I’m not sick…I’m healthy impaired

I don’t recall exactly how I came across Billy Mac. It was either through a fellow blogger (probably Grace) or he happened to stumble across one of my posts and liked it, which prompted me to peek at his blog, Superman Can’t Find a Phone, where I read this.  https://goodtobealivetoday.wordpress.com/2018/02/08/hell-what-do-i-know/

I was hooked and have been following him ever since. Billy is a hell of a writer. He’s insightful, brutally honest, self-depreciating, and laugh out loud funny. I love his perspective on people and life, so much so that I extended an invitation to him to grace the pages of my blog with his candor and wit. While I have never met him, although I hope to some day since we both live in New England, I consider him a friend who is among the band of brothers and sisters I have met through the blogging community.

If you have never read his stuff before, please take the time to visit his site and take a look. You will be glad you did.

Thanks for sharing Billy.

 

My name is Billy Mac and I am honored to have been asked by Steve to guest post on his blog. Steve is an excellent writer and a supportive member of our blogosphere and I am happy to have discovered his little corner of the internet. We faithfully read each other’s work, share experiences and there is always a positive takeaway from our back and forth. Although it tends to break convention, I think of him as a friend though we have never met in person. He’s a good guy with a great story.

As with most connections, the question may be asked: “How did you and Steve find each other?” The answer is simple, we have a common connection, and that is Chronic Illness. Steve has MS, did I mention that? Steve’s blog is about the trials and travails of living with MS, it’s right there in the title. I didn’t lead with it because it’s only a part of who and what he is.

As a relative newcomer to the Chronic Illness community (I’ve actually had Kidney Disease for decades, but I only just accepted it on, what time is it? Yea, not that long ago) I am drawn to, and consequently follow many Chronic Illness bloggers. Many of these blogs were initiated by people like Steve and I, who have a condition that has affected our lives so profoundly that we want to share it, to inform others of it, or just reap the cathartic benefits of “putting it out there” to a world of anonymous, faceless strangers to read. Many bloggers with Chronic Illness are considered fine resources for their respective conditions with personal expertise in symptom management, links to journals, studies, and news updates. But if one were to bypass reading a blog because it is tagged “Chronic Illness” you would be passing on a great opportunity. I liken it to watching the evening news, seeing a teaser about a positive, uplifting human interest story and then changing the channel. You’re missing out. They tell a great story.

Sure, we write about our illnesses. But not exclusively. We write about our lives in all of its mundane details. We have jobs, we have families, we have social lives and we write about them just like everyone else. The twist of lemon, the ingredient that makes these blogs special is how our conditions impact, shape and affect us as we live our lives.  For example, Steve recently posted about the Blizzard that he (and I) had to clean up after last week. He told us about the ordeal of shoveling all of the snow. No big deal, right? Not really, until you remember that Steve has MS and that not only is he prone to fatigue but he has recently dealt with the minor nuisance of one of his legs simply giving out unexpectedly. It’s just another symptom to Steve, one more challenge in his daily life. But to the reader, his shoveling of snow just graduated from an ordinary chore to a goddamn human interest story. You will find such examples of illness permeating the everyday lives of normal people in all of these blogs. It’s easy to call them inspirational. They are, but at the end of the day, they are just regular people living their lives and not giving in to the challenges their illness throws at them. The resilience of the human spirit simply leaps off of the pages as they write.They are defining their situation before it defines them.

I am the author of Superman can’t find a phone booth and I”m a great story. I’m a great story only because I’m looking down at the dirt and not up. You may wonder where the Moniker of Superman came from. I assure you that it’s not born of inflated self-image. It is instead a very unflattering nickname sarcastically bestowed upon me by a loved one in recognition of my Superhuman ability to deny my illness. I was sick for decades but I didn’t take it seriously. I put on a good face for my family (to not worry my kids) and I dealt with my symptoms. My doctors said that I was in denial, they would later say that it worked for me. On the verge of dialysis, I received the best gift anyone could ever give, the gift of an organ donation. I had a kidney transplant and went on with my life. Then, out of the blue, the new kidney began to fail. And here I am, at the end of a long, downward spiral. I named my blog Superman can’t find a phone booth because I see myself as a strong person on the inside but without an outlet to express and release my inner self. With no phone booths in sight, I turned to the blog. Despite losing my house, my family and my career to my disease, I now find myself in a good place. With nowhere to go but up, I have a whole new outlook that I am sharing with anyone who visits my blog. I have accepted my illness and I am embracing the changes that I and my fellow bloggers with an illness are experiencing. I am part of a community. One that understands me, supports me and has watched me grow. I, in turn, support my peers and monitor their growth.

What are the takeaways from immersing yourself in the daily life of one with a chronic illness?

Here are some of mine:
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You either get busy living, or get busy dying
Andy Dufresne, The Shawshank Redemption

Be grateful.A dear friend of mine, who also has MS once told me that having MS was a blessing of sorts. I initially rejected this notion but I have come around. It has taught her, and myself, to be among other things grateful. Grateful to be alive, to be in a position to be a resource or maybe even an inspiration to another, grateful to understand the value of things that others take for granted.

Every day of your life matters. My doctor recently told me that I, with the help of modern medicine, may live 20 more years. The clock is ticking. This makes sitting around doing nothing a massive waste of precious time. No matter what I am capable of doing today, it is unacceptable to do nothing. Set goals, try to reach them. Better to reach for the stars and drag your feet on the rooftop than to reach for the ceiling and drag your feet on the floor.

Do something with your life. I would rather live 60 fulfilling years than live to 92 and have done shit with my life. Imagine yourself as a fly on the wall of your own funeral. What will people say about you? How many people will show up? Will you be remembered as a burden or an inspiration? Did you die the friend, husband, wife, son, daughter, co-worker and citizen you envisioned yourself to be? Write your own eulogy daily by cementing your legacy in every transaction.
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Leave nothing on the table. This is not just for the chronically ill. Some of us have a fast-moving Chevy meant for us. Don’t wait for tomorrow to do what you can do today. Make that call, take that road trip, pretend that “rainy day” is today. Tell people how you feel and leave them as if you’re never going to see them again. Talking to their stones simply sucks, granite can’t talk back. Everyone in my life knows what they mean to me.

Enjoy the moment. When you have your own mortality on your mind, even shoveling snow can be a moment. While I was shoveling snow last week I stopped to take a break. My heart was racing and my back hurt. As I collected myself I looked around and took a deep breath and truly absorbed my surroundings. It was a beautiful day, I wasn’t cold and it occurred to me that I didn’t have an unlimited amount of these moments, so I breathed it in and savored it.

Be your own advocate, but believe in hope. With advances in modern medicine, there is a potential cure for every disease, and I really hope for one for everybody involved. Steve has written extensively about being your own advocate, knowing your condition and learn all that you can about your condition. Sometimes doctors get it wrong. When I had my transplant, I was given a lot of information of what to expect. I was not told that my disease could potentially attack my new kidney and put me back to square one. Well, that is exactly what happened a mere 5 years after my surgery. I was furious at first, I felt like I was given false hope. But then I reflected on what I accomplished after my transplant. I attacked life. I rode a mountain bike and crashed it gloriously time and time again, every time I got up and kept riding. I hiked, I worked out, I treated my body like I wanted to live forever. If my doctors had told me about the potential to lost it all, I may not have done any of it.

Don’t focus on the “used to’s”. The “used to’s” are a major downer for the chronically ill. It is tough to reflect on what you used to be able to do before that you can’t do now. It is a reality we have to contend with. But at the end of the day, it’s dangerous thinking. Focus on what you can do today and do it well. When you can’t, you will deal with it.

Deal with it. At the end of the day, it comes down to one thing, how well you deal with what life throws at you. Some people out there clear some pretty major hurdles in street shoes just to get through a Tuesday afternoon. When I wake up and I only have brain fog, nausea, leg cramps and fatigue from waking up 10 times the night before it’s a good day. And that is nothing compared to the struggles of some.

Chronic illness has changed who I am. I am not only a different person, I am a better person. I listen more than I talk. I appreciate more than I criticize. I do more and procrastinate less. In the time since I started blogging, I have grown from a state of despondency to one of purpose. I think I am where I belong. I am working less and volunteering more. Wanting less and receiving greater rewards. In the process of downsizing I have achieved the real, the quality I have been searching for in my life. The prospect of death has improved my mortal campaign. I don’t fear death anymore. But I am simply terrified of the prospect of not living a full life.

