SEPTEMBER 17, 2022 – (Cont.) Today marks the 25th mile of my bone marrow transplant marathon. As a professor said at the outset of my second year of law school, “Now you’ll finish whether you like it or not.” His point to us students was that we now had such a vested interest in our course of study, there could be no turning back. We’d scrape, crawl, roll, or otherwise drag ourselves to graduation, however beaten up and exhausted (or, in my case, bored to tears) we then felt. With greater confidence than I had as a law student, I will now “finish whether I like it or not.” Besides, as in a running marathon, when you reach 25th mile, an odd mix of endorphins, adrenalin, and sheer desire will carry you home, no matter how much your legs feel like Jello.
What’s very similar about say, running the Boston Marathon and running the Bone Marrow Transplant Marathon, is that both endeavors force the participant to focus on the immediate. Another way to express the marathoner’s state of mind is “extreme myopia.” To maintain momentum, to extend endurance, to exert mental control over physical pain and strain, you can’t think about all the things you could think about. You can’t think about school, work, things you’ve neglected to do, things you’d like and plan to do. You can’t dwell on the world’s problems or any of your own many issues outside the one to which you’re then required to dedicate every ounce of focus, effort, and energy.
In the case of the Bone Marrow Transplant Marathon, you’re constantly thinking about making it to your next daily appointment, taking your medications on time, staying hydrated, eating the right foods and avoiding the wrong ones, washing your hands every time you turn around—and for a full 15 seconds too; putting the damn KN95 mask on—correctly—before stepping out of the house, and constantly monitoring how you feel, in case your temperature rises to the “alarm” level of 100.4F, as it did for me halfway into the race.
These seemingly simple, mundane tasks become all-consuming. Vastly diminished in importance is news of a troubled and troubling world.
As I round the corner toward the finish of my immediate, metaphorical marathon, I realize that I must begin to expand my horizons again. I must look beyond self, beyond my daily line-up of meds, beyond . . . my myopia.
The older one grows, the more difficult the task. With age comes a decline of the body, despite best efforts to buy health and therefore, time. But if the lactic acid in the legs signals to the brain, “You need to slow down!” you must summon the determination to keep moving, no matter what. For if you succumb to the temptation to rest, to walk, to forgo your momentum, you will find it far more difficult to resume your pace.
In the days ahead, mindful of my continuing vulnerabilities, I will work to keep moving. But truth be told, I do need a rest—mentally, as well as physically. (Cont.)
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
