Drinking Coffee Somewhere

Tick tick tick. God I hate time. It's predictably regular and annoyingly inexorable. Time does not take a coffee break. And if you happen to take one, well, you've been left behind and will have to leap into the future to get back on track. That lump of Time you jumped over will never be yours. It's gone, and all you can do is shrug and get back on the line.

Why is she writing this nonsense?

Reader, you will know in due time. That word again.

It's a bright Sunday morning; everyone's asleep. So calm and peaceful. I took my anti-bone crumbling pill an hour ago and then busied myself until I could have my first cup of coffee. I disinfected the sink, which seemed like a noble if mindless thing to do. I read my email, only to find that a friend from another lifetime died on March 13. Sharon also liked to drink coffee, and often brewed me a cup or two. Sharon is off the timeline now, permanently exited and no longer subject to its rules.

Would you have me weep at this news instead of dispassionately reporting it? I cannot do so many things at once. After all, I'm drinking coffee and worried about where those seconds and minutes are going. If only I could scoop them up and put them in the pocket of my wool robe to nestle with the moist crumpled tissues, safely stored and ready to be used as needed at some future date.

Don't worry, I'm not going to get all carpe diem on you, although if that's how you wish to interpret my words, be my guest. I'm still drinking coffee and thinking about Sharon, how she was smart and an excellent cook, and possessed a bullshit-blasting wit.

I will now re-enter the mortal coil, which in spite of its three-dimensional circular aspect, cannot shake Time.

The Boston Marrowthon

My friend Ann forwarded a message to me about a bone marrow drive being held in Brookline, Massachusetts this Sunday, April 19 and Monday, April 20. A little girl named Eve needs a donor, and it could be you.

If you live in the Boston area, I urge you to attend The Boston Marrowthon.

Thanks in advance from someone who is writing these words today due to the generosity and selflessness of strangers.

Dates of Note in March

I want to give a shout out to several dates in the month of March. Three years ago, on March 24, 2006, I was diagnosed with leukemia. I'm still here. Just a week ago, I forgot to celebrate the 18-month anniversary of my transplant. Have I grown complacent or what?

The further I get from the nightmare, the more I realize how lucky I am. Approximately 70% of adults diagnosed with Leukemia die from it. Someone has to be in that 30% survivor group, and it looks like I've made the cut. Little Voice Inside My Head adds: for now.

On March 12, my daughter Mariel turned 21. The moment she was born was one of the most notable of my life.

I'd also like to recognize that March 15 is Leah Ryan's birthday. Leah was a blogging buddy of mine who died of leukemia in June 2008. She would have been 45 today, but time has stopped for Leah.

Luckemia

Luck seems to play a role in determining who survives leukemia and who doesn't. It's a bad-luck disease for sure. Relatively rare, and except for exposure to benzene or excessive radiation, its causes are unclear. The survival rate for adult leukemia is discouraging, although it's better than for some other diseases. The treatment is harsh and sometimes fatal. You can be "cured" of leukemia and expire from the side effects.

I've been ruminating about why some people survive leukemia and others (more) don't. Sometimes it's the aggressiveness of the disease. Sometimes it's geography. Sometimes it comes down to a single microbe. My leukemia responded well to chemotherapy. I live in an area with easy access to excellent treatment facilities and top doctors. I somehow dodged the germs that might have erased all my other "lucky" circumstances.

Pardon my negativity. I've witnessed far too many valiant fights where leukemia has been the victor. There are successes, to be sure. I'm one of them, for now at least. I hope my luck holds, that my retrofitted immune system continues to search and destroy lurking mutant clones.

There's no time for hand-wringing though. You can up the odds for someone battling leukemia by giving blood, becoming a bone marrow/stem cell donor, donating money to groups fighting for a cure.

This is your lucky day.

Take These Broken Wings And Learn To Fly

I'm going out on a limb, taking a leap, turning my back on leukemia, and flying off to who knows where. Before you accuse me of false bravado, wishful thinking or serious delusion, let me explain.

Yesterday I went for bloodwork and saw my doctor at Dana Farber. I was last there in November. My labs were all normal, and we had nothing of a medical nature to discuss. I told him I feel as good or better than I'd felt pre-leukemia. He was very pleased and said I didn't have to return until, get this, September!

No lab tests, no meds, no nothing. I'm leaving the nest. Goodbye.

I've now been in remission for 19 months. I know I'm not considered "cured," but I've decided to go with the premise that I am. I've had enough of leukemia and I hope it's had enough of me.

Before I left Boston, I went over to the hospital where I had my transplant to visit a friend who had a transplant there last week. She looked great, and I know she's getting excellent care. Then I went to the wing where I spent a month back in September 2007 to see if any of the nurses who cared for me were on duty. Mona was there, and was she happy to see me. I told her all the good news, but probably didn't need to say a word. I am the picture of health, not a picture she sees very often. Most of the patients on the floor are quite sick, as I was some 17 months ago. I thanked her for her fine work and asked her to let the other nurses know that I'm doing well.

I'll have to land soon, but right now I'm soaring.

12354

I think about my parents, my mother mostly. I think about the years gone by. My great grandfather died at age 27, before the days of penicillin . My mother, who had lung cancer, left this world at age 53. When I was first diagnosed with leukemia, I was sure I was going to copy her. But here I sit, staring 55 in the face. Today is my birthday and I think about the past and dare to look into the future. I don't know if I'll have a happy birthday, but I'll have a birthday and that's enough.

Back in the Classroom

Last night I did something I haven't done in 20 months (yes, I count them!). I stood in a classroom at the library and taught an English class to a group of adults whose native languages are not English. The topic for the month of January is health, so I decided to focus on nutrition and diet. I had so much fun, I floated out of the classroom at the end.

Three of the women had been my students in the past, so it was a wonderful reunion. Twice I had had to leave teaching: in 2006 when I was first diagnosed with leukemia, and then again in May 2007 when I relapsed. My return to teaching was a homecoming of sorts. It was also another milestone on my road to recovery. If I can teach in a public library, I figure I've reached a new level of wellness.

I never intended to be a teacher. I doubt I could teach children because they bring out the W.C. Fields in me. Teaching adults who are highly motivated is easy and fun. I identify with their struggle to learn a new language in adulthood, as I had when I found myself living in a Spanish-speaking country in my 40's. I also love language, and playing with it. Here are some of the quotes I put on the board last night.

• One should eat to live, not live to eat.

• I'm on a seafood diet. I see food and I eat it.

• Stressed spelled backwards is desserts.

• Bigger snacks, bigger slacks.

Not one of my students knew the meaning of the word slacks. We native English speakers assume it's a common word, but it's not. Homophones (seafood, see food) can be a minefield for new language learners. More than once I've tripped upon the Spanish word papa, which depending on the syllable you stress means daddy or potato.

I'm teaching again tonight, although this is only a substitute gig, not a permanent return. I've asked my class to come in prepared to share a recipe, something easy to make that's healthy. I hope they tell us how to make foods from their own countries. If there's time, I may explain how to make granola.

I like these comebacks. I crawled through part of the trip, then shuffled. But last night I stood there tall, smiling, and full of energy.