Reunion

It’s been forty years since I graduated from high school.  Nearly all of my Washington friends are those I met in school.  As expected, many drifted apart but some stayed close for the thirty-four years I’ve lived in Alaska.  When I decided to attend my forty year high school reunion, I was mainly concerned that I would see a bunch of old folks in attendance.  The truth was, everyone looked great and they seemed to be the same people as they were in high school.

As far as my time of being sick with myeloma, I certainly didn't bring it up but many heard about it and some were even surprised to see me, still breathing and relatively healthy.  There was a sad list of friends who didn't make it to the age of fifty-eight.  It was difficult to read those names, mostly because they died early and were wonderful people.  It was selfishly difficult because I knew that I could have and maybe should have been on that list.  I think having cancer and seeing people die around me doesn’t make me fear death but it certainly makes me cherish life.  I’ll fondly say goodbye to those who are gone but I’ll grasp the friendship of those who are living.  We’ll all cherish life together.

Goodbye to: Tommy, David, Ty, Dwight, Carrie, Richelle, Ann, Brett, Jim, Peter, Bill, Deanna, Charlie, Laurie, Ross, Greg, Kerry, Charles and Vernon.

Life moves on

As life moves on with more distance between switching out my old diseased blood with new blood from a total stranger, I'm beginning to see a more realistic view of multiple myeloma.  I am compelled to admit that I currently HAVE multiple myeloma. Even though I've told anyone who asks that it's pretty much gone from my body, the truth is, it's not curable.  Less than half of myeloma patients live more than five years after diagnosis.  The chances of a return of serious sickness is almost a certainty.

When people ask "How are you doing?" regarding the cancer, I'm not able to answer with the truth according to science.  I answer with my own truth, the way I want to live my life and the only way I know how to move on.  The daily pains don't really exist if I don't let them change my way of life.  Pain is nothing more than my body saying there is something wrong here.   I answer with "No kidding.  You just had a bone marrow transplant.  Your blood belongs to somebody else.  Now lets move on and do something fun!"

A myeloma support group sent me a link of well over a hundred shirts and mugs with sayings about myeloma.  Some are religious, some are in memory of a lost loved one.  Three of the phrases stuck me as being close to home.

https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=649988498475097&id=493615150779100&set=a.663122670495013.1073741831.493615150779100&source=54

I'm always scared to say
how I really feel
No one wants to hear
"It's getting worse."
Everyone wants to hear
"It's finally better."
But, what if it isn't?
What if I'm lying?

I may have Multiple Myeloma
But Multiple Myeloma does not have me

While in the clinic for several months, this last saying defined how I got through the sickness each day.  I remember forcing a smile whenever I saw others.

Just because you see a smile on my face
doesn't mean I'm not in pain
It means that I'm not willing to let my 
Multiple Myeloma steal my life.

Admitting that I still have the disease doesn't change anything.  I'll still tell you that I'm fine and there isn't anyone who can convince me otherwise.