The biopsy van stops here

Crash

Grief clouded my sight and

I rear-ended the van bearing biopsies

Bound for the cancer lab, one of them snipped

From my wife. The rear door flew open

I expected an avalanche of plastic bags, little slips

Of skin, viscous liquids, knobby tumors. But

nothing. And then a blooming flower, pink and white, on

a long green stem grows through the open door.

Out of the open door amidships

More blooms, others bright with purples and white

And oranges, many colors, fanciful shapes.

I knew then everything would be all right, there

Were no ugly lab-bound surprises, just a field of

Flowers at their peak, gloriously and forever alive.

Hair stylist at the Cancer Infusion Station

Lorna of the luxurious brown hair. The first time I saw her. Not a streak of grey in it. I knew it wouldn't last because she's right here in the Cancer Infusion Center waiting room. This is where hair goes to die so the patient can live even if it's a little bit longer. Lorna hasn't yet stopped at my station to talk about styling options or maybe a wig; we have orange and blue ones. Stylin' scarves too, and caps with funny sayings, funny to all of us anyway, women of the lost hair -- yeah me too, and mine grew back curly and seal brown with silver tips. "Kissed by the sun, I said. "Touch of grey" said my husband, a Jerry Garcia fan. "I will get by," the song goes. "I will survive." As the weeks went on I missed seeing Lorna and wondered if she'd given up. She finally came by, hair strands sticking up in a topknot and tied in a bow. Reminded me of Zippy the Pinhead from those days when hair meant everything. Lorna walked by alone, as always. "Like my hair?" She tended it with her right hand, twirled around so I could get a good look. We both laughed. I saw her weeks later, head shiny as a baby's bottom. "Just a comb-through," she said. I held up a bare hand. "Got my comb right here." For the first time, she cast her burden aside and sat in my chair. I massaged her scalp with some feel-good ointment that smells of lavender and vanilla. I feel the ridges of her skull beneath the hairless skin. Cancer started in her breasts -- they've been banished the damn troublemakers. Lorna and I reminisced about the touching that went with them. When done right, it lit us up. My touch on her bald head is one small thing, a tiny pleasure. Small things are what's left when the big things go.

Saturday morning round-up

Election day is Tuesday. I will vote and keep my eyes open for those who would try to prevent it. As an election judge and poll watcher, I never actually feared the other side on election day. I hear tales of mid-term election judges being called in by the county clerk for briefings on what to expect on election day and what to do about it. I worked next to Republicans and we all were charged with staffing the first electronic voting machines used in the county. In the 2000s, there was a feeling by some Democrats that the e-voting machines were hooked up with the corporations who made them and they were beholding to the GOP. Both Dem and GOP election judges agreed that the system was secure. Now Republicans question the integrity of the process because their guy did not win in 2020 and their guy -- and FOX -- keep bitchin' about it. The most proactive thing we can do is vote and not let anyone keep us from our appointed task. 

Chris just went through her third round of chemo and is looking forward to the fourth and last infusion the day after Thanksgiving. We plan to give thanks on that day as our kids will both be there for the first time in a decade. The next day, Chris goes to the CRMC Cancer Center for the four-hour task. Then we can give thanks again that the chemo part of the treatment is gone and so is Chris's hair. She has a nifty new wig courtesy of the Center's gift shop. It's brown with red highlights which is kind of what my hair looked like before it turned white. She looks great in it and plans to show it off the next time she goes out in public. Yes, cancer sucks but it can also help you appreciate what you have instead of what you might eventually miss. 

I'm reading "Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age" by Annalee Newitz. Fascinating study of four lost cities: Catalhoyuk in Turkey, Pompeii in Italy, the Angkor civilization in Southeast Asia, and Cahokia of the Mississippian culture in the U.S. All advanced and crowded cities that disappeared. Not that exactly, but each of these advanced urban centers that were abandoned in different ways. We all know about Angkor Wat but that actually was a small and not very important monument in a much larger city. For five centuries, rulers built monuments to themselves but also nourished the working class that built them. Floods, drought, and mismanagement doomed the place although Cambodians still live in and around this tourist site but also spread out to inhabit all areas of the country and founded the bustling city of Phnom Penh. Early Western World explorers marveled at the site and wondered what the poor Khmer did to screw it up. Newitz explains that it was much more complicated than that and much more interesting. Cahokia is intriguing because it existed for so long and the site of an advanced culture is now East St. Louis which has a reputation of poverty and civic strife. So much of what Cahokia (1050-1350 CE) developed was geared not for the elite but for the populace of 30,000, which made in larger than most European cities of the time. This is why we read history books, right, to fill in the blanks of the things we do not know or thought we knew. Hats off to Newitz for her fine research and entertaining writing style.

