Even Keel

Two and a half months post Stem Cell Transplant. The transplant docs have handed me back to my much trusted Cleveland Clinic guy who calls all the shots for my treatment, Dr. Fred Reu. Dr. Reu is famous in my mind for his instant declaration 30 seconds into my January appointment with him: “Good news! You’re in remission…. That’s the perfect time for a Stem Cell Transplant!” So much for my resolve to avoid the SCT at all costs.

 My main man congratulates me on avoiding all the complications that can happen during an SCT. He says I look good. He asks me how I feel, and I say, “Pretty good, but I wear out pretty fast.” “You’ll feel much better in about two months,” he assures me. He goes out on the limb a little further: “Since you were in remission before the SCT, you are in remission now, and you should remain in remission for a good length of time, maybe a year or two, or even longer. Of course, there are no guarantees.” Dr. Reu  prescribes a maintenance dose of a newer drug called Pomalyst, (even pricier than my Revlimid pill that I took pre-SCT, he says, which retailed for about $23,000 a month),  and continuation of the monthly Aredia infusions to help strengthen my bones.

When my host of ardent supporters, pray-ers, and well wishers hear good news like this, it usually brings out a flurry of hoorays, hallelujahs and a truckload of giddy and celebrative comments. I’ve got a great group of people rooting for me!

But I must confess that I’m not a jump up and down, giddy, exuberant kind of guy when it comes to this kind of news. Maybe I’ll have to count on my friends and family for that. I’m an “in-the-moment” kind of guy. It’s hard for me to think about 2 years down the road. And perhaps it is my faith or my personality that makes me try to keep the highs and the lows subdued and within bounds.

Or maybe it is my vocation: Lutheran pastor, now retired. A pastor’s everyday life can be a strange mixture of celebration and grief. It’s not unusual – in the space of just a few hours to be called to the bedside of a dying parishioner, followed by celebrating the birth of a child with a new mother and father, while preparing to meet with another couple who are on the verge of divorce. The human soul can only take so many wild, emotional swings in the space of such a short time, so, as a pastor, I think I learned not to get too high or too low.

In the past, when I researched the meaning of my last name, “Keeler,” it usually ended up with the suggestion that my ancestors had something to do with ship building, laying the keel and building up the boat. I haven’t laid any keels, but maybe I’m more tuned in to keeping an even keel. I remember well the day my family doctor asked me if I knew what “multiple myeloma” is (I didn’t). Even that day, I don’t remember feeling any despair. My predominant feeling? Well, I can see I have a job to do. Better get at it.

So, I hope Dr. Reu has made a good guess based on his experience. I hope remission does last 2 years or more. But I’m not going to jump and click my heels together. I’m not going to get giddy; you may, on my behalf, if you like. I am, however, feeling good. And I’m anticipating what it is going to be like to feel better in a couple months. Right now, I’m thinking about how to make the most of this day. The other day, I was able to go fishing with my grandson and Riley the dog. It’s a beautiful day. Life is good! Jesus loves me.  And I am keeping the even keel.