Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1800

1800 Days Ago

 

1,800 days ago: Controversy continued over the Oscars problems, Mike Huckabee was deciding to run for President, Blockbuster announced it was for sale, Libya's regime launched an attack on Tripoli, there was a deadly earthquake in New Zealand, and oh yes...Mick McKellar had a blood and marrow stem cell transplant.

That last item did not make the early or late news, even in Rochester, MN—where the wonderful medical staff of the Mayo Clinic hooked me up to two small bags of chilly yellowish stuff. Those two bags of gold were truly a gift of life from my brother, Kevin. After weeks of preparation and some nasty chemicals to destroy nearly all of my immune system, the magical moment was rather pedestrian and simple. They also left me with the unmistakable odor of creamed corn—fortunately, a temporary condition caused by the preservative for the stem cells.

That night, after returning to the Gift of Life Transplant House, I sent out an email to my friends and relatives:

Well folks, the transplant took place this morning, between 9 and 10:00 AM CST. I am now back at the Gift of Life Transplant House, dealing with the side effects as they arrive. The nurses and doctors said it went very well. Very tired now. Will post more tomorrow. Thanks, everyone for the prayers and good thoughts.

Mick and Some of Kevin McKellar

It was a few days after, when things became exciting.

Still Here, Still Fighting

I posted this update because I could not let a number like 1800 pass by without noting its sheer size. 1,800 days have passed since the transplant and I was allowed to live them all, despite several rather scary and disruptive digressions from the direct path to this date. Last time I checked, all but one of my compatriots at Gift of Life—those who grabbed the brass ring at the same time—have died fighting for their lives.

Blood and marrow stem cell transplants, while a marvelous, almost miraculous medical treatment, are not guaranteed life savers or life extenders. They are a gamble, but against an alternative that has a terrible downside. I had a choice: Have the BMT or have about 8 months to live.

Well, I am here and looking forward to February 21, 2016, which will be my 5th rebirthday. Thanks for everyone's good thoughts and good prayers.

God bless,

Mick

Mick McKellar Update -- Day +1795

2 X Good News

I had blood drawn and tested, then visited my local oncologist today. Once again, the numbers are within normal ranges! Each time I visit, however, my usually benign blood pressure makes a small jump. It seems likely that I harbor some apprehension which doesn't cloud my conscious mind.

Today was 2016's first test of my capacity to function outside the warm bubble of our home. Walking about was only slightly more difficult than I remember from warmer weather, so fears of collapsing in paroxysms of wheezing, gasping, and coughing were not realized. This also was good news. So, from where did the apprehension arise?

Poignant Flashback

By nature, I am not a fatalist, but I can be overwhelmed. May 26, 2010 was such a day. Prior to that date, six years of cold baths of reality—from the sting of lost jobs, to the ache of rejection letters, to the burning irritation of patronization by those who truly believed themselves a class above—enticed me to drift a short distance from shore, tethered only by a golden cord.

On that day in May, hearing my own name and the word leukemia in the same sentence severed that flaxen cord and sent me adrift on rough seas. Voices from my past echoed across the water, insidiously reminding me that leukemia is a death sentence. My initial response was conditioned: Roll into a ball and ride the tide to a messy and painful end.

That dread reaction lasted until I flat-lined, in the ambulance, on the road to Marquette. Everyone froze for a microsecond. The shock evaporated when we simultaneously noticed that one of the electrodes on my chest had fallen off because I was sweating. The resultant laughter broke the death spell and resurrected my Celtic fire and integral stubbornness.

Thus began the fight for my life.

Waiting for Shoes to Drop

Since that time, each visit for testing and evaluation, each time they look under the hood to ascertain the need for maintenance or overhaul, is like waiting for the other shoe to drop. (Folks lived in apartments where you could hear the upstairs folks taking off their shoes. One hit the floor and they awaited the inevitable drop of the other shoe.) Well, leukemia removed my first shoe in 2010. The second has not fallen yet, and I pray it never will.

Mick

Mick McKellar Update — Day +1778

Chilled
I like to sleep in a cool room, and cuddle down under good, warm blankets. However, recently I allowed my room to warm to the level of the other bedrooms on the second floor of our home. There is no insulation between rooms upstairs, and my refrigerated room adjoins my daughter's room. It was sucking heat from her space. Consequently, I adjusted to only one blanket.

Last night, probably while doing my usual somnambulist Olympic gymnastics, I managed to kick my blanket off my bed and slept for hours under only a sheet. Because of medications I take at bedtime, I slept very soundly, and did not wake for a full eight hours. As I swam upwards toward consciousness, I realized something was wrong. My heart rate was slower than normal for waking, and I found it difficult to move. Confused, I struggled to sit up and noticed for the first time that I had no blanket. My first thought was, "Why am I not shivering?" Our house is old and cold in the winter, despite the best efforts of a new high-efficiency furnace, and I spend a lot of time shivering. I should have been shivering.

I pulled back my sheet.

My feet were bright red and my fingers were numb. I knew that meant something, but my brain refused to get into gear and start grinding facts. Although I'm certain it was less than a minute, it seemed hours before my mind's alarms went off—I was in the secondary stages of hypothermia!

Action
It must have been a ridiculous sight, like a mannequin dressing himself, but I finally dressed. I included my largest and heaviest old, fat sweater (from my over 300 lb days), and rumbled down the stairs. I stumbled into the living room, scaring Marian half to death, looking all pale and moaning like a walking toothache. I slumped into my rocker and pulled a heavy, warm throw up to my chin. Marian cranked the heat up to 74°F (wasteful, wasteful) and we waited for the shivering to start.

First came a massive wave of pins and needles in hands, feet, legs, and arms. Then slowly I began to shake and quake enough to frighten Dante. Marian called him up into my lap, but the shaking frightened him off immediately. It took the better part of an hour for my core temperature to recover enough to allow me to make some Earl Grey and take my first wave of medications.

As I write this, my hands still ache and shake, but hot tea and a bowl of Malt-O-Meal have worked their magic. I still shiver, off and on, and the normal level of pins and needles in my feet and hands has resumed. I also realize how close I came to a real emergency. Staying indoors during the winter is about my body's inability to generate enough heat to counter the cold air in my lungs, and to conquer the heat loss in my extremities—as much or more than it is to evade contact with pathogens I cannot resist.

I have become fragile—a being brittle and breakable, in an environment hostile to my health. I am well. I am alive. Just don't bump me from the shelf, for I may shatter on the carpet.

Mick

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