Sean’s Burgundy Thread: Counting Down The Days
I was in line at the UPS Store waiting to send a sample of blood to my out-of-state myeloma doctors when an impatient man behind me muttered, "C’mon, don’t you know that our days are numbered?"
A shiver went down my spine hearing him speak the odd phrase that I’d heard three other times in the previous 24 hours. In fact, "our days are numbered" was starting to echo in my brain.
Do you know what it’s like when some catchy melody gets stuck in your head and you hear it over and over again? It’s called an "earworm" and it happens to me all of the time.
You hear a tune playing on the radio, or in the department store, or on someone’s ringtone at the bank and before you know it, the song starts to rattle around in your noggin and you’re humming it out loud.
It gets a bit paradoxical sitting in church learning about the joys of being obedient to God’s will as Frank Sinatra croons ‘I did it my way!’ in the earworm-inhabited recesses of your mind.
Go away, Frank. I’m busy.
Similarly, when I was first diagnosed, myeloma stuff seemed to pop up from everywhere.
It went from being a disease that I’d never heard of to being a condition that someone’s cousin had, or the target of a new drug promising strong profits for pharmaceutical investors, or the focus of a 5K run raising funds to fight leukemia and, oh yeah, myeloma.
As I’ve written before, along with a multiple myeloma diagnosis we seem to be issued a pair of myeloma-colored glasses that virtually paints our world with a blush of myeloma burgundy. Once you get it, it’s never far from your thoughts.
But recently that one phrase, "our days are numbered," has eerily wormed its way back into my life.
To set the scene, in December of 2008 I was steeling myself for my very first chemotherapy session. As I sat down in the infusion chair, I began to chitchat with the myeloma patient next to me. At one point the gentleman sighed dramatically and shared this gem:
"My friend, our days are numbered."
What? I must’ve blanched, shocked at his not-so-cheery pronouncement. I’m not sure what he expected me to say. I think that I eventually offered a weak "I guess so."
Man, as if I wasn’t already scared enough. In this context, I knew what "our days are numbered" meant, and it wasn’t a happy thought.
Why couldn’t he have been one of those rah-rah "you can beat this!" supportive fellow patients who would help ease me into the infusion experience? Instead, here he was already killing us both off, and I hadn’t even begun treatment.
I decided that my new friend, Eeyore, wouldn’t be getting my vote to be inducted into the Myeloma Patient Welcome Wagon Hall of Fame.
Now fast forward six plus years after that fateful meeting at the infusion clinic. I was getting a haircut at the place that I’d been frequenting for two decades, when one of the other barbers said to his client, "Your days are numbered, buddy!"
I don’t even know what they were talking about, but for some reason those words caught my attention.
That evening I was watching a favorite classic comedy flick, The Philadelphia Story, and I heard Jimmy Stewart’s character say, "This is the voice of Doom calling, your days are numbered!"
Then the next morning, I got a call from an old friend who chuckled "My days are numbered, Sean! I’m finally retiring next week!" Now that was a weird coincidence, but I still didn’t pay too much attention to it.
So as I’m waiting to ship my precious blood, I hear "our days are numbered" yet again. First it was the barbershop, then Jimmy Stewart, then my soon to be lounge-around friend, and now at the UPS Store.
Enough was enough! Completely out of character, I snapped at the poor guy behind me, "They’ll get to us!" And I wasn’t even on dex.
I decided, right then and there, that if they want my days to be numbered, fine, I’ll give them some numbers. I didn’t even know who "they" were.
I got home and put pen to paper (actually finger to calculator), and I started numbering my days with wild abandon.
I figured out that, as of my writing this column, I have been alive for 20,619 days. There – I numbered that!
I was born on Day 1, and it was a great day! That young airman and his wife were very happy to have a healthy new son.
Little did I know that on Day 325 my sweetheart was born and that I would first lay eyes on her on Day 8,848. On Day 12,430 I married her. That was a FANTASTIC day! How did I ever live 12,429 days without her?
On Day 14,297, my oldest daughter was adopted in China. My youngest was adopted from China on Day 16,986. Those were two of the very best days of my life!
On Day 6,761, I graduated from high school, and Day 20,601 was one that I wasn’t sure that I’d be around to see. My oldest daughter graduated with honors from her high school that day.
I could go on and on and count the many wonderful days of my life.
There have been some tough days, as well. On Day 10,316 my mom passed away, followed by Day 14,740 when my dad left us.
I was officially diagnosed with multiple myeloma on Day 18,239. The good news? I have been alive for 2,380 days since then ... and counting.
While I try hard to not worry too much about the future, I know that my days are numbered. Of course, myeloma may hasten my last days, but until then, I’ll keep counting the good ones.
And I’m wishing many good days ahead for you!
Sean Murray is a multiple myeloma patient and columnist at The Myeloma Beacon. You can view a list of his columns here.
If you are interested in writing a regular column to be published by The Myeloma Beacon, please contact the Beacon team at .
Hi Sean, Time is of the essence, you know. But this too shall pass. And avoid the old Chambers Brothers song "Time Has Come Today" (I don't know what it means, but the lyrics seem kind of dire.)
