DAY 26: CLEARING THE TREETOPS

SEPTEMBER 18, 2022 – (Cont.) Today marks Day 26 of my bone marrow transplant “marathon,” but as Yogi Berra famously said, “The game ain’t over ’til it’s over,” and to remind my readers, a marathon is 26.2 miles long. Accordingly, the finish line is an all-critical 385 yards—some 300 strides—beyond the 26-mile marker.

As I can attest from having run multiple marathons, at 26 miles, you feel like the pilot of a B-17 returning from a bombing run over Berlin in World War II. The aircraft has been shot to pieces by ack-ack and German fighter planes, and yet, the intrepid fighting machine remains aloft as the cliffs of Dover come into view. And though badly damaged and carrying an exhausted crew, miraculously, the plane limps over the English countryside until—even more miraculously—the wounded ship makes it to final approach at your home airfield. With two engines blown out, props feathered, and landing gear having to be lowered manually by Herculean effort, now all you have to do as captain is maintain enough airspeed and altitude to clear the trees until they yield to open space—and the threshold of the runway. “Come on, baby!” you shout aloud as you grip the yoke and pass over the 26-mile marker in the treetops. “Keep it together, keep it together!”

And every time, as pilot of that returning B-17, I landed—on the runway.

At mile 26 of my figurative marathon, I feel much better than at that stage of any running marathon. Today I hiked for 45 minutes, including a dozen “stair climbs” in “Little Switzerland.” And more notably, I didn’t need a nap afterward—or at any later time during the day. My taste buds seem to be recovering, as well.

To engage the brain, I initiated work on a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle, its assembled image being an 1896 physical map of North America.  To bolster my mood, I had rewarding email and phone conversations with family and friends. These exchanges helped immensely, especially against periodic checks of the latest news beyond my currently myopic horizons. Further, I delighted in nature’s paintbrush, palette, and canvas—and ever changing, unique wonders of light, color, and composition. While sitting on our porch in the late rays of the day, I admired the quiet scene, and absorbed and savored each moment.

Tomorrow I have what’s billed as my “BMT 28-Day Anniversary Appointment” with my primary BMT doc—my last stop at the U of MN Cancer Center (until 100 days out) before meeting again with my regular oncologist at Health Partners – Regions, who’ll oversee my post-transplant “maintenance” regimen. With the exception of this chronicle of my bone marrow (stem cell) transplant process, my figurative race against multiple myeloma really has no finish line. I’ll need to adhere to the “maintenance” regimen of medication and monitoring. And my immune system will remain compromised for some months to come—a whole year, with regard to such diseases as polio, chicken pox, tetanus, et cetera. The resultant precautionary measures I must observe will affect my wife, as well, and that is no small matter to me (she yearns for face-to-face interaction with people).

Nevertheless, I’ve cleared a major hurdle—those trees on the perimeter of the airfield; mile 26 of my metaphorical race against the side effects of my stem cell transplant.

After the plane pulls off the runway and powers down; once I’ve been discharged from the army air corps (yet a life-long member of the “reserves”), I’ll be able to resume “civilian” life with a vengeance. Look out! (Cont.)

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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson