Mick McKellar Update -- Day +300!

Wow! It's December 17th, and it's now 300 days since I received the gift of life from my brother Kevin. The first 100 days crept by, awash in discomfort and uncertainty, yet so challenging I had time for little else but fighting to survive. The second 100 days thundered along, a swift summer storm clearing a path through my old life and paving the way with gifts of each new day. The third 100 days, a sudden semester blazed past in heat and light, bringing new lessons on limitations and yet re-opening doors I thought closed forever.

Reflection is difficult. 

A retrospective of the last year paints a complex portrait and a frightening map, documenting each twist and turn of our journey, so many of which might have gone awry on paths not taken, whether by choice or chance. I am intrigued and discomfited by so many places along that path where guided by the Lord's hand or led by luck, a misstep was avoided. I am more certain than ever that the prayers and good thoughts of our friends powered us past pitfalls and proffered the strength and the optimism to fight on.

New Lessons -- New Teachers

I have been learning (slowly) that humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less. I also learned that hubris is no defense against human frailty. We all carry within us the seeds of our own downfall. When leukemia first came knocking on my front door, I hid in the den, hoping it was just the wind or a bothersome soul soon to go away and darken my doorstep no more. Yet, insistent as a cold Keweenaw breeze, it found its path into my leaky old house, swept away the dust of my assumptions, and scattered the pages of the script I had so carefully written for my life. It was time to learn how to improvise and ad lib. The movie of my life was now a daily serial, and the script was no longer mine to dictate.

In the last 300 days, my focus has been primarily on me: A private morality play with a paranoid twist. However, while I was busy declaiming my lines and discerning my blocking, the audience crept up on the stage with me. The dark comedy, which started as a monologue, grew into a duet, and now has an ensemble cast. I am becoming merely one player on a very crowded stage, and I am thankful there is still room for me to tread the boards a little longer.

I am learning that pancreatitis hurts worse than chemotherapy. I am learning that I am not the only one in pain. I am learning to be a character actor in my own production.

A Milestone Tomorrow

December 18, 1971, Mick and Marian became man and wife. Tomorrow is our 40th wedding anniversary -- traditionally the Ruby Anniversary. For obvious reasons, rubies are a little beyond our budget, but I am certain I can find something red to wear -- especially at Christmas. Our last two anniversaries were disappointing. In 2009, I was already sick, unemployed, and hanging around the house. In 2010, I was in the hospital, undergoing my third round of chemotherapy...we celebrated with muffins (provided by the hospital staff). I could not eat mine. We held hands in the hospital room and prayed for better days and better health for our 40th.

Well, I am doing very well at the moment. My numbers are good and my ongoing blood tests have been reduced to once per month. If all goes well, they will begin my inoculations by March 2012 (just like a newborn) and I hope to be off my anti-rejection medication in January.

A Merry Christmas

I put up more than half of our cache of decorations, accumulated over 40 years of marriage. I want this Christmas to be special because I have learned not to put off such things, depending on next year. Because I have been looking back at past Christmases, I want to share a poem I wrote in 2007. Little did I know it would offer solace and reassurance for me in Christmas 2011.

Christmas Silence

We sing of peace on Earth and goodwill to all people at Christmastime. We think of a silent night, when all is peaceful and bright with love and caring and joy. Yet, if we could but see and hear everything on that wondrous night, would it be a boon or a bane? Perhaps the peace and joy of Christmas is not around us, but within us. Maybe the happiness of that blessed night is our gift to ourselves, a wonder and a peace we bring with us, and if we are lucky, we can share it with another.

Mick

Christmas Silence

Long, long ago, in a land far away,
An angel rested upon a high hill.
He'd chosen a comfortable place to stay
On Christmas Eve, and he grew very still.
He listened with all his angel power,
Straining to hear happiness in the air.
A statue on an impromptu tower,
The angel stood still for hours up there.
He heard a few jet planes, as they flew by,
And the clouds, as they drifted through the night.
He heard the stars dancing above the sky,
And the moon banish shadows with its light.
He heard babies crying in homes below,
And mothers crooning to silence their tears.
He heard those leaving, with no place to go
But back to a lonely night, full of fears.
He heard the soft silence of children's dreams,
An old man who snored like a backed up drain,
And couldn't help hearing those anguished screams -
A victim, abused and battered again.
There were voices raised in anger and grief,
And howls of laughter from a local bar.
He heard the footsteps of a teenage thief,
In his first attempt at stealing a car.
Disgusted, distressed, and ready to cry,
The angel stood up and prepared to leave.
He spread his wings and was ready to fly,
When a tiny hand tugged on his right sleeve.
Startled, he looked down into a small face,
With the largest, darkest, most tearful eyes
He had ever seen in all time and space -
Blue-gray, like the stormiest winter skies.
Clad in pajamas, bare feet in the snow,
The tiny waif whispered in pleading voice,
"Please, Mr. Angel, oh, please do not go!"
And pausing a moment, he made his choice.
The angel knelt down in front of the child,
And opened his arms in welcome embrace.
He stroked the child's hair, with hands soft and mild,
And he prayed for peace and for Christmas Grace.
He stayed long hours through the now silent night,
Till parents, searching in early dawn's glow,
Were met with a wondrous and blessed sight -
Their small child, asleep on a bed of snow.
As the child leapt awake at their loud cry,
A joyous sweet sound set their ears ringing -
Far overhead, in the early morn sky,
A joyous Christmas Angel was singing.