One of my favorite quotes is “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
As a firm believer in this and an avid people watcher, I always look at a person and wonder what their life is like. But like most, I can’t always tell who is struggling and who isn’t. That’s why you’re encouraged to be nice in the first place…you don’t know. But if you had a way of finding out wouldn’t you want to know their story, maybe find a little inspiration? Something to make your own problems a little more ordinary? You can. Just by going to WP reader and punching in “Chronic illness”. You will have at your disposal as many “human interest stories” that you can handle.

We don’t want pity or sympathy, we just want our stories to be heard. What you take away from them….well, that’s up to you.

Advice from Tom … Get it Checked

Steve invited me on the show to talk a bit about health. I don’t really know anything about health. But my wife owns a stethoscope and I found a mask under the bathroom sink. Let’s get started. Tom. On Health.

Steve and I discovered each other, recently, through a mutual blogger. As these things go, he and I were impressed with each other’s content, each other’s body of work. I dug into his stuff about the same time as he dug into mine. I admire his writing style. Descriptive, informative, never dry. I love the way he subtly discovers his own path back to balance when he feels off course. I can relate to that. A good example was in November, when recent posts of his own prompted him to get back to the upside of down things in “Sunshine and Rainbows.” No matter what life throws at us, we have a choice on how we react. Life threw MS at Steve, but it never beat him down. Not once. In fact, just two days ago he plowed the snow. Really? Steve, we do have limits. Someday you’ll learn yours. Maybe. 😁

Last week, out of the blue, Steve asked if I’d be interested in doing a guest blog for his site. I love to write, and have always sought balance in the number of posts I do in a week on my own site, so I said “sure!” Of course, Steve founded his site as a means to share his journey with MS with “candor, humor, and brutal honesty,” so I said “you know I don’t have MS, right?”

In fact, I have had only two light brushes with the world of MS. A few years ago, when I signed up to Facebook, I reconnected with all my old high school/church group friends. One of them, a little sister to a close pal, whom I helped recruit into the group, had been diagnosed some years earlier. On Facebook, she would tell peripheral stories of days with it – of transfusions and immobility – but I never knew the depth of her ordeal. I only know it never seemed to break her kind and giving spirit.

The only other encounter I’ve had with MS was when President Bartlett revealed his struggle with it to the nation. I was aghast. He was the only president I ever really liked.

Steve said, “of course, I know that. Doesn’t matter, Tom. Be Tom. Do what you do.

“But keep it to the matter of health, if you can, in some way. That is the central theme.”

That created a challenge for me. As I’ve stated recently on my own site, I’ve visited the doctor twice (for checkups) in the last decade. And then back in high school, 30 years ago. Except for the occasional walk-in clinic visit to make sure rib or back pain wasn’t too serious, or to get something prescription-strength for a bad cold, I just don’t have any health-related experiences of my own. That’s a blessing, I realize, so not a complaint. Nonetheless I have opinions. I’m bigly in favor universal healthcare, the kind we see in what I call the “better countries” around the world. I also want to believe in the science of longevity, the likes of which Ray Kurzweil speaks about. I want to live forever, as impossible as that will be.

If invited back for subsequent visits maybe I’ll talk about those things.

But it hit me yesterday, while in the shower (don’t all breakthroughs come from there?), that I had a health-related story from last year, and maybe a lesson to teach. It isn’t about me. It’s about a friend. A co-worker. We lost him in 2017.

He didn’t die. I should point that out right away. But we haven’t seen him since the week after Memorial Day. And it was for the smallest of reasons. Well, it started small, but it damn near killed him, and it certainly changed him. We fear forever.

I’m in appliance sales, and this man was our delivery chief. Just as amicable a guy as you could imagine. And incredibly competent. I don’t believe he missed a day of work in 7 years. Strong, both physically and emotionally. Smart. Funny as hell.

The last day I saw him was the second day of a toothache. Not a normal toothache, but the kind of toothache that swells one entire side of your face. I never saw a toothache do that. For the second day in a row I warned him that he had to get that tooth looked at, or it could be really, really bad. He worked through.

The next day was my day off. The others at my workplace said he showed up, more swollen than the day before, and was sent home. “See a doctor, or don’t come back,” the boss told him. He saw a doctor. The doctor told him he’d never seen a tooth condition, swelling, or infection that bad. They gave him medicine, told him not to return to work right away, and wanted to see him again after the weekend.

Over the weekend, he nearly died.

