Simple Sunday

I ended up having this head/sinus cold thing.  Not debilitating but still not great. I haven’t been to the gym as I don’t want to be THAT person I glare at who’s snotting away over by the weight machines.  Maybe tomorrow if my nose dries up:)

The only logical place I got this was the hospital as I didn’t go out Monday, Tuesday was the procedure,  went to the gym Thursday but then starting getting sickish Thursday.  so that’s about the right incubation time 2 -3 days. Oh well, it’ll pass.

I changed my labs till tomorrow but I’d guess my WBC will be affected with a cold. The other tests aren’t really affected by a virus.

I did walk this morning and that was ok.

Barclay’s official last day of work was Friday. The end of 25 years with UNFI. I still wish it had been different that it wasn’t because of getting MDS and then having an allo transplant but life is what it is. Since we don’t have a much in the way of retirement it’ll be challenging but  I guess we’ll do ok. If not we could always sell and go rent. Although rents are way more than our mortgage in this area. So who knows really.

Today is the super bowl and my son has a Hulu account so he’s going to log in and maybe we can catch some of the game. We used to love Super bowl and back in the day watched the games. I guess we stopped that, maybe 10 years ago. It started to just seem like they were Roman games with gladiators and kinda weird.

This coming week is open and that will be nice. I’m going to go to the Nevada Co library for some holds.

I might go to Ikea this week if the pantry I want is in stock. It comes and goes pretty quickly. Our space is so limited that it has to be a certain size and this one has on an open shelf for a microwave. We don’t use the microwave much except for popcorn and heating leftover coffee. I can make popcorn on the stove and its quite easy but sometimes the convenience of a bag wins.

I finished our taxes which were very easy as there wasn’t much in taxable income. With SS income and the money paid out from B’s sick leave( he had taxes taken out on this, thus the refund) so we’ll get a small refund. That’s why I feel okay getting the Ikea pantry which is about $200.

Here’s the marmalade I made.


the one jar lid is one from last year and I will put this one in the fridge.


It came out really well and has a beautiful color. I stopped at Whole Foods but they did not have Sevilles.  These were just navel oranges from the store.  Next time I would slice the rind super thin.


Plus 2 small jars for the fridge as well. I still have 4 more organic navels from Whole Foods so I might do another batch.

This week is the kitchen zone if you follow Flylady.  I will start but probably wait till I feel better to finish it.


Countdown to chemo 5: Third significant cold this year

Loving AutumnAutumn 2012

Earlier, this month I learned that my cancer is back. I’m worried about my upcoming chemo treatment for a number of reasons, but in this post I’ll focus on my health. I’m going through my 3rd significant cold this year. Generally, I don’t get colds, so having three colds in the same year is troubling. My throat is pretty sore from coughing and my nose has been blown alot of times. I don’t have a fever so it isn’t an infection, but it is tough going right now. I feel like my health is going downhill paralleling the rise of my cancer levels. As multiple myeloma is a cancer of the blood plasma (white blood cells that fight infection), it will compromise my immune system. I’m now really worried about getting a cold during chemo. I can’t afford warm clothing (scarf, toque) or medication right now, which I know is contributing to my being sick twice in the last 5 weeks. Maybe I can find a clothing charity in town.

The other concern is that I’m always cold. Inside, I like to keep my hood on when wearing my hoodie. In a perfect world, it would be 15C inside and 25C outside everyday. I’m assuming this is related to my multiple myeloma. I wish I could warm up my blood somehow. What I like to do through the day is drink lady grey tea, which I love. That does help keep me warm and happy. Although this photo is with tea bags I have been drinking loose leaf for about a year now.

Lady Grey TeaLady Grey Tea

To recap: I have Multiple Myeloma, a rare blood cancer. It is incurable, but treatable. From February to November 2013, I received Velcade chemo through weekly in-hospital injections as an outpatient. It was a challenging year.

I also love photography and use it for personal health and healing. You can view my photos on Pinterest.

