Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1206

Chicken Fat?

I was busy washing dishes from supper -- yes, I DO DISHES -- and I heard, “Go, you chicken fat, go!” coming from the television in the living room. I hurried from the kitchen to catch the last few strains of what sounded like Robert Preston’s voice singing music and lyrics by Meredith Willson (of Music Man fame). The flashback was instantaneous.

Suddenly, I was a whole lot shorter and doing calisthenics indoors at school, because it was raining outside. A record was blaring from one of those utilitarian record players in a heavy gray box, and for about ten minutes or so, we would try to do whatever Robert Preston told us to do. Our grade school teacher (Mr. Neinas) was playing a record called Go, You Chicken Fat, Go! It was funny for the first few minutes on the first day. After that, we prayed for good weather and access to the playground. 

I don’t remember President Eisenhower advocating for physical fitness, but I understand he started the President’s Council on Physical Fitness and Sports when I was five years old. I always thought it was President Kennedy who prompted the whole exercise thing. Apparently, they were worried that television was going to create a nation of couch potatoes. To me, it was simply gym class in grade school...on the cheap.

I’ll bet there are folks all over the country tonight, wondering what the television images have to do with chicken fat, or the tortoise, or the hare. When exercising as a kid, I remember thinking that I was neither “chicken” nor “fat,” and  I remember waiting for the final word: “Dismissed!” If you don’t remember, it might help to listen to the full routine at: http://mp3bear.com/robert-preston-chicken-fat.

Wheeze

An asthmatic kid with a penchant for reading instead of running, I was out of breath and wheezing like a steam engine by the end of the record. However, like most kids of that era, I spent more time outside than inside -- except during late summer, when my allergies flared and had to stay inside, praying for the first frost and the rapid death of my arch enemy: goldenrod.

I didn’t play with the other kids often or for long. I watched them, trying to understand what they were doing and why they were doing it. Playing silly games seemed a waste of time, when I could read exciting adventure stories or inspiring biographies of great people. It was then, at age eleven or twelve, that I began writing poems for my mom to read, based on the biographies I read and stories I made up from observing people. However, I never saw the point of Go, You Chicken Fat, Go!

I guess that’s why I remember it so well.

Good night, and God bless,

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1205

My Protector

As often happens these days, my day started a little late. As a consequence, Dante and I started on our 2.5 mile stroll around 11:00 a.m.. I have been slowly training him to the leash and teaching him to “stay with me,” i.e., walk next to or behind me and to one side. American Eskimo dogs are highly intelligent, extremely loyal, and more than a bit high-strung. He is also hyper-protective of his pack (that’s us -- or me).

I did not know that children would be coming home from school around noon. Dante is not well socialized and is especially skittish around groups of active and noisy kids.

Normally, I simply avoid the near occasion of contact with children and give wide berth to groups of youngsters. Today, however, buses were dropping small groups everywhere (like paratroopers behind enemy lines) and those exiting the buses for the last time this school year were in high gear and several were screaming in glee.

Dante was getting nervous and started pulling on the leash (a definite no-no in our walking relationship), which required me to stop, demonstrate we were not going anywhere until he stopped pulling, and to (finally) praise him for falling into line. Suddenly, a block ahead, a group of three or four young girls literally jumped off their bus and began shrieking, screaming, and jumping about -- obviously happy school was out -- this had my partner on his hind legs, straining against the leash and yapping in extreme excitement.

Five minutes later, cooled down and calm once again, we set out for the next corner.

Kamikaze on Blades

About ten minutes later, we were strolling past Tony’s Country Kitchen, smelling the pasties and thinking about lunch. My hearing is not so good, partially because of my tinnitus and because each footstep when I walk sounds like a bass drum in my ears, so I had no warning when a young lady on roller blades blasted past us from behind, brushing my shoulder and startling me. My protector went ballistic, leaping after The Flash on Skates and nearly pulling me off my feet. Like most dogs, Dante can read my mood and sense when I get nervous or angry. I was amazed at how quickly he read me and launched into protect mode.