Almost as much fun discovering new novels as it is reading them

My sisters sent my wife Chris some Barnes & Noble gift cards to ease her path through chemotherapy. I went right to B&N Online and ordered three novels. Chris requested "Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald," a NYT bestseller by Theresa Anne Fowler. It sounds fascinating. The book apparently was the inspiration for the streaming series "Z: The Beginning of Everything." I watched it and was a bit disappointed and I can't really say why. I can read the novel (the book is always better!) when Chris finishes.

The story of the Fitzgeralds is high drama by which I mean terribly sad. I wrote a prose poem, "Rockets Over Fitzgerald," after watching Fourth of July fireworks from St. Mary's Churchyard in Rockville, Maryland. It was published in Poetry Hotel. 

I remembered another author with the last name Fowler as I was browsing. Connie May Fowler is a Florida native who writes beautifully, about people and about Florida, about everything really. After meeting Connie at Literary Connection in Cheyenne, I read her excellent novel, "The Problem with Murmur Lee." I ordered for Chris "How Clarissa Burden Learned to Fly." I lost track of time as I read its opening section at the B&N site. It takes me back to summer solstice days in central Florida when the temp is 92 degrees at 7 a.m. and rising. 

The best batch of stories I've read in a long time is "Florida" by Lauren Groff. My favorite may be "Dogs Go Wolf" published in the New Yorker and available on audio at online when you go to the August 21, 2017, issue (I listened for free for some unknown reason). The story is about two little girls who get stranded on on an island and the creative ways they find to survive. Groff's style is captivating. What a story. I look forward to talking to Chris about it, see what she thinks of it. 

GoFundMe for my brother, Tim Shay

My brother Tim the postman/father/grandfather is undergoing radiation treatments at the Mayo Clinic Hospital in Jacksonville, Fla. The docs successfully operated on Tim a few years ago to remove a non-cancerous brain tumor. It grew back, this time with an unwelcome surprise of "atypical cells." Tim's large family depended on his paycheck but now he's on disability and things are a bit tight. If you've a mind to, please contribute to our family's GoFundMe site

I pray for Tim daily and keep sending him goofy cards to lift his spirits. 

Poet Anya Silver bids farewell with righteous rage

Nicole Cooley wrote a Facebook post about her friend, poet Anya Silver, who died this week. She included a poem by Silver that expresses the anger we feel at the premature death of a loved one. This is the raw anger that we would like to turn loose but don't. We are angry and sad but sad rules out because that is what we feel and what we are expected to feel. If we indulged in the anger that Silver writes about, well, we would upset the others who are equally sad and angry as hell. It is a moment of solemnity, not rage. But rage belongs. Find more of Silver's poems at the Poetry Foundation web site. 

Metastatic

by Anya Silver, 1968-2018

I’d like a long braid to lasso my rage away,
to stand on a stage in a garter belt
and thigh-high boots and stamp my feet
through the floor, like to put my face
right up against someone else’s face and scream
until the scream knocks me to my knees, coughing.
I could become an arsonist, delicious click of the lighter.
Every time someone I love dies, I’d like a diamond
to line the hilt of a dagger, or tip an arrow.
I’d like to shoot the whole God damned universe
through its infinite starry center, and watch it suck
into itself, scattering the suns and galaxies
over each other like a jar of tipped glitter.
Don’t tell me not to be angry. Do you know
how close I am to flinging my whole animal body
at you, how little I care about being hit
back, or spat on, or bruised? Humiliation
means nothing to me. I have nothing to lose.
If you push me off a building, I’ll sing.
I’d jump in front of a bullet if I could.
I’d let someone wring my neck if only
I knew it would hurt God just one bit to watch me die.

Sunday morning round-up: Unforgettable cancer stories, Gonzo Derby Day, and snow, lots and lots of snow

Happy May Day!

While many of you bask in May sunshine, we are buried in snow. A moisture-laden three-day snowstorm covered my lawn and garden. It would look like March 1 but for the daffodils and blades of grass poking out of the white blanket. It's not that winter is too long, but spring is too cold and snowy. But without it we get the wildland fires of August.