Springspotting at UBCSpringtime at UBC

The post Countdown to chemo 5: Third significant cold this year appeared first on Fade to Play.

Gimme Shelter

I was freezing. The temperature was in the low forties but when you have no place to be, no money to work with and no knowledge of the town you’ve just arrived in, well, the low forties can be awfully cold. I was in someplace called Yoncalla. It was north of Roseburg by thirty or so miles and I’d arrived there via thumb express, which is to say I hitched a ride with some guy in a pickup truck in Grants Pass. He dropped me off in the tiny center of his town before driving off to his home, lamenting that his wife would be annoyed that he was late. I think he said that more for my benefit by way of explaining why he wasn’t offering me a couch to sleep on. That was okay, I mean the guy had just hauled me up from Grants Pass, getting me closer to my destination in Portland, Oregon. I had friends there, and maybe could get a place to crash while I found a job and got a paycheck going. Then I could get a place of my own.

But right at the moment I was shivering and my teeth were chattering and I was pretty tired. Except for dozing off a few times as I scarfed rides from San Francisco, I hadn’t gotten any real sleep. There was a bus kiosk up ahead and I went to it, using it to block the breeze that was making the cold even colder. I stood in it shaking and looking around for ideas. My eyes lit on a church steeple, the building looked to be a couple blocks away.I pulled my Levi jacket together around me and set off toward the church. They’d help me. That’s what churches were all about, right? Helping the downtrodden, being the good samaritan and all.  The church was dark, no lights showing at all. I went to the front door and found it locked. The same was true of the other doors I found making my way around the building. Huh, I thought. I always figured God’s house was open to all seeking comfort. The next few minutes showed me the flaw in my thinking.

A guy across the street stepped from his house. He was wearing an open robe and carrying what looked like a shotgun. “What the hell you doin’ boy?” he yelled. I replied as how I was looking for a little help, just a place to stay the night and be on my way in the morning. He told me to get my degenerate ass moving and racked the shotgun. “Can you just tell me how to find the pastor?” I asked. He told me he was the pastor and to get to putting one foot in front of the other. Kind of disillusioning, but I walked up the street, shuffling along the sidewalk and wondering what to do. Man, I was cold. I got two blocks up when I decided. I crossed over a block and made my way back toward the church, coming up behind it. It was black with shadow in the rear and I got down on my hands and knees and began to check the casement windows that led to the basement of the building. The third one was loose and I used the give to add some force and managed to pop the window open. I slid in through the foot high opening and walked my hands down the wall. I stood up, closed the window and it cocked itself back open. I found a piece of paper and folded it up to make a wedge and putting it between the window and the frame, shoved it closed. It stayed shut and looked, I expected, like it had before I used it to get in.

I was warming already, the basement being where the furnace was and the firebox cast a warm looking yellow glow that let me make out shapes. There were chairs and tables stacked up all over along with what looked like kitchen goods. Big pots and pans, collandars and the like. After a bit of exploring, I found some moving blankets and used them to make myself a nest behind the furnace. I figured it might help to hide me in case someone made a cursory look-see. After all, I wasn’t sure how eagle eyed the pastor was or if he kept an eye out for me. I relaxed a bit after a half hour went by, but then heard a car. It pulled to the front of the church and stopped, and I could hear footfalls. Glancing out the window, I gasped at the sight of a police cruiser. The cop had his big flashlight and was walking around the building looking for signs of me, I guessed. I leaned hard against the wall so if the cops shone his light in he wouldn’t be able to see me, the angle was all wrong. But he was tapping the window cases with his boot toe, checking for loose windows. When he came to my window I held my breath. He boot kicked out but the window didn’t budge.

“You see anything Alf?” I heard someone call out. It was the pastor.

“Nope. looks okay to me. Sid you see him go into the church?” asked the cop.

“Nah, he went off up the street, but I figured he might’ve come back. I called you just to be on the sure side. Gut had a no good look to him, maybe had him a gun or a knife but I put the fear into him with the old pumper here. I figure he’s up ahead someone looking for a place to shoot up his drugss or get into some kind of mischief. Vandalizin’ or something.”

“You see him with a paint can?”

“Nah, but he coulda had anything in the cost o’ his. With his sort it don’t pay to be relaxed. all them hippies coming north with their drugs and sex diseases.”

“Well, I’ll look for him up the way. God love ya, Rev’rend.” said the cop as he got in his car.

“God loves and forgives us all, deputy.” said the pastor. The car moved off and soon their was just the quiet of the night. I still waited a half hour before laying on my pile of pads. Almost as soon as I lay down, I was asleep.

When I woke the light coming through the windows was dim in the just before sunrise grayscale. I put the pads back where I’d found them and made my way up some stairs and found myself looking at rows of pews. Little racks on the backs held hymnals for the people sitting behind them and I spend a minute wondering where the front row got their books from. But I decided not to waste any time and just hurry on out and get gone. This was not a town friendly to strangers. I moved to the front of the church and the altar, which was actually the back end of the building. There was a box by the door labeled “Church Social Donations.” under that it said “Help the less fortunate.” I thought that was mighty kind and looked in the box. A number of bills and coins added up to $62 and change and so being less fortunate, I helped myself to a $20 bill. Then cracking open the back door, I looked to see any activity. There was no one around, it still being early. My watch said it was 5:30 am. I sidled out the door, closed it and latched it behind me and jogged to the sidewalk where I took up a fast paced walk back toward the center of town. The I-5 was just ahead and a truckstop sat next to the on and off ramp. I went in and ordered some coffee and a muffin.

I was just finishing up when a deputy came into the dinette and scanned the place. His eyes rested on me and then he came over and took a seat next to me. “Howdy, son.” he said. “I don’t believe I recognize you. You vising here?” I said no, I was making my way up to Portland and had just gotten left off. It’s illegal to hitch hike the freeways and probably the town streets as well. But there’s no law in approaching people at rest stops, truck stops and other places people pull off the highway to ask for a ride. “So, what time last night did you pull in?”

“Wasn’t last night, I said. Just a little while ago. Hopin’ to catch a ride up to Portland from here.”

He asked if I had ID and I did and gave it to him. It was a valid California driver’s license and I backed it up with a VFW card, having just gotten out of the army nine months earlier. His attitude began to change when he saw I was former army and asked if I’d been to Vietnam. I told him yeah, I was with the 101st Airborne. He told me thanks for my service, hefted himself off the stool and went back out to his patrol car and left. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was startled when a man put his hand on my shoulder. Turned out he was offering me a  ride to Portland and could use the company. I paid my bill and would have paid his, but he’d already paid and so we went out and climbed into his big Kenworth and lumbered out of the truck stop and up onto I-5. We were singing along to Kris Kristoferson’s Bobby McGee as we rolled into the Rose City.

Two days later I’d been hired on as a news director and DJ for a radio station, and per the plan moved into my own studio apartment two weeks after getting into town. I spent the next fifteen years in the Portland/Vancouver area where I worked radio, played drums for a rock and roll bar bad, became a mechanic and found a girlfriend. The nights were a lot warmer since pulling out of Yoncalla as 1969 was about to turn into 1970. It marked the end of my destitute days but not my adventure days. Yet I still thing of that pastor, his shotgun and a deputy happy to roust me till he could associate me with something very no-hippy like. In the low money days between discharge and the slow beginnings of an actual life, I got the meet face to face with the dichotomy that is America, Good people who can be downright ugly, even evil, depending on the slightest of catalysts to change the end mix.  My travels took me back to the area to work a radio station in Roseburg, but like Yoncalla, it didn’t fit with my idea of what American towns should be. They seemed to be a lot like the opposite of what I’d joined the army to defend and protect.

But nothing in lie is ever linear. There are no straight lines, no real black and white. It’s all shades of gray –and wouldn’t you know that would be the color of depression.