I don’t wish to give up my route, mainly because there are three doggy doodoo receptacles along the path, which means I don’t have to carry bags of poo very far before I can deposit them. Soooo...as with last summer, I will have to get up much earlier and have our walks before such distractions are abroad.

And all this time, I expected not to complain anymore when the kids are out of school for the summer…

Good night, and God bless,

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1200

1,200 Days

What on earth is so special about 1,200 days? Well, in and of itself, nothing really. Still, when I woke up this morning, something about the sound of "Day twelve hundred" was special to me. One thousand two hundred days ago, we took a chance that I could live longer than the few weeks or months granted by four rounds of chemotherapy. Thanks to the skills of many medical professionals, the gift of stem cells from my brother, and the prayers of family and friends I didn't know I had, I received the building blocks of the blood currently coursing through my veins. I started on a journey, full of twists and turns, now fully twelve hundred days young and rollicking on towards a future I never expected to see.

Celebrate, Celebrate...

Celebrating...Mick style...

If I "Dance to the music," it best be a slow waltz. Almost a year and a half ago, during my last hospitalization, I was struggling to walk two laps of the corridor outside the door of my hospital room. Yesterday, Dante and I walked two and a half miles and thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the shade in Daniell Park. I think I've learned to appreciate and celebrate such small achievements, to mark them as they pass, and to share each small dram of joy as it graces my glass.

My trip from moribund to merry has not always been marked by sunshine and fair winds, and many of you have followed me down some dark and dreary paths into shadow and cryptic chill and challenge. I appreciate the company in the dark times and love to share the sunny days. I’m not a naturally jolly person -- my mother said I was “grim” as a child -- but I love life and lovely days -- all 1,200 of them!

Good day, and God bless!

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1190

Today is a special day! I was diagnosed with leukemia on May 26, 2010. Today I become a four-year survivor! Woohoo!
 

An Unexpected Battle

About an hour and a half ago, I was busy changing the battery for the upstairs smoke alarm. Thoroughly disgruntled about prying open the device to end the “chirping” which began an hour earlier, I used my screwdriver to brush an errant lock of hair out of my right eye, not realizing that: 1 -- my hair is too short to get in my eye, and 2 -- my hair does not move by itself.

I glanced to the right, and hovering in front of my face was a humongous, black wasp -- slightly out of sorts about being “brushed off” my forehead. Being a level-headed and calm person, I raised my screwdriver to do battle with the belligerent bug. Somehow, I tapped him with the tool, and he landed on a bedroom door to get his bearings.

As a technical writer, I know the value of a well-written and handy instruction manual, so I grabbed one that happened to be on a nearby shelf and applied the entirety of the instructions to his situation. Overwhelmed by the impact of all that data, he retired from the battlefield with severe injuries. He later was lost in a whirlpool and is presumed to have drowned.

Overcooked?

As I post this update, I realize I may have stayed out in the sun a bit too long yesterday. We were invited to a friend’s graduation party. Because my doctors granted permission to leave behind my cloistered existence on occasion -- and this being an occasion -- I ventured out into the brilliant, suddenly summer day to smile and mingle. I smiled (grimaced?) and mingled (talked incessantly) for a couple of hours, enjoying both the company and actual daylight.

However, my skin is telling me I may have overstayed in the warm sunshine, and will sleep tonight as extra-crispy Mick. There appears to be no sunburn, but very dry skin with a bit of a blush. As Marian is always saying, “Everything in moderation.”

I must remember that…

Good night, and God bless,

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1184

Deliciously Dim Morning

Dante and I achieved a milestone this morning. We took advantage of the foggy, dreary, misty morn to complete my 2.5 mile walk route for the first time in 2014! It was not a quick trip. Considering stops for me to catch my breath, blow my allergy-irritated nose, and avoid close encounters; as well as pauses for Dante’s waterworks and olfactory investigations; our stroll required more than an hour.