Sean
Ecclisiates 3:1-9 talks about time, time for every activity under heaven. Famous song by the "Birds" put it to a catchy melody. So yes our days are numbered in a sense that our time is required or consumed by all the activities we engage in. For me, I have found the words at Matthew 6:34 to be helpful to prevent wasting time worrying about what might happen, particularly as a 4 year plus MM survivor. Taking today as it happens is enough to worry about, leaving tomorrow alone until it becomes today. This has enabled myself, my loving wife and grown children to have 1643 days of mostly normal life, with the rigours of MM, only able to take what we have given it. (Eccl 3:4-7)
4 A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to wail and a time to dance; 5 A time to throw stones away and a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; 6 A time to search and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep and a time to throw away; 7 A time to rip apart and a time to sew together; A time to be silent and a time to speak;
Thanks for the great discussion on counting our days. Hope you and the rest of the MM community have many days left to count.
Shortly after my hair started growing back from my SCT, some nine years ago, the creme rinse I'd used for 20 years was discontinued. Made me mad. I loved starting the day with the scent of white clover and I didn't want to switch. So, I calculated how many bottles I'd need based on my expected life span and the number of ounces I used each day and hit eBay to buy a lifetime supply. I ran out a couple of years back. I've exceeded my expected life. Still resent having to change my creme rinse and shampoo, but it is something I can live with. My days are numbered, but the number keeps increasing, so that is OK.
Sean,
Shortly after I was diagnosed and going through my induction therapy 4 years ago, I was browsing in Home Depot when a friendly sales clerk asked if I needed any help. I told him I did not and was just killing some time before I had to be somewhere else. He replied back jokingly “Are you killing time or is time killing you?” Given the circumstances I was in, I had a reaction similar to you. I briefly thought about bringing up my myeloma diagnosis and the situation I was in, but that thought quickly left my mind. The man was just trying to be friendly and I did not want him to take it wrong or think I was upset by what he said if I mentioned I had just been diagnosed with what is considered a terminal cancer. The only thing I could think of to do was to smile and say back “Truer words have never been spoken.”
Today at the grocery store I reached into the spices, in between two young women stocking shelves. I said "I need more thyme", making them and myself laugh. When I said it though, I was thinking of myeloma and enjoyed the irony as much as the girls enjoyed my pun.
Sean, thanks for another great read. I suppose unlike the Rolling Stones song, Time is Not on our side. Before I reached the end of the column I already had my calculator out determining how many days I have been alive and thinking about some other milestones. Don't forget those extra leap year days!
Skillfully crafted column, old friend! Enjoyed it!
So enjoyed your column. You remind us there are two sides to the time issue. The days are numbered for all of us and were so before we had a diagnosis of MM. Better use of our brain power to count the events worth remembering, both good and bad. My good days far outnumber the bad ones. As we go forward from diagnosis, I pray we grow stronger and enjoy the following days as much as we enjoyed the ones before it. Sometimes we must make plans to put aside every day life and get together with those we love and use our time wisely. You remind us well!
"Time is a resource that is non-renewable and non-transferable. You cannot store it, slow it up, hold it up, divide it up or give it up. You can't hoard it up or save it up for a rainy day - when it's lost it is unrecoverable. When you kill time, remember that it has no resurrection." - A.W. Tozer. Sean, keep counting those wonderful numbers!
I remember well the few days around when I was diagnosed and had gone to the local chemists (pharmacy) to pick up a prescription. I was in a hurry and after waiting for what seemed ages, I called to the pharmacist," hurry up, I haven't got long!" She looked at the prescription and got totally the wrong idea, apologising for wasting the time of a cancer patient. I had to apologise for my thoughtless words. But it does seems poignantly comical now x
I will always remember your story about being stuck in a jam on the way to treatment, and you ending up councilling a guy at the side of the road. Was my first contact with the Myeloma World of caring people. X
Sean, I enjoyed your column. I can relate to the ear worms, only mine usually keeps me awake at night. I was recently diagnose with lymphoma and myeloma. The myeloma is in the smoldering stage and the lymphoma is a slow growing type. I had lost my dad to multiple myeloma back in 2011 so when I was informed that I also had it I have to admit that I was stunned. I now just try not to think about it. I know the day is coming when the chemo will start and the countdown will begin. I just have faith that the Lord will provide. I have two lovely grandchildren that I so want to see graduate from high school. I keep telling my wife that if I can make it to their graduation then I will be happy with what may come. Good luck on your fight. Keep counting those good days. After all it's the good days that make life worth living.
Hi Sean, Once again, another great column. I'm the spouse of an 8 yr. survivor of MM. Although my husband has not been in remission for yrs., his markers are not high enough for more chemo. Plus he's been on peritoneal dialysis, because of LCDD, every single night for the past 4 yrs. Even with all this he lives every single day as though it's his last. Yes, his days are numbered but so are everyone else's. None of us ever knows when our time will come. Keep on counting those days! I look forward to reading many more of your columns.
Are you OK? I noticed your July column is overdue. Hope you're on a long vacation.