The Sniffles



Stop what you are doing right now

I have a cold. I am talking bogies, phlegm, sneezes and a lost voice, sort of cold. Well, I do not have it now, I had it two weeks ago, but I did not think to tell you about it at the time because it as just a cold, and unless you are an attention seeking weakling, a cold is not a big deal. Everything about my cold felt familiar, which is to be expected given the fact that I am 29 years old and I thus have been around bugs and other peoples’s snot for 29 years. You know what I am talking about, the colds, they are pretty common.

With this cold, my first cold post transplant, I did not want to create a fuss, why would I? After all the side effects I have experienced, I actually find the symptoms of a cold quite pleasant, for they do not distinguish my body from everybody else’s the way everything else does. You know what I experienced with it, because you have had one too, there is nothing sinister about a blocked nose and a croaky voice is super sexy, unless you cough something up with it.

In my mind, having a cold was good, I have longed stopped washing my hands when I touch a door that is not in the compound. Opening up my body to some lesser bugs, builds up my immune system, right? I do not want to live in a protective bubble. I am far too lazy and far too restless in equal measure.

Even though I thought my cold was no big deal, from others, I sensed panic. Oh my gawd, beware of the snot, she has cancerrrrr and a compromised immune system! At first I was told to monitor it (I went and sat in rooms full of strangers and air conditioning instead), then I had to postpone my counselling because other cancer patients do not like colds, and then, I got quarantined and put on antibiotics as a precaution. Normal people don’t get that, they get Lemsip or the supermarket equivalent if they are feeling thrifty. I experienced vigilance.

So the moral of this story is that I cannot just have a cold. I cannot suffer in silence. I have to ring a bell and wear a sandwich board, and winter is coming…. Sniff, sniff.



I got my scooter stuck in the snow. The hysterically funny part is that the snow was all of 1 inch deep. But when I pushed my go button, the wheels just spun and left me right where I was. I tried rocking my weight forward and back and then side to side, but no go. I ended up on my feet behind the scooter, trying to use it to support me as I worked the joystick to control movement.  Still no go. I was sitting back in the chair considering my predicament when a couple came walking up, their dog on a leash. They were in their late sixties or so, out for a stroll.  Seeing my problem, the man came forward to push the scooter while I worked the joystick. For a few wonderful inches this worked. And then the scooter stopped abruptly and threw me forward and onto the snowy ground. “Oh, God.” said the man. “Oh, dear.” said the woman. “That really sucked,” I said, spitting out some snow.  The guy apologized all over himself and I brushed it off along with a load of snow. “It’s okay,” I said. “The ground broke my fall.” He looked at me a moment and then he smiled and told me he was glad I was okay.  Between us, we managed to get the scooter to a bare spot of asphalt where we said our goodbyes and each went on our way. I managed to get about a half a block before I found myself stuck again. Since I was only a block from home, I called my wife on my cell and told her I was stuck and where I was. A moment later I saw her poke her head out the front door, scanning up and down the road. I waved and she returned it. Another moment and she came out putting on her parka. “This is why you have a car that carries your scooter.” she said. “Well, I was just getting some air and went to the end of the block and back. It’s just too slick out here. With her pushing and me working the controls, we got it into the house ten minutes later. Sometimes it’s the little things that can make or break a day. Normally a handy thing to have, my scooter just proved it could be a wicked sadist. Which is one of those things we muse over, like not getting cold as a kid.

Peterborough United vs Middlesborough F.C. ⚽

Please note, for consistency, this blog was written yesterday.

My Myeloma has prevented me from doing so many things I have planned to do. I imagine as my treatment progresses, I will miss out on more activities and more things I have always done. This week, I have been willing my body to allow me to do one thing, mentioned in passing before my diagnosis, but it became something, especially in the last month, that I had to do. The thing was a football match. I’ll be honest with you now, this is not something I have always done. I do not follow a team. I only have a basic knowledge of the offside rule. Is it even a rule or is it several rules? At least I know enough not to call it soccer.