Since my Jan. 18 retirement, I write every morning. I write journal entries, short stories, and a novel. I write what matters to me. I haven't been blogging as often as I find myself preoccupied by imaginary stories and memoir. It's not as if there is a lack of blogging topics, especially in this wacky election year. I so miss the gonzo journalism of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. If this isn't a "fear and loathing" year, I don't know what is. As is true with most writers of my generation, Thompson influenced me. I don't/can't write like him, but his style infected all of us.

Fellow blogger Ronny Allan featured my sister Mary's cancer journey last week. Mary works at Big Bend Hospice in Tallahassee and, a few years back, was selected as a bone marrow donor for my brother Dan, struggling with leukemia at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. Mary was undergoing pre-op tests when the doctors discovered a spot on her lung which turned out to be a carcinoid tumor. She was successfully operated on. That also ruled her out as a bone marrow donor. My sister Molly was the eventual donor, leaving her nursing job in Italy for several months to come back to the states. How did this family drama turn out? Click here to find out.

On Saturday, May 7, 2-5 p.m., the Laramie County Democrats Grassroots Coalition (LCDGC) holds its annual Derby Day and Wild Hat party/fund-raiser in Cheyenne. Admission is $15 and you can buy one of the Derby horses as well as bet on side races managed by your fellow Democrats. Prizes also given to the wildest hat. The Kentucky Derby is known for swanky attire and wild hats. Swanky attire in Cheyenne usually is rodeo duds. Wild hats are usually not big and floppy as the incessant wind will send them off to Nebraska. Cowboy hats? Well, if you get one that fits right, it should stymie most wind gusts. You can probably "wild up" any cowboy hat, although you may get some weird looks at Frontier Days. For all the details of the event, click here.

BTW, DYKT Hunter Thompson's magazine article on the 1970 Kentucky Derby became the first of his pieces to be labeled gonzo as in "gonzo journalism?" 'Tis true. You can read "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved" in Thompson's 1979 collection, The Great Shark Hunt. Will Cheyenne's Derby Day be decadent and depraved? One must attend to find out.

Sunday morning round-up: Martians, Democrats and a dying man's love for Abba

I am blogging this morning from the picnic table on our back porch. Eerily still and warm for the Ides of November. Cat snoozing on the chair next to me. He was up and about for an hour this morning and it apparently wore him out. Today is the last fall lawn-mowing. I also will winterize my garden. I'm a bit tardy with that but so much else has been going on. The weather forecast calls for snow Monday through Wednesday, so this is the day to get out and rummage around in the yard. Depending on who you believe, we will get from a couple inches of snow to a foot. We shall see....

Watched the Democratic Party debate from Des Moines, Iowa, last night. Gathered with my Dem friends. We ate and drank heartily. Who won the debate? The Democrats, as the three candidates came off as thoughtful adults in contrast to the swarms of whiny Republicans who take the stage in their debates. Bernie Sanders is a strong presence, his politics more aligned with mine than those of Hilary. However, Hilary is the one who can bring the big guns to bear against the Republicans. She's more corporate than the Democratic Socialist Sanders. But the Repubs will be fighting tooth-and-nail for this election, and there is so much at stake. Hilary Clinton is the one.

I'm reading "The Martian" by Andy Weir. It's a fast-paced, tech-laden novel about a stranded astronaut on Mars. Maybe you've seen the movie, but I haven't -- not until I finish the book. The author is a software engineer and "lifelong science nerd," according to his bio. This also is his first book. I hear that he self-published the book before it gained fame as a best-seller and a Matt Damon flick. Many of us writers experience fits of jealousy about such fortunate events experienced by others. I'm one of them. Green with envy. Also blue with admiration (is there such a thing?). I am about thirty pages from "The Martian" finish line and I'm hooked.

I published a short piece several weeks ago. Silver Birch Press in L.A. features an ongoing series of themed submissions. I submitted a 200-word short to one called "When I Hear that Song." The challenge was to write a prose piece or a poem about a specific song inspiring a specific memory. Many songs, many memories. But one jumped out at me. My father, dying from prostate cancer, got a yen for the music of Abba. He never was a pop or rock music afficianado. Somehow, the songs of a Swedish pop group spoke to him. So, over the course of a few days I honed a 200-piece called "S-O-S," based on the Abba tune of the same name. Read it here: https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2015/11/03/s-o-s-story-by-michael-shay-when-i-hear-that-song-series/. Silver Birch featured it along with a snazzy photo of Abba and my bio, which didn't get the same attention to brevity as did "S-O-S."

