Not the Best of Friends

Three years ago today I learned that I have CML. It is a testament to the miracle drug Gleevec that I am here to write about it. A recent flare-up of my RA, which fortunately has been in remission for several years, reminds me that my body and I have not been the best of friends over the years. One of my earliest memories is of having my elbow stitched back together after slicing it on a typewriter ribbon can (yes, I’m that old and, no, I don’t remember how I managed self-mutilation at such an early age). It wasn’t too long before my parents were informed I had Nephritis by the same doctor who stitched my tongue back on after I bit it off jumping from an apple tree in the back yard (I was always rather amazed that the State of Colorado allowed me to run around packing heat for six years). I had a couple of trouble-free years until my appendectomy at age nine, failed-surgery on my right pinkie during junior high, and a summer off between my junior and senior year while being diagnosed with Gilbert Syndrome. Since turning fifty I’ve had my right foot reconstructed and my left knee replaced. It all makes me think that I’m probably the runt of the litter and lucky to have made it this far. It also makes me think that I may someday join in the angelic chorus, “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last!”