Mick McKellar
December 2007

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +291

Welcome to my adventure of 36 (and a half) hours!

10:30 PM Tuesday (December 6): Marian rushes me to Portage Health emergency room after two and a half hours of "pouring forth" from nearly every orifice. Sweats, shakes, spiking fever all coordinated in a symphony of misery. Amanda had to call Marian home from league bowling to bring me to the hospital. On the scale of 0-10, the pain was a clear 9+.

It took a couple of hours for the staff at Portage Health to get the pain, nausea, and especially the shakes under control. After many tests, it has been decided that I had an attack of pancreatitis. The cause of the attack remains unknown, however suspicion is centered on a can of clam chowder (not expired) I had for supper -- about an hour before my attack began.

At 11:00 AM Today (December 8): Marian picked me up at Portage Health. All tests show normal values, and though quite sore (from the "pouring forth"), I am back to normal -- although a bit weary and frazzled by the experience. I received high dose antibiotics while hospitalized, but none are prescribed beyond my normal cadre of medications.

Incommunicado

The sudden trip, to what is rapidly becoming my second home, was so abrupt and unforeseen there was no time to pack up my ancient -- yet trustworthy -- laptop. Hence, I was out of touch and "off the air" for the 36-plus hours of my little adventure. Nearly as frightening as my medical adventure was the realization of how dependent I have become on my Internet connection. I felt isolated and "cut off" from the world.

Relying on broadcast television for information meant some of that information was hours old before I received it.

Somewhere in the night, it dawned on me how ridiculous that sounds. Growing up, I had radio, newspapers, magazines, books, and the occasional TV show. Hearing or reading news that was only hours or a day old was amazing...it felt like being there. Later, television brought images and news either minutes old or even live -- but that was only on certain stories. Only newspapers brought details and a wider variety of coverage.

Then came the Internet. Originally an ocean of information...one inch deep...it became my source of choice for instant coverage of news and events anywhere in the world. It also provided an open door for me to publish my own thoughts and my own news to folks who wanted to know.

And there I was, on hiatus from my information immersion experience, frustrated beyond reason at a golden chance to rest and recover from a painful and terrifying attack. I laughed about it this morning, but I booted my computer as soon as I walked in the door at home. Guess I am hooked.

In any case, I am home and we are all once again well. I will likely be spending the next few days around the house as much as possible. Maybe I will even turn off the computer for a few hours and watch daytime TV...nah!

God bless and thank you for your prayers and good thoughts.

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +286

"As we must account for every idle word, so must we account for every idle silence."
-- Benjamin Franklin

Many of my friends have inquired: Why have I stopped writing? I confess that, at first, I had no answer to that question...it simply happened. While planning what to write in this update, I found a quote from Philip Pullman that opened a door to understanding for me. He said: "For that reason you can't write with music playing, and anyone who says he can is either writing badly, or not listening to the music, or lying. You need to hear what you're writing, and for that you need silence."

I stopped writing to quiet my own voice and all the associated noise. I sought silence to once again hear what I was writing, to listen to my own words, and to perceive the integrity of my message. For the tales of my journey have grown taller with the telling. I have taken time to reflect, and apply the guiding principle of Arthur Conan Doyle's famous sleuth: "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth"

Lookin' Good

Folks tell me that I look good. Watch for the quick smile before I brush it off...because I love hearing it. I am doing improbably well, and have beaten so many odds that I feel like I am living on borrowed time. Each new day is a gift, and I have received more than 286 wonderful gifts since February 21, 2011. The best way I can describe my current condition is a full remission, supported by a core group of powerful medications and a healthy dose of personal paranoia.