Rep. Mary Throne brings some Dem humor to the cancer fight

Rep. Mary Throne, Democrat of Laramie County, posted this sign on Facebook. She caught some grief for it, support too. It's funny in ways that only a Democrat in Wyoming can understand. We lose a lot of battles but we win some too, and those victories are sweet. And if Mary's post helps raise funds for cancer, who are Republicans to complain? Cowboy up, Repubs, and give to a good cause! Here are Mary's Facebook comments: "With the election behind me, our 3-day Komen trip is just around the corner. I am oh so close to reaching my fundraising goal--please consider a donation to get me over the top. Here's the link:http://www.the3day.org/site/TR/2014/SanDiegoEvent2014?px=7360934&pg=personal&fr_id=1864 For inspiration, I am posting my quote from our local Komen race."

Fill in the blank: "_________ should not be a debt sentence"

Sign seen at the Medicaid Expansion rally held Thursday in Cheyenne:

"Cancer should not be a debt sentence."

You could customize that in a number of ways:

"Heart disease should not be a debt sentence."

"Diabetes should not be a debt sentence."

And so on. Plug in the malady that may be afflicting your family. I have heart disease and my wife is a diabetic. We have insurance. Still, my health care costs topped $200,000 in 2013. I ended up paying several thousand dollars out of my own pocket. Heart disease may have been a debt sentence, or possibly even a death sentence if I wasn't able to afford a stent and an ICD and a two trips to the hospital and rehab and many medications, some of them pricey.

Some of the people testifying at Thursday's rally face debt sentences for hospital bills they can't afford. Fate decrees that the insured and the uninsured alike keel over from heart attacks, wreck their cars, contract horrible infections, slip on the ice and break a leg, get a Big C diagnosis, etc.

We got news on Friday that two Medicaid expansion bills made it out of the Joint Labor, Health and Social Services Interim Committee for consideration during the legislative session.

"I think it is the responsibility of this committee bring it forward for a full discussion," said committee chairwoman Rep. Elaine Harvey, R-Lovell. "I would hate to think that 12 people would decide for the whole state to not do any kind of Medicaid expansion at all." 

Sometimes it seems that there is just one person one person on that committee who wants to deny health coverage to everyone in the state. This from Saturday's Wyoming Tribune-Eagle:

Co-chairman Sen. Charles Scott, urged the committee Friday to table the pending Medicaid expansion bills. He said the federal government's proposal to Medicaid brings out the worst in the American health-care system.

"It encourages excessive utilization of health-care services to the extent that they're not good for people," Scott said.

Wonder what Scott considers "excessive utilization?" Preventive care? Taking your kids to the doctor when they're sick? Riding in the ambulance to the emergency room when you could walk there on the two good legs the Lord gave you?

Sounds to me as if Sen. Scott is arguing for government oversight of what is "excessive utilization" and what isn't "excessive utilization." He wants to be the sole arbiter who decides if 17,000 uninsured Wyomingites get health insurance coverage under Medicaid expansion, a plan that will save the state $50 million, according to Wyoming Health Department Director Tom Forslund.

What is good for people and what is not -- and who decides?

Next thing you know, Sen. Scott will be advocating for death panels.

Maybe he already is.

Year in Review: The Big C

My year can be summed up in one word: heart. Cardiac may be a better term, as my year was filled with issues related to the parts of the hospital with the other C-word in their names: Cardiac Lab, Cardiac Rehab, Cardiology, etc.

The condition of my heart first came to my attention on Jan. 2. The pain in my belly that was first diagnosed as intestinal flu and then as pneumonia, became a full-fledged heart attack on the day after New Year's Day. I related the story in my blog here and here. These blog posts came after the fact, as I was busily being ill for the first two weeks in January. During recovery, I had plenty of time to bemoan my fate and to ponder it. After generous doses of meds and rehab, I went under the knife again in July for an Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator, a device that goes by the initials ICD. More recovery and exercise followed. Finally a clean bill of health was issued by my docs in the fall. They don't issue an actual Clean Bill of Health, although a cardiac patient is issued a dazzling arrays of bills for service.

The Cardiac Year.

