Call me Tik-Tok.

Tik-Tok was the mechanical man created by L. Frank Baum and intro­duced in Ozma of Oz ^[1]. While he appears in other Oz books, it is in his debut that the reader gains an appreciation for Tik-Tok’s mechanical works, including his apparently tireless activities.

There was one catch with Tik-Tok. As a mechanical man, he had to be wound: under his left arm for thinking, under his right arm for speech, and in the center of his back for “walking and action.”

And if he wasn’t wound? Tik-Tok would come to a halt, sometimes mid-sentence, sometimes mid-action, but always to a standstill. And there he would stay, silent and unmoving, until someone wound him up again.

My labs indicate that I continue to be on the plateau that my specialist identified back in February, neither gaining nor losing ground against my myeloma. I continue to work part-time (and am just finishing the annually most grueling part of my job); I continue to volunteer at our monthly legal clinic; and I continue to accompany my husband to almost all of his performances and many of his other professional obligations.

In short, I continue to live my life.

All the same, I continue to lose ground in the quality of that life. There are days I am so tired that I put my head on the table, like a small child resting in a classroom. There are days, most of them, truth be told, when I feel so poorly (a hills phrase from my childhood that I now understand) that even happy events – coffee with a friend, a walk with my husband, long anticipated weekend guests – fail to pick me up physically. I enjoy and savor every one of those moments, mind you, but I enjoy and savor them while wrapped in sickness.

Unlike Tik-Tok, I don’t have a key to wind me up and set me running again as I run down. Taking a break, taking it easy, or taking a nap does not change the equation. Changing my diet, exercising more, exercising less, skipping dessert, or adding two scoops of ice cream to the homemade apple pie does nothing. Both my oncologist and personal physician have poked, prodded, and tried this or that approach to no avail. It is what it is and I am where I am on the myeloma continuum.

A few appointments ago, I half-asked, half-said to my oncologist, “It’s just a long slow slog at this point, isn’t it?” Yes, it is.

When Tik-Tok vanquishes a Wheeler (you gotta read the book, folks), the Wheeler threatens that Tik-Tok will be sorry for daring to tangle with him. The mechanical man replies: “I am only a ma-chine and can-not feel sor-row or joy, no mat-ter what hap-pens.”

Unlike Tik-Tok, I do feel the whole range of human emotions. I am discouraged somewhat by the winding down, but not surprised and, so far, not overwhelmed by it. For some months now, I have been coming to the realization that I am having to learn to say goodbye to the people and the life I love.

Even so, there are still those moments, so many moments, of incredible joy and delight. I am burning my candle at both ends, and relishing the lovely light.

And that is a thought that even Tik-Tok may have been able to feel.