As you may remember from my previous column, I was admitted to the hospital for my stem cell transplant at the beginning of March (on March 5 to be exact).

I had no initial devastating reaction to the melphalan (Alkeran) that I received on the day of admission or the infusion of my stem cells over the following two days.

While my first 10 to 11 days were certainly not pleasant, they weren’t “off the charts” bad either. For the first week, I was allowed to walk in the corridors …

When my stem cells were harvested and put in the deep freeze in June 2010, my hematologist said the timing for the transplant was not yet critical.  As long as my blood counts remained reasonably level, and as long I could tolerate the side effects of Revlimid (lenalidomide) and dexamethasone (Decadron), he felt I could postpone the procedure.

A few weeks after the stem cell harvest, I retired from my job because of dexamethasone-related side effects (see my related Beacon column).  I also believed the stem cell procedure would …

In my last column, I described how a couple of incidents, one on the subway and one at work, during the first few months of steroid and Revlimid (lenalidomide) treatment had given me hints that more than physical effects were going to be involved in my multiple myeloma treatments.

After five months on chemotherapy, it seemed that, while my medicines were apparently going to control the myeloma – I was approaching “very good partial response” – I could tell that the chemotherapy was having profound effects on me emotionally.

Continuing …

After my multiple myeloma diagnosis two years ago, I started my bi-weekly chemotherapy regimen.  I quickly developed a routine.

Tuesdays and Fridays, I would take a ten-minute subway ride from our home in lower Manhattan to Greenwich Village, spend an hour at the clinic getting my “infusion,” and then stop off at one of the many great food stores at the cavernous Chelsea Market, a block from the clinic.

I’d then hop back on the subway and get to work, usually by 11 a.m.  I was upbeat.  This seemed bearable.

An early …

In the summer of 2009, six months before being diagnosed with multiple myeloma, my wife and I toured the Crater Lake area in Oregon by bicycle. 

The group we were in was small -- only four bikers -- as a third couple had bailed at the last minute, and we were in (hopefully) the deepest part of the Great Recession.  

On the last morning of the week-long trip, we began a 45-mile descent to our luncheon spot.  We were biking on isolated two-lane back roads, hemmed in by green forests.  Forestfires had been …

Five or six years ago, I noticed that my wife was consistently biking a lot faster than I was when we took bike rides on the weekends or when I met her on her way home from work. 

So, as a 60^th birthday present to myself, I bought a very lightweight bike constructed out of space-age material in the hope that I could keep up.

Alas, the flashy new bike didn’t help: my wife continued to outpace me. She is a tiny woman, but she also is two years younger than I …