The original Big C -- cancer -- played a big part in my year. Not for me, but for three of my siblings and several of my friends. Cancer runs in our family. My mother died of ovarian cancer at 59 and my father from prostate cancer at 77. My eight siblings and I all have been diagnosed with various forms of skin cancer, the legacy of growing up Irish on Florida beaches. My brother Dan was diagnosed with melanoma in his early 50s, but the docs caught it in time. Same with prostate cancer, which was treated and dismissed a few years later. Then leukemia came calling. This is the big leagues of cancer. Dan received big-league treatment at Houston's MD Anderson Cancer Center. But it came to naught, as Dan passed away just a few days shy of his 61st birthday. I wrote about this, too, but the words do not seem to assuage the pain. Some farewell posts for my brother here and here and here and here.

The Cancer Year.

Amidst the pain comes humor and its first cousin, politics. I had some fun with our conservative opponents this year. They are such easy targets, especially in this age of viral videos that reveal to all the world their knuckleheaded intentions. I had a great time documenting the comments of the legislature as it discussed a civil unions bill. You can revisit that event here. No aircraft carrier bill on the docket this year, but we can always look forward to 2014.

Some attempted humor on other topics here and here.

The Year of Living Crazily.

To sum up, Cardiac, Cancer and Crazies. The year of the Big C.

Stories from the front lines of The Big L

Acute myeloid leukemia.

The Big L

My brother Dan has it. So does my retired coworker Marirose. You may know someone with AML.

If you're the praying kind, say some prayers for these fine people. Wish them good health and cheer. Long life and happiness.

It's a relentless killer. Doctors and researchers have come a long way but there is so much more to be done. The survival rate is around 23 percent. Chemo and bone marrow transplants prolong life, sometimes lead to remission and even cures.

Dan has subjected himself to all of the treatments in the past year. It still wasn't enough. A month, the docs say, as if they know to the day your span on this earth. It's their best guesstimate. It never really helps. But it's the question everybody asks: "How much time do I have, Doc?"

The answer never satisfies. But we are curious and we ask.

So who knows?

Last week I flew down to Florida to visit Dan. He was surrounded by friends and family but his only big brother lives 2,000 miles away in Wyoming. Bad news travels fast and I would have been on the first plane out but couldn't get on it so I settled for the 100th plane out. Dan and I had time together, and time surrounded by family. Dan and I were the first two of nine born to Anna Marie Hett and Thomas Reed Shay. We're less that two years apart. Our Mom liked to joke that she didn't even know whether Dan could speak until I went off to kindergarten. I was his mouthpiece, his constant companion. "Danny needs a drink of water" or "Danny is hungry." Once I went off to school Dan handled his own requests, and has been doing fine with them ever since.

A wise person once said that you can tell a lot about someone by the people he surrounds himself with. If you didn't know Dan, but were in a room with his friends and family, you'd know what a fine person he is. He has a cool wife and three great kids. He has friends from high school and friends from five years ago. He has air traffic controller friends (his career for 25 years) and biker and surfing buddies, Harleys and surfing being his main hobbies. An old Air Force friend called on one of the days I was there. His house is a busy one, filled with laughter and stories and good food and cold beer.

Dan not sipping the brews these days, as his intake seems devoted to painkillers of a different sort. Makes it tough for him to string words together to converse with all of the people in his life. Part of that is due to "Chemo Brain," and part to the leukemia itself. It's advancing on all fronts.

Pray for Dan. And if you're in a giving frame of mind, you can give to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society or the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. The best thing to do is live every day as if it were your last. I had my own brush with mortality in 2013. You never know when you arise in the morning if you will see the sunset. Make it count.

A family story: Strange turn of events at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center

My sister Mary went to M.D, Anderson Cancer Center in Houston to save our brother's life by donating stem cells for his bone marrow transplant.

But in the end, he saved her life.

How? Read the story here.

Nicely written, Mary. From the heart!

The Cardiac Chronicles: Every patient tells a story

I said farewell yesterday to my pals at Cardiac Rehab. This is my third and final stage of rehab. 

R has had multiple stents and an open heart surgery. Two weeks ago, just after getting home from a camping trip in Poudre Canyon, he went to the hospital with chest pain. Coronary embolism, said the docs, and kept him overnight for observation.

