toppling north-by-west from my desk -- hands extended, leg caught up with my headphone cable, and bellowing in fear. When I hit the floor, the carpeting removed a sizable chunk of my skin just below my left knee and the corner of a nearby wall didn’t move out of the way of my left shoulder. My head and my right leg conspired to yank on the headphone hard enough to break the plug and nearly pull my PC off my desk.

My leg suffered rug burn and removal of flesh, my shoulder received bruising and scraping, and my headphones are ruined. Overall, it was an unpleasant experience.

I hobbled out to Marian, who was mowing the lawn, and showed her my knee. She was less than receptive and somewhat short on empathy. We covered the cut -- after treating it with hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin. What an afternoon!

I would like to report that there is a lesson to be learned here, but outside of trying not to be clumsy, there is little to share. Maybe I should consider NOT wearing shorts and relying on my jeans as portable armor for the hopelessly maladroit. As you can see from the photo, my knee will be uncomfortable for awhile.

My career with Riverdance is in great jeopardy, and I may have to withdraw from the competition on: "So You Think You Can Walk!"

Good night, and God bless.

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1600

Another Mildstone Reached

No, it’s not a typographical error! I’ve started calling my small achievements “mildstones” because, although they are truly not Earth-shattering, they quake my life -- just a little. Every day, when I wake up, it is a minor miracle to me -- a precious gift of life. However, I have a special place in my heart for those days ending in two or more zeros.

For some reason, 1,600 sounds so much grander than 1,599…

Future Imperfect

What pleased me most during my last visit to Mayo Clinic, was talking to the doctors and nurses about my future. Until the last couple of visits, references to a future beyond my next scheduled visit in Rochester were few and far between, spoken of mostly in general terms. During the last visit, we talked about potential dates for stopping my anti-rejection medication and even my anti-leukemia medication. This is exciting stuff for someone who spent more than a year learning to live one-day-at-a-time, giving little or no attentions beyond getting out of bed tomorrow morning.

At various time Google has attributed to Cary Grant, Mickey Mantle, and George Burns this little quip: “If I’d known I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself.”  Ditto!

“Selfie” is the Right Word

For more than five years, my focus has been on me. It is necessary when battling leukemia, graft-versus-host disease, bronchiolitis obliterans, pancreatitis, a gallbladder attack, COPD, pneumonia, and more to look in toward God and myself for the strength to fight. I have been monumentally self-involved, posting my own “selfies” and talking about my experiences. During that time, I learned a simple, obvious lesson -- the kind I don’t like to think about, because it makes me seem greedy and needy.

While I am thinking only about me, I don’t have time to think about, or worry about, you. It is nothing less than the complete demise of humility.

As I read through the news, the postings on Facebook and other social media, and listen to the pundits punting on television and radio, I hear me -- thinking only about me. I see and hear politicians striving for office, not to serve the public, but to get hired for a job. Last I heard, elected public service was not a career, not a way to gain, but a way to give. Last I heard, getting a job was a privilege to be earned, not a right to be granted. Last I heard, greed was a deadly sin and the chief attribute of villains, not the primary job skill to get ahead in the world. Last I heard, spending hours taking pictures of yourself was a negative character trait, not a hobby practiced world wide. Last I heard, taking offense involved violations, trespass, or insults, not a way to justify personal prejudice.

Maybe we need to take our eyes away from our smartphones, tablets, and screens, take a look around and realize that other folks inhabit this planet, and maybe need some help. Maybe we need to try a little humility -- i.e., think about ourselves just a little less. It might help clarify what needs to be done, and who needs to do it.

Thanks for listening. Good night and God bless!

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1555

The Blessed Dream

I will be retiring for a few hours of much-needed rest in a few moments. However, before I seek the far, fair shore of Dreamland, I have a pleasant milestone to note. On May 26, 2010, around 9:30 AM, I received a phone call from Aspirus Keweenaw Hospital while working at Keweenaw National Historical Park. I’d undergone a blood test because I was concerned about Type II diabetes, an illness well-known among members of my family.

I was unprepared for the message I received. An ambulance was waiting for me at the hospital to take me to Marquette General because I had leukemia! Not only that, but my white blood cell count was dangerously high. Thus began a journey that has not ended; a blessing wrapped in a curse stuffed in an emergency.

Today is the five-year anniversary of the diagnosis of Philadelphia Chromosome-Positive, Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML). I am officially a five-year cancer survivor!

I will not belabor the point, nor revisit the stories again tonight. The blessings of friendship, support, and prayer have carried me forward and upheld both me and my long-suffering caretaker, Marian. Most of all, I thank my brother Kevin for his selfless donation of stem cells and T-cells transplanted into this old curmudgeon on February 21, 2011. Without his gift of life, our journey would likely have ended rather abruptly.

I thank you all, and I thank God that our journey continues!

Mick