Checkin' Up on Me

Marian and I returned last night (Friday, December 2, 2011) from Rochester, MN; after two days of testing, poking, prodding, and consultations. The pulmonary function studies showed no further decrease in my lung capacity. The CT scan showed no perceptible lung problems, but did show some pericardial effusion (fluid build up around my heart). An echo cardiogram demonstrated that, although there is some pericardial effusion, it is a small amount and only bears watching.

My other numbers and counts continue to alternately impress and disturb my physicians.

I have (by all measures) recovered very well from my laparoscopic cholecystectomy (removal of my gall bladder).

My liver seems to have recovered completely and the medication for treating my liver has been discontinued.

My anti-rejection drug (cyclosporin) has been reduced to only 25mg per day and may soon be stopped completely. However, my anti-cancer drug (imatinib) will continue and may increase -- to prevent a recurrence of the leukemia for as long a possible.

If all remains well, I will go back in late February or early March 2012 to begin the inoculations each newborn must face...

What does it mean?

For me, each new day is another chance to "get it right." Like all traditional human bunglers, I never seem up to the task, yet I appreciate each new opportunity and try to make the most of it. It means I can shovel some snow. It means I can give my grand-kids a hug. It means that, despite the aches, pains, shortness of breath, frustrations, and fatigue, I get to keep breathing...to keep living.

Earth-shattering, profane, or profound insights remain in short supply, but I get to spend time examining my conscience and scrutinizing my soul in the soft, golden light of the precious present. If the conduct of my life and the content of my love has been lacking when measured against my capacity or intent -- I seek forgiveness and another chance to do better. I find I have little time for either recriminations or regrets.

It no longer frightens me to need a nap. I go shopping and don't want to buy anything. I understand flannel.

Your friendship, prayers, and good thoughts mean more to me each day.

Now, I must sleep. God bless and good night,

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +263

As you can see from the photo, I am doing physical therapy, Keweenaw style. Yesterday, the yard was shades of brown and dark green, with scattered accents of faded reds, golds, and grays. About 3:00 PM, yesterday, the air suddenly turned white. By this morning, more than a foot of that white had fallen, with about 10 inches of the heavy, wet snow to be moved from our driveway.

Because I had surgery (laparoscopic cholecystectomy) on Halloween day, I can't really wrestle with our ancient snowblower (an 11 HP John Deere), so I had to settle for scooping the heavy snow. Shoveling is simply not recommended, so naturally I do it, but slowly and carefully. I don't take pain killers, so I know immediately if I do anything I should not.

Healing Well

The incisions have healed well, and the angry red entry wounds are not so angry and only a little red. Even the opening left by removal of my Jackson-Pratt drain has healed and looks benign. I still get twinges and uncomfortable sensations when I move certain ways or pick up more than I should. Still, I would call the surgery successful.

Good Numbers

Blood tests from Wednesday morning revealed some really good numbers. I am still anemic, but not dangerously so. My bilirubin is in the normal range, indicating that my liver is behaving normally, even after the gall bladder surgery.

Car Sick

Just in time to prepare for our next jaunt to Rochester, MN (on 11/29/2011) our dependable little '93 Focus may be in need of medical care. I'll be taking it to the car doctor tomorrow for a diagnosis of probable wheel-bearing-itis, this coming only a week or so after we sold our old minivan. Both vehicles are/were suffering from last winter's nearly total inactivity.

My visit to Rochester will be part check-up and part testing to determine why my pulmonary function has decreased since July. We are praying it is not fibrosis.

Thanks for your ongoing prayers and good thoughts.

Gotta get some rest. God bless and good night.

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +253

I am home! The surgery went very well, although there was (I guess) an unusual twist, and I am wearing a suction device to draw blood and other stuff from the surgical area. I cannot lift over 10 pounds and must not stretch, twist, or bend more than a small amount...no problem because it hurts to do those things.

There is some pain and breathing can be difficult at times. The worst is using the "Airelife" volumetric incentive spirometer every hour. Performing and monitoring my own postsurgical breathing exercises is a cool idea, but (to put it bluntly) it hurts. I have pain medication, but have managed to avoid taking it until about a half hour ago...just before turning in for the night.

Of course, I am taking antibiotics to prevent infection. Kudos to Portage Health medical staff for great, friendly, and professional care. I was particularly taken with the new disposable surgical robe system. It was made of paper. It covered my posterior. And get this...when I said I was chilly, the nurse connected it to an air pump device that circulated heated air into the robe, keeping me nice and toasty while waiting for my surgical adventure.

Best of all, I was home for Halloween and was able to see my grandsons, Daren and Raine, in costume tonight. Both were constumed as Batman (Batmen?). Their family dog was dressed up in a cape and went trick-or-treating as a Vampire Pomeranian.

Thank you all for your prayers and good thoughts. I am certain they powered a successful surgery and allowed me to go "under the knife" with more confidence and comfort than ever before.