R has disabilities from Vietnam where he "zigged when he should have zagged." He's taking a new med that provides some interesting hallucinations. Yesterday he was playing cards with Mickey, Goofy and Donald Duck.

Everyone has a story.

D's heart has stents and she is now equipped with an Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator or ICD. It's never fired, which is good because it means she hasn't been hit with a catastrophic heart attack. Should that happen, she'll get buzzed back to life. As one hospital web site put it:

The ICD is working for you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It is like having the paramedics with you at all times.

Looks as if I'll have lots of company once I get my ICD in July. Better alert my wife to expect guests. 

D told us a story as we warmed up. A friend had trouble breathing a few weeks ago. She went to the doctor. He conducted a few tests and diagnosed an advanced case of lung cancer. The woman died three days later. She was only in her fifties.

F was a Marine and is a diehard Denver Broncos fan. He wears a Marine cap to one session and an Orange Crush cap to the next. He was born in Mexico and grew up in the American Southwest. He joined the Marines to earn his citizenship. F recently moved to Cheyenne to be near family. Colorado Springs was getting too violent, he said. He carries around an oxygen canister from a lifetime of cigarettes.

M is like everybody's joke-telling uncle. He always wears a Harley or Sturgis T-shirt. J is recuperating from a stroke and arrives at exercise class pushing a wheeled walker. While he's in our class, his wife works out in the main gym.

I'm a lucky man and I know it.

Next week I go back to working out at the YMCA. I will be unsupervised by nurses and exercise physiologists for the first time in four months. The trick now will be finding the will to continue exercising when nobody will be checking me off on a list. Thing is, I have to exercise and keep exercising as if my life depended on it. In the year leading up to my heart attack, I swam every other day at the Y. I'd lost 40 pounds and was in great shape. That might have kept me from dying but it didn't prevent heart damage. Once I've recovered from my ICD surgery, I'll be back in the pool.

Today in Houston, my brother Dan is receiving his final dose of the atomic bomb of chemotherapy. It's designed to wipe out the remaining marrow cells so that on Wednesday, he can receive new marrow that will banish leukemia forever. When I talked to him on Thursday, he'd been very sick with the first treatment, sicker than he's been since treatment began last December. My sister Molly donated the marrow and she was sitting up with my sister Mary who had just had a third of a lung removed due to carcinoid cancer. They are all at the MD Anderson Hospital in Houston, the best cancer treatment center in the country. They are lucky too. They are getting the best treatment available. My brother has even volunteered as a test subject due to a wayward gene in his make-up.

I feel heartsick that my brother and sister have cancer and are in pain. I know what it means to have a sick heart. That said, I'm a lucky man.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom

My Mom, Anna Marie Hett, as she became Anna Marie Shay on Feb. 18, 1950, in Denver.

It's been a long time since I could wish my Mom a happy Mother's Day in person. Anna Marie (Hett) Shay died in April 1986, just a month shy of her 60th birthday and her 35th Mother's Day. She died from ovarian cancer, still a killer although early detection has prolonged patients' lives well past the 18 months that my Mom had. It was already well advanced when the docs detected it.

Mom got to meet her first male grandson, my son Kevin, who was born in Denver (also my Mom's birthplace) on February 14, 1985. Kevin and I travelled to Daytona Beach for a family reunion and my brother Dan's annual Fourth of July bash. I flew alone with Kevin because my wife had to work and would follow us a few days later. She was going to attend her 10th high school reunion of the Seabreeze Sandcrabs. 

I wasn't prepared to fly with a four-month-old. I got all sorts of advice before take-off. Make sure he sucks on a bottle or a binky during take-off so his ears won't clog. Keep him awake before you leave so he naps on the plane. Don't freak out if he cries and annoys the other hundred passengers.   

As you might guess, the trip was a disaster. I had to feed Kevin in the airport so he stared wide-eyed at me as the plane rose out of Denver. His head didn't explode and he didn't cry, though, not right away. And changing a baby in a 727 restroom is not the easiest thing in the world. One thing, though. Women took pity on me. Oh, what a cutie. Let me hold him. Oh, what a good dad you are. I filed that bit of info away for future reference.

When I greeted my mother, she wore a turban. It was an odd look for her. I had seen her wearing nurse's caps and Easter bonnets and rain gear and even winter caps when I was little and we lived in snowy places. The turban, of course, covered her bald head. I've seen lots of them since on cancer patients. But in the summer of 1985, it took me awhile to get used to it.

