The month of May has been far from merry these past two years. In May 2006, while undergoing treatment for AML Round 1, I developed a raging infection that landed me in the hospital, folding me in the frigid embrace of a "cooling blanket." As my fever flirted with 106, I seriously thought it was the end, and I was too sick to care one way or the other. Fortunately, the antibiotics kicked in and did their job. I was to take this drug intravenously twice a day for 6 weeks. Marty would hook me up in the morning, and then again after dinner. It became routine.
In May 2007 I relapsed, entering the hospital once again for a month-long shock and awe campaign. It was predictably nasty, and worse, I didn't go into remission. That would take a different weapon in the chemical arsenal. Another spring and summer passed in a chemo fog.
Seems as though May has become my cruelest month. Lilacs bloom and I think of death. But this May, the tests have been merciful. I seem to have all my blood cells in the correct amounts, no leukemia leering at me as I leerily observe Spring's finery. I should be merry, dance around a maypole, sing songs of rebirth. After all, I am reborn.