Someone found him in his living room, looking like he’d already passed. They broke in through a bathroom window to get to him, because he hadn’t answered his calls. His face was so swollen he was unrecognizable.

Over the course of the next few weeks, the doctors induced coma and put him through 6 surgeries to go after the infection. He spent weeks in the hospital. The last I heard they were still waiting for the infection to go down enough to go after the tooth, and that was a further few weeks after his release.

I’ve tried to call him. We’ve spoken to his mother, whom we all know at work. She tells us that she passes along our thoughts and prayers to him, but no, he doesn’t want to see anybody right now. We ask that he stops by sometime, to see us. She says that he says he will. Sometime.

I have mutual friends who have run into him, about town, so I know he gets out. I know he’s recovered (or is recovering) physically. They all tell me the same thing: “he’s not the same person we knew.”

He doesn’t want to interact. To talk. To quip jokes as he does. As he did. His mother says that he suffers from a form of PTSD from the experience. Depression. Anxiety. Nightmares and stuff. It broke him.

I did some reading up on PTSD after that and learned that 80% of all sufferers are only afflicted for a short time. I’m hoping this is one of those 8 out of 10 situations. I hope my friend returns someday.

I told you earlier that I’ve only seen a doctor twice in ten years. The last time was last week. I have a clean bill of health, so far, but there are still blood tests to run, and that colon thing to do this summer when I turn 50. Who knows. I may yet be a man of perfect health. But this thing, with my friend, was a reminder, and I’ve learned a lesson.

He’s a good dozen years younger than me. He never had to go to doctors. He was smiling and happy and ready for whatever life threw his way. And then a bad tooth upended his world.

It can happen in an instant, we all know that. But when it’s happening over time, when there is something that we can do about it, our body will tell us. His body told him about his pain for months, and he ignored it. My body said nothing for decades so I’ve ignored it. But I will ignore it no more. Annual checkups. Taking heed of the pains. Exercise. Cutting back on the red meat. Less beer.

I’ll do most of those. 😉

But I beseech you, out there, do the same. Don’t let it go. Get it checked. The smallest thing can be the biggest thing. Don’t be afraid to know. The worst thing that can happen is you can find out you have something. If you do, you’ll find a way to deal with it. Steve has. He found out he had something. He’s learned to live with it. Learn from his example.

Our lives may change. Our lives will change as we get older. Guaranteed. But when we know what ails us we can have more control over that change. If we don’t, that change can upend us. Sometimes, when we are upended, we never come back.

So, that’s my health-related story. I want to thank Steve for letting me tell it. For inviting me on. I hope I’ve entertained a tad, educated a bit, and didn’t make a fool of Tom. I hope to be invited back.

Honestly, I haven’t even attacked the pharmaceutical companies yet. 😎

The Hardest Part of My Day

dressed

I love sliding into bed at night. By that time, my body is tired and stiff from having to carry itself on one good leg throughout the day. My hip is sore, my lower back is barking, my foot is dragging terribly because I can barely lift it, and my knee won’t bend without a significant effort. In fact, it is ramrod straight, and almost feels like it is hyper-extended, although it doesn’t hurt.

When I slide under those soft, warm covers,  I can feel my body exhale and melt into the mattress. It feels like I’m weightless, and this poor body, that has trudged and wobbled around all day, finally has a chance to lay prone and release the pressure that has coiled inside it.

The flip side of this is that I have to drag my ass out of its warm cocoon the following morning, which is often the most difficult accomplishment of the day.

First of all, it’s a struggle moving in bed, other than the periodic leg twitching. Turning onto my side is an endeavor, particularly when I turn to my left. The only way I can accomplish that is to reach across the mattress, grab onto its side with my right hand, and literally pull myself onto my side. Turning to my right is easier, but instead of grabbing the mattress, I have to tuck my right arm behind my back and flop over onto my side, like a fish out of water. I therefore have a tendency to sleep on my back all the time, which has forced me to sleep with a pillow under my knees to prevent my back from getting sorer and stiffer, which further complicates the turning process.

So by the time my alarm alerts me to the new day, my body is fully rested, but it also feels like it’s one hundred years old. You see, I can’t just sit upright from a prone position anymore, and as I have already mentioned, turning on my side isn’t as easy as it sounds. Getting out of the left side of the bed is almost impossible, so after I turn to my right, I literally have to shimmy my lower half to the side of the bed, push myself upright, then gently grab the bad leg and place it on the floor. The good leg easily follows.  That’s the simple part.