The mist helped reduce the pollen level, and the lack of bright sunshine allowed me to spend more time outdoors without concern for adverse health effects. Our longer walk permitted a more intense session of training to the leash. It is much nicer with Dante walking along beside and behind me, than Dante dragging me behind on a search-and-defend mission -- i.e., he is so protective, he feels compelled to defend his pack leader (me) against all comers.

Attitude

During our walk yesterday, we encountered a nice lady also walking her daughter’s dog. Dante greeted the other dog with aplomb and tolerated his handler without a single growl. Somewhat later, another nice lady walked past our slow-coach parade, and turned to say, “Oh, what I nice…” At which point, Dante went into his berserker mode -- snarling and yapping -- causing her to draw back in alarm and hurry on. Once comfortably a block or so ahead, she stopped, waiting for traffic to clear and allow her to scurry across the street and out of apparent danger.

I felt awful for her and terribly embarrassed.

I very much doubt he would actually hurt anyone, but cannot take any chances, so I keep him on a short leash and watch ahead to plan paths near, but not too close to others out for a walk. He needs exposure to people, so he understands there is no danger. During winter months, I am a hermit because cold air causes extreme problems with my lungs and because my near-senseless feet make slipping and falling a constant danger. Folks avoid visiting because I have to limit exposure during cold and flu seasons. Therefore, adventurous and courageous folks who drop by are treated to the pale and furry fury of a fuzzy kamikaze in full protective mode. As a result, he is not well socialized.

Squirrel!

I really like the animated film, Up. There is a running joke throughout the flick, about the uncontrollable response dogs have to seeing a squirrel. Since a squirrel has moved into our neighborhood, I have discovered the unfortunate truth hidden within the joke.

Twice now, Dante has sighted the squirrel crossing the road near our home and nearly pulled my arm off my body trying to chase after it. He will pull into the leash and stand on his hind legs for a better view -- and then walk down the street that way -- looking for the, “Squirrel!”

Working Out

In any case, a walk with Dante is always a workout for both the legs and upper body. There are unmistakable benefits for him and apparent health benefits for yours truly. I am grateful we did not try to find room in our home for a treadmill. One day, I may need to simulate walking outdoors, should my condition deteriorate further. However, for now I love the time outside and plan to find ways to spend more time out there.

Despite one doctor’s tongue-in-cheek suggestion, wearing a burka is not going to happen.

Thanks to all who continue to pray for us, and send us good thoughts. God bless,

Mick

Mick McKellar Update — Day +1156

11 Refills

It has been 56 days since I last posted an update. Although I have never been shy about writing what is on my mind, I found it difficult because I felt an overwhelming need to be profound, and my life as a Copper Country snow hermit has been at best, prosaic and tedious; at worst, mundane and uninteresting. True excitement saturated any day my medications did not cause diarrhea. Even my phone calls with friends and family included such tantalizing treats as reports on how many times I climbed the stairs to my room and how many feet of snow Marian shoveled in the past week. Profound was not found.

I am writing now because April 2014 has seen two seismic shifts in the bedrock of my path. On April 10, I visited with my doctor at Mayo Clinic after a full day of tests and was surprised to hear that my pulmonary function tests showed a slight improvement in lung capacity and in ability to process oxygen. The improvement is very small — at worst it indicates absolutely no loss of lung function and may indicate my limited exercises are bearing some out-of-season fruit. He also indicated that we can try a small reduction of my intake of CellCept — the anti-rejection medication that helps keep those redneck T-cells I received from my brother from raising a ruckus. We're watching for new rashes or other signs of discontent in their ranks. So far, all is quiet on the lymphocyte front.

It was also interesting to realize that my care regimen is shifting slowly from a focus on preventative and response care (although those remain important) to include consideration of long-term maintenance. February marked a year since I was last an inpatient. Although I have yet to know a day without pain, I have not screamed in more than a year. Because the snow and ice have retreated from the roads, I can once again take Dante for a walk — more a stroll really. We finally cracked the one mile limit this morning! 