It was touch and go this morning. My body was not playing ball. I was ill. I was experiencing pretty immense stomach cramps, which had plagued me since the previous evening. I felt the best way to manage this was to lie on my bed and ask it to go away, not forever, just a few hours. It eventually worked, I cannot tell whether it was mind over matter or the pills I took. The cure does not matter, all that matters is that my body allowed me to go out. Boy, was I excited. It is amazing how my brain now puts pressure on my body to work. I just hope it does not put pressure on others as well.

Well I was, and I arrived in Peterborough City Centre a mere 90 minutes late. The point is, that I arrived. I arrived after Mamma Jones had forced me to wear a woolly hat. Middlesborough, Jack and three members of Jack’s family were waiting for me on a barge, ready to see Peterborough United (also known as Posh) against Middlesborough Football Club. The latter, it would appear, go by several other names as I heard during the match. I quite like ‘Red Army’. We’ll just call them that for now.

For somebody who was born in Peterborough and spent most her life in the area, I was somewhat disappointed by the home supporters. They were quiet. Very quiet in comparison to the supporters who had travelled from Middlesborough. How do I put this, the Middlesborough supporters were, active. My, can they chant. They appear to dislike Sunderland, I wager that the Posh supporters are not that fussed about Sunderland either. I spent most the match fascinated by the fans in the terrace and thankful that Middlesborough had sacrificed standing amongst the hearty supporters to sit with me, where it was safe in the Northstand Block A.

Look at them all jumping up and down, the Red Army had just scored something called a ‘goal’. The men in the orange coats were there to stop us invading the pitch, if only they knew.

This shot is reminiscent of a scene from ‘Babe’.

I did learn that I am not one for shouting during sporting events. I may have said ‘noooo’ a few times and ‘yes’, but that was the extent of my verbal participation. I felt uptight. Others, were more free with there encouragement and I will now spend the next month trying to appropriately squeeze ‘stick it in the mixer’ into a conversation.

It was actually a good match. Five goals were scored and I thoroughly enjoyed the hissy fit the Peterborough goalkeeper had after the first goal. I think he felt the defence let him down. The score was 3-2 to Middlesborough, but Posh did put up a reasonable fight despite one player’s attempt at goal ending up on the outside of the ground.

At half-time, we had a steak and ale pie and a cuppa. I am told this is what is done at a football match and it was grand. Just look at my face. It is clear that I am a fan of a piping hot dirty pie and a builder’s tea. I really think sometimes I would be the perfect girlfriend, if I was being stereotypical and assuming that all men liked football, a pint and a meat pie that is.

In a crowded place, wear a bright colour so that others in your party can easily identify you amongst the crowd.

As with all occasions when I have fun now, I have to battle my emotions. On the one hand, I am glad to have gone out and I am most thankful to Helen and Jack for coming up and looking out for me. FYI walking down a busy street with Middlesborough is like walking with a chivalrous man from the nineteenth century. I walk on the inside. On the other hand it reminds me of my former life and how much I miss it. God, I miss my life. Six months ago, I would have been drunk going into that match, which would have been fine because there was no queue for the Ladies, and I would have been in the terrace being elbowed in the face. Sleep would come not through lethargy, but because I passed out. Not now. I have to accept that thought, let it enter my brain and quickly move it out. I have come to the decision that it is better to do things and temporarily miss something that is lost, then just sit at home and wallow. I am better than that and so is My Network.

And with that, for those of you who are not football fans, below is a photograph of this evening’s twilight.



