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I’m going to take a few minutes here to celebrate today 09/20/2020 and tomorrow 09/21/2020. “Another week in paradise” will have to wait another couple of days.

Today marks the anniversary of my release from the hospital 24 years ago. After almost two grueling months of enduring and surviving my bone marrow transplant, I made it home in time to watch my son Joseph enter into this world. I know that I am rehashing information that I very recently wrote about, but every year that I get to be here is so special to me. I had two very important goals to reach when my journey began. The first of course, to survive the transplant so that I could get home to Nick and meet Joey. The second, to see Nick graduate from Kindergarten.

Tomorrow, I will wish Joey a happy 24th birthday. As usual, he is traveling…. in Florida this time…celebrating his special day. Happy Birthday Joe! And of course, I got to see Nick graduate from Kindergarten, Middle school ( somewhat because he spent his graduation ceremony in the hospital with an appendicitis attack!), High School and College. I have so much to be thankful for, I am a very lucky guy. I appreciate everyone of you that are following along with my blog. Those of you that aren’t very familiar with my story, get ready for a wild ride. I wish that I could say that everything was smooth sailing after the transplant but that just wasn’t the case. My heart aches for what my little boys had to witness and endure for so many years watching me battle cancer. I also can’t imagine the “What if?” if I didn’t make it. For so many, that “What if?” is a reality. I feel so bad for those not as fortunate as me.

Especially this crazy year, 2020, hug your kids and remind them how special they are and tell them how much you love them everyday. Or text them. They never answer the freakin phone :).

Next Up: Another week in Paradise…(I promise)

I held that little boy in my arms like you can’t imagine. I waited almost two months for this moment that I thought may never happen. Back in the maternity ward, Nick was able to join us and meet his baby brother Joe. The range of emotion I was feeling was off the charts. I had both boys on my lap and Lor was resting in the bed next to us. How amazing was this. I was alive and this was my family. The euphoria short-lived though. My immune system was so fragile. The longer that I was exposed to the hospital air and those around me, the more dangerous it would become. It would be goodbye for now and back to my parents home. This was a day for the ages. Less than twenty four hours after being released from the bubble, my little guy came into this world. He knew what he was doing. Supercharging me with hope and the strongest will a man could ever feel to survive.

By the time I got back to my parents house I was more than spent. Completely. My In-laws would be holding down the fort with Lori and the boys at home and my parents were taking care of me. The weekend passed as most of my time was spent resting and wishing that I could be home helping with my boys. Unbelievably, my wife would have to go to work on Tuesday. Two days after she got home from the hospital delivering our son. It was just a never ending, no rest for the weary situation for her. Thank god she was so strong. At least, she didn’t have to go down to the city every day anymore. But I did. My first appointment was Tuesday. Back to see my favorite person…Doctor Dave. At least I didnt have to have another bone marrow aspiration. Not yet.

Monday afternoon I was scheduled to have a visiting nurse come and check up on me plus clean my Hickman Catheter. I couldnt wait to have that contraption taken out of my chest. So annoying. It went well though. I think she weighed me in at about 135 lbs. I really needed to be able to taste my food again. It was so hard to eat. I still had horrible mouth sores and everything tasted like shards of metal. Nutrients were so important at this stage of recuperation for me. I needed to gain weight. It was going to be hard to pull off.

Tuesday morning came and the laborious routine of getting dressed and ready to travel began. Heading back to Hahneman hospital, my home away from home, I dreaded the trip. Up the elevator to the 15th floor, into the office that I hadn’t seen since my admission for the transplant. Off of the elevator, turn left for the offices or right for the bubbles. It was very strange. My visits to the office before the transplant, I would try not to stare at the patients ravaged by chemotherapy. Sullen, pale, scarves, baseball caps, many in wheelchairs, the waiting room was full of them. Now, it was my turn to be a member of the club. It didnt feel good at all. It was awful. I was now the spectacle. The new patients coming through the door were trying not to look at me now. Go ahead, I understand.

Anyway, my appointment didn’t go very well. Dr. Dave did not like my appearance, my blood counts were dropping and I had developed a fever. I guess so much had transpired in the short time after I was released that my body was not ready for it. The wheelchair ride to the inpatient cancer ward was swift and not so sweet. No wonder they left the Hickman Catheter in me. “Here’s your gown Mr. Keenan”. “Welcome back”.

On a side note… this past week, 9/10/20, I just returned from a trip to Florida. I was visiting with a good friend of mine, relaxing for a bit, when a familiar song began playing on Music TV that was on at the time. My back was to the TV but the distinctly familiar sound of the opening waterfall sounds hit me like a brick. The tears simultaneously began flowing. I tried to control the emotional response that automatically triggers itself. My friend looked at me while this situation unfolded mid conversation and didn’t know what was going on or what to think. He asked if I was alright, like WTH? Trying to compose myself, and feeling like an idiot, I apologized and tried to explain. The words ripped into me as the tears continued to flow… “How many special people change?” ” How many lives are living strange?” Twenty four years later…that damn “Champagne Supernova”… Gets me every time.

Next Up: Another week in Paradise

I had to leave my boy again. It was such an amazing and uplifting moment for me to see him again. For a two and a half year old baby boy to have to process what was going on. I can’t imagine what was going through his head. Nevertheless, I had to say goodbye again after the short visit and was off to my parents house to quarantine, recuperate, eat and rest.