She was crazy about Kevin. She held him for hours. She had two grandkids already, both girls, so she took extra time with Kevin. And she knew that he wouldn't be in Daytona very long. And she was probably guessing that she wouldn't be around very long -- and she was right.

I did get to visit with her one more time before she passed. And she got to hold Kevin again. I worked for the Gates Rubber Company in Denver as a publications editor. Gates decided to get into the NASCAR sponsorship game. The corporate honchos had recruited a driver to wear the Gates colors and plaster decals all over his car. The company needed one of its editors to go to Daytona and do a story. I lobbied hard for the assignment. Other staffers were anxious to desert Denver for Daytona in February but, in the end, I won the sweepstakes. I took my family too.

I hung out at the race track for three days, waiting for our driver to show up. Several of our sales people were there, fretting about our mystery driver. His truck broke down in North Carolina. A storm had held him up. He was stuck in Georgia.

While I hung out at the speedway talking to drivers and crews and taking lots of photos, Chris and Kevin visited family. My Mom got lots of holding time. Chris's mom had passed away from cancer in 1984 but Chris's father lived nearby. They visited while I waited.

Our driver never showed up. To this day, I'm unsure why. The company decided to rethink its NASCAR sponsorship policy. I got a tremendous trip out of it. We held Kevin's first birthday at my brother Dan's house in Ormond Beach. We still have pictures of that Valentine's Day evening. The toddlers were tearing around the house and having a fine time. Mom was there for awhile but grew tired and my father took her home early. All of our kids were young then, and most of Kevin's cousins (and his sister) had yet to be born.

Not that long ago. But it seems like ages.

Twenty-seven years later, two of my mother's children now are undergoing treatment for cancer. Time and scientific research have brought many improvements to cancer diagnosis and treatment. My sister Mary's carcinoid cancer was caught in its early stages. My brother Dan's leukemia was diagnosed during routine blood tests. My sister Molly will donate her bone marrow to Dan in a routine that is light years ahead of the old invasive marrow harvesting procedures. All of them will be treated at the fantastic MD Anderson medical complex in Houston.

I miss you, Mom. Thanks for showing us the way. Happy Mother's Day.

Leukemia is a family affair

My brother Dan found a match.

I wrote over the weekend about Dan’s search for a bone marrow donor. Millions of people are on the donor registry, but very few have just the right qualities to match Dan’s metabolism.

Dan was diagnosed with leukemia just before the 2012 holidays. The holidays, it seems, are a dangerous time for the Shay family. I celebrated them by having a heart attack. My brother Dan celebrated them by going into the hospital for a gall bladder surgery that turned into a diagnosis for acute myeloid leukemia. Five of my other siblings spent Yuletide swabbing the inside of their cheeks and spending the swabs off to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. Our sister Molly did not return a swab kit because the Italian post office was on strike, or maybe it was the railroads or the airlines.  Anyway, she finally located her kit at the P.O. and sent it off to Houston.

The first almost-perfect match for Dan was our sister Mary, who is the youngest. It’s better to have a match among family members, as the rejection rate is lower. Mary was excited to be the chosen one. My sister Maureen thought she was going to be the chosen one, as she and Dan have a lot in common.  But Maureen was not a match.

I was not tested. My recent heart attack and my advancing age left me out. Age, it seems, is not as big an obstacle as my medical condition. Donating marrow takes a toll on the body. The docs prefer to have donors between the ages of 18-44, although they will use those in the 45-60 range. Once you reach 60, though, the strain on the donor’s body is higher and the quality of marrow is lower. Since I’ve already had one heart attack, I could easily have another.

My sister Mary is afraid to fly. So, she drove from Tallahassee to Houston with Maureen and Dan. A few days after arrival, Mary went in for a battery of tests while Dan underwent another round of chemo. Complications arose. Not with Dan but with Mary. X-rays detected a spot on her right lung. More pictures were taken. The docs decided to do a biopsy. Results showed cancer. The docs decided to remove the middle lobe of Mary’s lung and the take a look at the lymph nodes while they were at it. Mary, of course, is stunned by this turn of events. People tell her that she’s lucky to be at MD Anderson, the best place in the world for cancer treatment. She agrees, but can’t help asking, “Why me?” She wonders why she’s the only one crying in a hospital filled with cancer patients from all over the globe. Her answer: “They knew they had cancer before they came here. I didn’t.”