Unforeseen Side Effects

The stupid van was late again. He hated it when the van was late, it just added to the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability that draped over him like a wet blanket. At times it was almost suffocating. He sat in the wheelchair, looking a lot smaller than his five foot eight inch height. His brown hair had turned gray at the temples, but it wasn’t a distinguished look. Not with the scraggy way his hair had grown back after chemotherapy caused him to lose it –leaving him bald as a cue ball for fourteen long months. He still wore a hat, a habit after wearing one so long to hide his baldness. Actually, the bald part wasn’t so bad as getting there, when his hair came out in bunches and left him looking mangy and diseased. The chemo had dried his skin out as well, leaving him with patches of flaking areas that rained dry skin flakes from his head to his shoulders like dandruff gone berserk. Once weighing in at 180 pounds, he was a slight 102 now, his muscles atrophied, consumed the same way the cancer had consumed his entire body. He was being eaten alive.

It was a blustery day, snow flurries on and off were driven by a cold wind that cut through the coat he wore and chilled his legs through his pants. If he’d had his druthers, he’d have stayed home today, but the doctor made an appointment for a reason and so he came. He rode his scooter the six blocks from his apartment to the outreach center where he parked his scooter in a storage room and was helped into a wheelchair by a volunteer and loaded into the step van that made a courtesy circuit for a number of disabled veterans, getting them to their appointments various places around town. It was almost haphazard, appointments of some causing delays that built up and affected the others on the van. He appointment had been over for nearly forty minute, leaving him sitting on the corner, shivering, and waiting for his ride.

He felt a presence from behind him and arms reached to either side and unlocked the chair’s brakes. He felt himself start to move and spoke over his shoulder that it was about time they picked him up, he was freezing his ass off. His comment brought no reply and he craned his neck around to look at the van driver and attendant pushing him along. But the man he saw wasn’t the driver he expected, it was someone he didn’t know. Even with the quick glance he knew something was amiss. He was being pushed by a scruffy looking kid, maybe eighteen, maybe more. He had that look of life wearing heavily, like the countenance of a drug addicts. He noted the greasy look to the coat worn by the man, a look that said it had been a long time since it had seen a cleaning, the cuffs frayed and threadbare. “Who’re you?” he asked. But still he got no reply. He began to look up and down the street, but there was no one in sight, just a few cars, their windshield wipers trying to stay ahead of the wet flurries that had been growing in intensity along with the wind. They were moving pretty quickly now, faster than he liked and his fear was adding to the chill he felt, it was making his legs shake almost uncontrollably. “Where are you taking me?” he shouted. But still no answer.

The area of town had the streets fronted by buildings of concrete and brick, mostly medical, a thousand different offices located within them. Some had parking in under-building garages, and his abductor was wheeling him into one. In through the wide door, his captor pushed him and then darted him in between a row of cars before roughly spinning the chair around. His hand was pinched between the side of a van and the arm of the wheelchair and he shouted in pain. His abductor backhanded him across the face and finally spoke. “Shut the fuck up, gimp.” he said. “Just shut up and cooperate and we’ll be done and you can get back to wherever it is you crips disappear to. But first, I know you got money. Give it to me. And if you got any drugs, I;ll take those too.”

“I don’t have anything. I got nothing. I’m just a diabled guy, no better off than you.”

“Naw, you’re worse off than me, dipshit. I got arms and legs that work, I’m no gimpy ass retard like you. Now give it up.”

“But… I don’t have anythi…” he was cut off by another vicious backhand. He felt the pain and warmth it made on his face, and then felt the trickle he knew was blood running down from his nose. His captor roughly pushed him aside, almost teetering the chair over. He roughly started feeling for bulges, stuffing his hands in pockets. Finding nothing on one side, he repeated the move on the other. This time his hand came out of a pants pocket with a small wad a bills.

“Nothing, eh? Lyin’ sack o’ shit.” He slapped his victim again, much harder this time. It caused stars and a rushing noise in his ears. The frisk continued and from the coat pocket he pulled a small paper bag. In it were a pair of amber medication bottle. The label of one was marked “Calcium,” the other was marked “Morphine.” I knew it. I fuckin’ knew it. You wimp as bitches are all alike..” The assailant pocketed the money and the morphine and threw the calcium supplements on the concrete floor of the garage.

“Okay, okay. You got everything I got. Take it. Leave me alone, please.. Just go.”