My leg is the weakest first thing in the morning, so I feel like a newborn colt when I stand for the first time every day. They are also unsteady and, like the colt, it looks as if I am learning to stand and walk for the first time. Compound that with poor balance, which is also at its worst first thing in the morning, and I’m sure I look like a staggering drunk as I make my way to the bathroom. I literally have my right hand on the wall from the time I get out of bed until I reach the bathroom, and there have been many times where that short distance from the bed to the wall almost ended in failure. It feels like gravity is doing it’s best to suck me down onto the floor, but it hasn’t happened yet.

I am a lot steadier when the morning bathroom routine is completed, but the limb is still very weak. The next mountain to climb is getting dressed. Getting my clothes on above the waist is a piece of cake, but not so much with the lower half. Underwear used to be an issue until I learned that the easiest way to get them on was to simply grab the bad leg by the ankle and place it where it needs to go. Same with the socks, but there are two complicating factors in play.

The first is that I am not flexible at all, and I don’t think any amount of stretching, which is hard to do in the first place, will change that. If you have ever strained your lower back, you how difficult it is to put any article of clothing on your legs or feet. That’s how it is for me, minus the searing back pain. Some mornings, the body is so stiff that it feels like the act of getting my leg high enough, and bending my body forward enough to get my socks on, will result in a hernia, a rupture, or a complete blowout of the lower back. Maybe all three.

Then there is the balance issue. Most people think that balance is an issue when one is standing, but it can also be a problem when you’re sitting. When I’m getting dressed, if my butt is to too close to the edge of the bed, and I’m leaning forward a little too far, gravity will take over and I’ll crumple to the floor. Falling is embarrassing enough when you’re upright, but falling when you are already sitting down would be the ultimate humiliation, even if nobody is there to see it. It hasn’t happened yet, but I have come close several times. Mostly when my mind is somewhere else.

So now the chore is almost complete. I am fully dressed and ready to take on the new day, but before that can occur, I have to take my first trip down the stairs. This is the most perilous thing I do all day, not only because of the unsteadiness, but also because I have my socks on, which tends to make the wooden stairs feel very slippery. Plus, it is dark, so I make sure to count every one of those fourteen steps until I reach the ground floor. One hand is firmly on the rail and the other is sliding along the wall when I make that trek, which helps not only maintain my balance, but will keep me upright if the foot slips or the knee doesn’t bend and I lurch forward unexpectedly. As you can tell, I fear falling down those stairs. I don’t think it will ever happen, but I believe that if I were to ever suffer a life-threatening MS related mishap, falling down those stairs would be the most likely scenario.

Once I’m downstairs, all I have to do is get my stuff together for the ride into work, followed by the final act of putting my shoes on and tying them, which often takes two or three attempts. You see, the AFO brace I wear is in that shoe.  I have to hold the leg by the calf and aim my toes into the shoe. Once they are in, I can lean forward, hold the back of the shoe with my fingers and slide the rest of my foot in, before I tie the strings. I’m sure this process looks very odd to someone who witnesses it for the first time.

Now I’m golden. The stiffness that existed twenty minutes earlier is gone, and my strength and balance is starting to come back, although it will take another hour or so to reach maximum capacity. I’m ready for the day and all that comes with it.

By day’s end, the body is once again tired, ragged and spent. I’m off my feet for most of the evening after dinner and the evening chores are done. My rocker recliner calls and welcomes me as I watch television with my wife. Once it is time to turn in, the legs protest having to carry my 190 plus pounds once again. It actually feels like a thousand pounds, but I shuffle up those stairs one last time to start the bedtime routine, then slide under those blessed covers and let the tension melt away. It has become my favorite time of the day.

I wish I could say the same thing about the next morning, but one has to look at the bright side. At least there is a next morning.

The Auto-Immune Irony

illness

The symptoms were subtle when I was first diagnosed, but after a few years into my battle with MS, the progression became steadier, and I began to use a cane whenever I left the house. The interferons I was injecting myself with weren’t doing a damn thing, and I had become dissatisfied with my neurologist because he appeared unsure about how to proceed. In fact, he once called another neurologist to confirm a thought he had while I was in the office with him. This didn’t inspire a lot of confidence, so I decided to make a change .