Mary had cancer and Dan no longer had a donor, as current cancer patients are not good risks. Mary will be operated on at MD Anderson on May 28. Dan returned to Florida to find a new donor. Local fund-raisers and donor sign-ups were held for him in Daytona and Ormond Beach. News finally came last week that Dan had a 20-year-old donor that fit the bill.

Then came a surprise. The long-delayed kit from our sister Molly landed at MD Anderson. The preliminary test showed promise. When the final results came in, Molly was as good a match as Mary, although slightly older. Apparently, a 57-year-old sibling is a better prospect than a 20-year-old stranger.

There’s a catch. Molly is finishing up a stint as a lactation specialist at Aviano AFB in Italy. She’s been over there for more than a year. She likes her job and, on days off, is learning a lot about fine Italian wines and food. She has traveled to the Vatican and to Venice and Croatia. But she still needs to wrap things up before arrivederci. She’ll be back in the states in late May, make her donation and head back to her home in Tallahassee. She will have to rest up from jet lag and marrow lag.

Dan will receive his transplant of cells and will be in Houston recovering for 100-some days. His body will be vulnerable after the infusion of our sister’s cells. Infections can occur. I’ll probably fly down to see him for a week. I’ll be recuperating from surgery to implant an ICD which will keep my heart beating regularly – and prevent catastrophic heart failure. Just call it the rhythm method. I got rhythm, who could ask for anything more?

The rhythm method? That was my parents birth control process, which is one reason they had nine kids. But if they had used another more trustworthy method, Dan would not have all of these wonderful siblings and their transplant-friendly bone marrow. My wife Chris and I used to joke around with our son and daughter. When they were fighting, we’d caution them: “You may need a kidney someday.” We didn’t realize the truth in that statement.  You may need a kidney someday, or a batch of bone marrow. 

On the Cheyenne Day of Giving May 10, the person you save may be your brother -- or mine

Every four minutes, someone in the U.S. is diagnosed with a blood cancer like leukemia. A few months ago, my brother Dan in Florida was one of them, and he's looking for a bone marrow donor. Watch this video and find your local donation program. In Cheyenne, you can register to be a bone marrow donor at the annual Day of Giving, Friday, May 10, 9 a.m.-5 p.m. at the Kiwanis Community House in Lions Park. See you there! The person you save may be my brother -- or yours.

You must be young to be a bone marrow donor

Did you know that if you're older than 60, docs don't want your bone marrow?

I found that out by perusing the web site for the Be the Match Registry at the National Bone Marrow Program. Transplant doctors are thrilled to work with your bone marrow if you're from 18-44. They might use your precious bodily fluids if you're from 45-60. Over 60? Forget it.

I understand the reasoning.

The age guidelines are in place to protect donors and provide the best treatment for patients:

• Donor safety: As one ages, the chances of a hidden medical problem that donation could bring out increases, placing older donors at increased risk of complications. Since there is no direct benefit to the donor when they donate, for safety reasons we have set age 60 as the upper limit. It is important to note that the age limit is not meant to discriminate in any way.
• To provide the best treatment for the patient: Research shows that cells from younger donors lead to more successful transplants.

My 60-year-old brother Dan needs bone marrow. He was diagnosed with leukemia in December after checking into the hospital for a routine gall bladder surgery. His blood counts were abnormal. His doctors performed additional tests and discovered the leukemia. He underwent treatment at his local hospital in Florida, and then transferred to M.D. Anderson in Houston, well-known for its extraordinary care and facilities.

My brothers and sisters submitted samples to test their compatibility for donations. I wasn't involved because I had a heart attack during Christmas season. Heart disease and age ruled me out. Never have I felt so old or so left out.  

My sister Mary was a perfect match. She is the youngest of nine children, younger than me by 15 years. Not in the 18-44 range, but close. Family matches are preferred because it cuts down on rejection by the body to the new, implanted cells.

While Mary was going through the usual battery of donor tests at M.D. Anderson, cancer was discovered. Now she's going through treatments while my brother Dan is going through his last batch of chemo to prepare him for a bone marrow transplant from someone other than Mary.

So, if you have ever thought about being a bone marrow donor, go to the Be the Match Registry and request a donor kit. All it takes is a cheek swab or blood sample to be tissue-matched. The next step, donating your marrow, is not painless. But the life you save may be that of your brother or sister. Or someone else's brother or sister.