“Go? You don’t fuckin’ tell me to go, gimpy. You lied to me. Tere’s a price for that. Where’s your wallet?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but pulled his victim forward by his collar, dumping him face first onto the cement. The impact was agony, his entire body reacting painfully to the fall. He lay there on his hands and knees as the perpetrator checked his back pockets for a wallet. He found it, empty except for some ID and a debit card. He pulled the debit and tossed the wallet so it skittered across the floor, coming to rest under a parked station wagon. “What’s the pin number, Gimpy?”

Angered and humiliated, the last thing the vet was going to do was give his pin number to his prick. He remained silent. “Nothing to say, fucker? Fine.” he was grabbed and stuffed back into the chair, again sending jolts of electric agony through his tortured body.”I think you’re gonna tell me.”  Then he was moving again. His chair was shoved forward and out from between the parked cars that had concealed the mugging. “You got one chance, asshole. Tell me the number or I’m gonna shove your ass in front of a bus.” The agonized vet just gritted his teeth and refused to give the punk satisfaction.

The chair was accelerating and the vet could hear the exertion of his captor as he got the chair moving faster and faster, the wide garage door coming closer all the time. On the street outside, traffic had started to accelerate, the cars released by a stop light at the end of the block. “Last chance old man!” And then he was freewheeling into the street. In his pain, spiked by fear, his vision was a jumble, he only registered the pickup truck bearing down on him at the last moment. There was a squeal of brakes and then everything went black. He didn’t see that he’d been knocked from the chair to sail across traffic where a woman with her two teen aged daughters in the car ran over his broken body. He didn’t hear that squeal of brakes –nor the hysterical screaming of the woman driver or the confused shouts of the pickup driver. Truth told, his last earthly experience was the adrenaline rush of realization as he saw the truck coming his way, much too fast to stop. Time’s up, he thought.

An overloaded police department gave some attention to the case. But no one was sure whether it was an accident, no one having seen the assailant vanish back into the garage to exit through the back side of the building. The victim wasn’t alive to testify, and so the death certificate was marked as “Death by unknown misadventure” and the case was closed. There was some question on the part of the responding officers, but tight schedules and reduced budgets left him a low priority. After all, disabled people, especially cancer victims died all the time. His premature death might have done him a favor, said a number of cops.

An ironic death, like so many. He’d been disabled as a result of his military service. Fighting for the rights and freedoms he found important enough to risk it all for. A dedication too many American’s simply don’t feel. Fact was, his van driver had forgotten him entirely. He’d been abandoned and there was every chance he might have perished from hypothermia. But those who fight and return as disabled vets knew the risks going in. It was he who volunteered to go fight, so it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his that there was a later price to pay. After all, a single choice can lead to any number of consequences.


More Labs and Walked 1.40 Miles – January 26 2012

I received a couple more labs from January 16 2012 today via fax. My phosphorus, uric acid, and total protein are all normal.

Kemmer and I walked 1.40 miles this afternoon – more briskly than yesterday. Hard to tell who loves these walks more….. My sinus cold is pretty much history. I just have another day of Augmentin left – hoping one 10-day course is enough.

Shoveled Snow and Walked 0.58 Miles – January 23 2012

I shoveled a lot of snow twice today both at home and for my father…it feels good to be active again! Had a bad night with pain behind my left knee. I’ve had this off and on ever since my stem cell transplant, but it never stays. I feel fine today.
My cold is much much improved and my nose quit dripping.

Walked Kemmer 0.58 miles with my Yaks on for traction.

Cold Symptoms Improving and a Beautiful Walk – January 22 2012

My cold symptoms (dripping nose, sore throat, and weariness) are improving. I took 1/2 Claritin again this morning which really helps with the runny nose business.

I walked Kemmer to the Big Lost River Smelter Bridge and back for 1.18 miles. It was a sunshine day with lots of blue skies. I was way overdressed.
Wore my Yaks for traction.