Good Blood, Bad Blood

“The future ain’t what it used to be”

Yogi Berra

I’m an early riser. I’ll drink coffee and read until the fog of sleep lifts. Recently, a dangerous heat wave blistered Oregon. So, I’ve taken to watering my plants early in the day. This spring, I eliminated the wildflower spaces. An invasive weed had begun to dominate the beds. I tilled the soil twice, covered it with landscape felt, and spread bark dust. Instead of plants in the ground, I am exclusively using pots. No more weeding! There are Daisies, lots of Coleus, and three colors of Rudbeckias.

I also have a long raised bench next to our driveway. More pots rest atop a bed of cinder rock. Pansies, Gerbera, Carnations, and decorative grasses entertain me. I water, I prune, and chat with these humble organisms. I apologize for the punishing heat. I promise to relieve their stress with H2O and fertilizer. I pick a bouquet of the Rudbeckias. They enjoy warm weather, but there is a limit. It’s best to harvest them in the cool of the morning. The cuttings look happy and the flowers add cheer to the kitchen table.

It’s summer, time for lemonade and barbecues. On Independence Day, in the midst of the worst heat, I enjoyed our town’s parade. Caballeros stole the show. Their decorative saddles, the prancing horses, and loud music blared beneath the flyovers of antique biplanes.

I attended two parties, one at a friend’s house following the parade. The other was hosted by my wife and I. Chicken, wild salmon, pasta salads, and etc. More food than a Thanksgiving feast. I am eating well, exercising, and sleeping soundly. I feel good.

Yet …, my cancer begs to differ. We monitor it with monthly labs. Therein lies an irony. We peer at the inner workings of my blood. It smirks back. Multiple myeloma is persistent. Smart and resourceful, most clinicians characterize it as incurable. One in five patients, however, do respond to treatment. They may manage the disease for sometime. I am among that cohort. We have successfully curtailed its progression for nearly seventeen years.

Over that span of time, treatment developments provided me with options. When one failed, another presented itself. I stayed ahead of the curve. There were remissions and relapses. Consequences sprouted from the drugs: neuropathy, anemia, ONJ, and pulmonary embolisms. Nonetheless, following an extraordinary treatment in December of 2022, I have been drug free for more than eighteen months. But, like that invasive weed in my garden, the cancer now needs attention.

There’s a process. I consulted with my oncologist. He consulted with a specialist. That doctor and I enjoyed a virtual visit via Zoom. Between the three of us we are formulating a plan. Just days ago, I underwent a sophisticated imaging procedure. From that information we will try and clear out the weeds. No doubt, it will be an infusion of a five syllable drug with several paragraphs of side effects. There will be supportive prescriptions and insurance approvals. Perhaps, even a period of hospitalization.

Meanwhile, there’s the ‘new normal’ of 21^st Century summers. In the morning, while picking flowers, other neighborhood critters perform their rituals. Songbirds awaken. Ravens chatter and fly from perch to perch. Mourning doves glide and croon. I fill the bird bath. A solitary bluejay barks at me, as if to say, “Thank you!” He’s also an early riser, like me.