I work for a large health system, and when I asked my boss if he knew anyone in the MS field I should consider, he deferred to the organization’s Medical Chief of Staff for a recommendation, and was given the name of a neurologist close to where I work, who was reputed to be one of the best clinicians in the state. I made the switch, and later learned that he was the guy my former neurologist had called that day.

During our first appointment, he declared I should change medications, which made me happy. I had come to hate injecting myself, particularly when I didn’t notice any improvement whatsoever on the progression front. In hindsight, I don’t know why I agreed to take them in the first place, because I knew they were designed more for the relapsing remitting (RRMS) kind, than the progressive kind I had. Tysabri wasn’t an option because the blood test he ordered when I scheduled the visit indicated I had the JC Virus. After listing the options available to me, he recommended I start monthly infusions of steroids and a chemo drug called cytoxan.  Shocked might be too strong a word to describe my initial reaction, but I was definitely surprised and confused. I mean, how in the world would a cancer drug help me. It seems silly now, but all I thought about at the time was getting sick and having my hair fall out, and asked him if I would have to deal with that.

He assured me the dose I would be getting wouldn’t cause those side effects, and I would be given an anti-nausea med just in case. When I asked why he believed this was the appropriate way to go, he explained that MS was an auto-immune disease and described what that meant. To paraphrase,  my immune system had run amok, and my body was cannibalizing itself in terms of the demyelination  that had occurred. The chemo would suppress the immune system so it would stop attacking my body, thus putting brakes on the progression. This explanation made sense, so I consented to the monthly routine.

This decision was made with a lot of trepidation that I didn’t share, because I didn’t want to sound like a wimp (I don’t have that issue anymore). Part of the anxiety evolved from the fact that I would be getting monthly blood tests to check my liver enzymes, because the chemo had the potential to fuck up my liver, which thrilled me. There were other things they would be checking to make sure the chemo wasn’t doing more harm than good, but that was the one that I latched onto.

My other fear was I would become susceptible to every germ known to mankind, because I would be shutting my immune system down. Consequently, I assumed I would be sick all the time, catching colds and any flu bug or any virus that was floating around. I thought the winters would become an especially miserable, unending chain of one illness after another. After all, wasn’t this a logical assumption, given that my front line of health defense was going to be taking a siesta? I was afraid that the devil I didn’t know would become worse than the one I did, but hoped that the reality would be different, and that the treatment would turn out to be the lesser of the two evils.

That was seven or eight years ago, and I look back at that time with amusement. Why? Because the weirdest and most ironic thing that has occurred since I’ve been getting these infusions, is that I’ve been remarkably healthy. Unusually healthy, in fact. Just mentioning it makes me wonder if I am jinxing myself for the upcoming cold and flu season, but I can’t deny the truth.

When I first started the treatments, I may have encountered the occasional cold, sinus infection or flu. I can’t say for sure because I don’t remember those kinds of details from that long ago, but if they did occur, they were far and few in between. What I can say with absolute confidence, is the last cold I had was two or three years ago, and it was short-lived. I don’t remember the last time I was sick with the flu, had a stomach virus, or anything like that. Last year, everyone in my household had something, and had it on more than one occasion.  I also work in a large office, where everybody was sick at one time or another. Not me. I was the oasis of health in a sea of sickness at home and at work. I’m sure germs were floating all around me on a daily basis, yet I remained unscathed. It’s bizarre.

Is this pure coincidence? I think not. I believe that even though I’m trying to put my immune system to sleep, it remains overactive enough to shield me from the maladies that latch onto everyone else, yet not so active that the progression accelerates. I guess my neurologist knew what he was talking about.

This winter is going to test this theory, because I have switched to a new chemo agent that I will take every six months, instead of one Friday every month. You see, even though I didn’t get sick, I felt like I had the flu every Sunday that followed the Friday infusion, a parting gift from the chemo. This new drug will be administered twice a year and actually kills certain cells (T cells?).  I assume this means the drug is stronger, takes longer to get out of my system, which in turn means it takes longer for the cells that it kills to be replenished enough to give them another whack. My next scheduled infusion isn’t until March, so it will be interesting to see if I will enjoy another illness-free winter. Should that occur, how can I not conclude that my over-active immune system is like Pac-Man, gobbling up every germ seeking shelter before it can settle in my sinus or gut?

A definite plus, but I’d rather have two good legs.