God bless and good night,

Mick

(rapidly becoming a hollow man on Halloween)

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +252

The intrepid walker has not been walking very far for the past few weeks. It seems some of my medications have combined forces to produce prodigious pedal edema. Swollen legs, ankles, and feet make walking unsteady and very uncomfortable. One of the suspected culprits, Norvasc (a calcium channel blocker), will soon be replaced with Lopressor (a beta blocker). I have the new medication, but was advised not to switch because of tomorrow's grand adventure.

Tomorrrow morning (October 31...yeah, Halloween) at 6:00 AM, I will check into Portage Health for surgery to remove my gall bladder. I am scheduled for laparoscopic surgery (i.e., four bandaid surgery), which would normally be handled on a outpatient basis, but may require that I remain at least overnight to monitor the response of my compromised immune system. Recovery from laparoscopic cholecystectomy normally requires about two weeks. In my case, they said from at least two to likely four weeks.

The rush to get this done is based on my upcoming appointment at Mayo Clinic on Nov. 30 and Dec. 1, 2011. I need to be healed to drive for nine hours to Rochester, MN...in the winter. They need two days testing this time, because of concerns over a decrease in my lung function, from 84% in June, to 68% in September. Suspicious of pulmonary fibrosis, I will need a CAT scan and more pulmonary function studies to make the diagnosis.

Lots of fun, eh?

Thanks for all your prayers and good thoughts. God bless and good night,

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +231

I wrote a poem today, and I have not been writing much lately. Considering how much joy it gives me to put my virtual quill to electronic paper, I had to search for a reason. In that search, I discovered to my chagrin, that I may well have been hiding from the blunt and solid reality of living with my infirmity, my inability to make the final leap from terminally ill to terribly uncertain. Sometimes, I feel like the ancient oak: stolid and solid on the outside, yet silently rotting within. Little wonder, I guess, that I would seek to hide in plain sight, and become just A Face in the Crowd -- the name of my poem.

The poem is a departure for me, a free-verse, free-wheeling run through the autumn leaves blowing about in my mind. It has been 231 days since my brother's gift brought me back from the brink of oblivion and started me down a new path. Obviously, the path has been (and remains) strewn with plenty of large, sharp stones and pervasive potholes. For each step forward, there has been a price, but a small price for living on, well beyond the six to eight month term limit predicted by my doctors prior to the stem cell transplant. Days like today make it seem the transplant was a lifetime ago. Each day of the 231 feels like a lifetime in microcosm, a full generation trapped in amber to be put on my shelf and re-visited...or at least dusted occasionally to keep the warm golden gleam kindled deep within as brilliant and mellow as possible.

How does one measure such treasure? How does one communicate the joy of pain, when pain is the proof of life, the immutable substance of existence, and the loving link to life among family and friends? Only poetry holds the promise and potential to paint, to sculpt, to visualize the full measure of the treasure.

Intrepid walker surveys Brockway Mtn.

The tree has a new ring

Summer is past and autumn announces the threat and promise of white winter. I have lived and grown since last we spoke, though in silence, in a solitary retreat from my habit of stridently announcing my current medical status to any and all who would stop and take notice. My younger son, Michael, came for a visit. Marian is currently in Federal Way, WA -- visiting with my daughter and two of our grandchildren. I did not travel, both to avoid two long entombments inside sealed tubes of aircraft aluminum, with concomitant exposure to viruses and bacteria, and to free Marian to enjoy time with grandchildren who would be hampered by rules not to touch grandpa -- the fellow in the Darth mask -- for nearly two weeks.

While the cat is away...

...there is no time to play! My days have been busy since Marian departed for Washington. I had my eyes checked and discovered that my far-sightedness in my right eye has degraded by a factor or four since my last check up (in 2008, oops). Apparently my sole remaining cataract, a yellow one, has decided to misbehave. Surgery is indicated, but I opted for a new lens in my glasses for the moment, as my doctors already want to me have my gall bladder removed in the next couple of weeks. Soon, I could give to meaning to the term: "Hollow Man."

I cleaned out my garage and actually managed to park our small car in there. It took nearly a full day of drudgery in a Darth mask, but it IS done. I raked both piles of leaves and bushels of apples from my yard...talk about a renewable resource...yikes! Today, I even managed to wash my own laundry and hang it outside to dry. I feel positively domestic.

Of course, all my activities (the above and much more) have been limited by my anemia and quickly-depleted batteries. At least, I have been sleeping well. All in all I am doing quite well, considering.

Thanks for all your ongoing prayers and good thoughts. Good afternoon, and God bless.

Mick