In the three years plus since my transplant, I have learned to live in the moment and to not waste a second of any day. The future for me remains the prize behind curtain number three. And yet, something happened today that caused the second seismic shift in my daily life. It was a very small thing, almost invisible, and I had to put on my cheaters to see it clearly.

Today was delivery day for my monthly supply of Sprycel (dasatinib) — the specialty medication that helps keep my leukemia in remission. On the label, in the lower left corner was the simple phrase: 11 Refills. Previously that number increased from 3 to 5, but this change positively shouts at me that my physicians think I'll still be here — in a year! My atovaquone scrip was also renewed and I received it a couple of days ago, so I rushed to look closely at that label, and it said: 12 Refills — Woohoo! Apparently, I have been repackaged and my expiration date extended...

I received permission to begin attending church again — as long as I keep a distance from anyone coughing and sneezing, and I also received permission to do a little gardening — as long as I wear gloves and don't throw dirt in my face. However, blanket permission to dig around in my attic and basement was not forthcoming, and it seems I will still have to avoid spending time in musty old buildings — no point in tempting fate, I guess.

Although I still don't know if the glass is half-full or half-empty, I fully intend to enjoy the wine! Thanks for all the prayers and good thoughts!

Mick

Mick McKellar Update — Day +1100

Different Eyes
I wrote a poem this morning, Different Eyes, a poetic spasm that arose after reading one of those picture postings on Facebook, the ones with an image of a famous person and an inspiring (or aggravating) quote added by Photoshop or some such editing software. This time it was an image of the Dalai Lama XIV, and the following quote is apparently a real one. It was in response to a question about what surprised him the most about humanity.

“Man surprised me most about humanity. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.”
― Dalai Lama XIV

I wonder if he felt that way when he was simply Tenzin Gyatso (born 1935) and had to work at whatever was the Tibetan version of flipping burgers at Mickey-D's? Tibetan Monks were (are?) the top of the social structure and want for nothing much. When he formed a government in exile (in India) and sponsored guerrilla fighting against the Chinese, was he only living in the moment? Easy enough for old folks (myself included) to advise living in the moment — especially when our number of moments is dwindling. It is not so easy for a young man or young woman with a family to feed, to care for, and to shelter. The idea behind his words is a great goal, and I support it. However, a man so dedicated to serving humanity, should not be surprised by sacrifice to make a living.

I assume he was referring to the pursuit of money as an end in itself, not as the needed resource to provide basic needs and common comforts. Still, if he meant GREED, he should have said so.

Easy to be Hard
To be honest about it, I'm hardly in a position to be critical of anyone's personal truths. For the past three years, I have freely shared the scattered and not always coherent thoughts that strayed into my mind as I learned about myself through the lens of personal pain and the certain joy of surviving one challenge after another. I'm hardly the first person to experience CML up close and personal, and not the only person to find out how important friends and family can be when under duress from the threat of leukemia's fatal kiss.

I have learned to live in the present, in part because the present got my attention with a rather large 2x4, and I've been busy picking out the splinters ever since. However, my change of focus has produced a change of vision. By shedding my worries about the future and regrets about the past, I freed myself to deal with the present, allowing time to look around and, perhaps, duck the next 2x4.

Fortunate One
It has been 1,100 days since my transplant. I am a fortunate son, a fortunate father, and a fortunate grandfather. My family is grown and I have a partner to carry the load. I have children and grandchildren to carry the story forward. I have some time left, and I can spend at least part of it (that part not currently involved in wondering when the blasted snow will stop falling from the sky!) observing and commenting on what I see and what I hear.

Maybe some day, my image will show up on a social media page, festooned with a quotation I didn't say about life, religion, politics, or the human condition. Now that would be something to worry about....

Good day and God bless,

Mick