I had actually only lived in our families new home in Fort Washington for about two months after we moved in. A new job after graduating college afforded me the ability to move out and into my own place at that time, about ten years prior to now. I wasnt sure how long I would be staying there but it was a welcome respite after two months in the hospital. I unpacked and made myself comfortable in my new bedroom then went to the bathroom to take a really, really long shower. It felt wonderful. Afterwards, I settled in, called Lor and Nick to say goodnight and tried to go to sleep in my new digs.

About nine am the next morning, the 21st, my mom woke me to tell me that Lori was on the phone. “My water broke. I’m on the way to the hospital”, she said. No freakin way! Is this really happening! I barely had the strength to get out of bed. This was a miracle though and there was no way that I was going to miss it. I struggled to get dressed. Time was of the essence. We were using the same doctor that delivered Nick three years before at Frankford/Aria hospital in Northeast Philadelphia. It was about 45 minutes away and Lor and her dad were already on the way. I made it to the car and we were on our way. My mind was racing. Did this kid really know that I had just gotten out of the hospital the afternoon before? Did he realize how immunosuppressed and weak I was? Did he know the exact day that I would be available to be there to welcome him into the world? Pretty amazing I thought. Step on it Dad. We have to get to the hospital!

The hospital provided a wheelchair when we pulled up and we made our way to the delivery room where Lor was already in labor. The nurses at the front desk were apparently very happy to see me. The nurse asked me who I was there for and I told them that it was for Lori, that I was the father. Bursts of laughter broke out! They said “Thank God!” and proceeded to take me into the back where my father in law was dressed in a mask and gown. He looked so relieved to see me! Apparently, when they got to the hospital, Lori was rushed into the delivery room and when the nurse asked Nonno who he was, he said “The Father!”. He was so nervous, the nurses thought that HE was the Father! Nonno was off the hook. Dressed in a mask and gown… they wheeled me into the birthing room. I looked like I should have been in the cancer ward but here I was. I made it. Lor made it too. 56 days of hell and on number 57 here we were ready to welcome the son that I thought I may not ever meet. Yes, it was a miracle.

Unlike Nick who tortured us for 28 hours, this kid shot out like a rocket. Two and a half hours, he came out so fast that the doctor almost dropped him! There he was though. A beautiful baby boy. It was overwhelming for me. I just cried. My wife was amazing. He came two weeks early so she hadn’t even had a second to breathe. I was so proud of her. And Nick. He would be a big brother now. So many changes, so fast. Again, this is what I was fighting for. This is why Leukemia would not win this time.

We found out later that when Lori’s sister, brother in law and brother got the call in New York they left so quickly that they forgot to pick up Lor’s Mom and had to go back and get her! It was a glorious day. We were so blessed. I got to be there. His name you know…his name is Joseph.

Next Up: So Much to Take In.

It was Monday morning the 16th of September. I woke up to a knock on the glass of my bubble. The nurse on duty had a warning for me. Dr. Dave would be in at some point in the morning to treat me to another bone marrow aspiration. I knew it was coming. He would deliver the pain along with a date for my release. So he said at the end of last week. I was so ready to go home. I knew it would be rough transitioning to civilian outpatient life but I couldn’t wait to get out. Preparations were being made at home for my release. My parents had the bedroom ready. Lori was on call to be ready to take off and come get me. Poor girl was ready to burst. Just another two weeks to go for Joe. She was still working everyday and coming to the hospital every afternoon. Everyone was excited.

Dr. Dave rolled in with his entourage and tray of big needles and syringes. I swear that he loved torturing me. So, I assumed the position, grabbed the table with my hands and toes. You know the drill. The news afterwards would be worth the pain. “Ok Keenan, you are going home Wednesday”. Woohoo! It was an emotional moment for me. I had made it. My fifty/fifty chance of leaving the hospital dead or alive was over. This didn’t mean that I was totally out of the woods though, it meant that my odds were getting better. I started preparing for departure. All set to go, packed and ready. Wednesday morning came and went. Dr. Dave wasnt ready to let me go yet. Talk about a let down. Friday the 20th was the new date. Really?

Ok…now we fast forward to Friday. The stage is set. Paperwork signed, all of my precious pics of Nick packed up, dressed in actual street clothes and sneakers. Sneakers. I haven’t worn shoes in almost two months! All of the nurses on duty were there to say goodbye. They were just amazing the whole time. I still was quite shaky though. Dr. Dave gave me the exit interview. I would see him on Monday. Lor and my Dad were there to take me home. The wheelchair ride to the front door led me outside into a glorious sunny afternoon. Freedom.

In the car, the smile I wore under my mask was unprecedented. Our first stop was my house to see Nicky. The ride seemed like forever. When we pulled up to the house I could barely hold the tears back. Nick would be waiting for me along with Nonno…Lori’s dad, and Karen, our nanny. Fifty six days ago I left him. I didnt look like his dad anymore. I wouldnt be able to stay long, just a few minutes. The garage door went up and I got out of the car and waited at the entrance. The inside door opened and out he came. “Hi buddy” I said. Very hesitantly he walked towards me. He looked confused. Almost frightened. After all, I looked awful. I stood there and waited a second more for him to come around. All of a sudden he said “Daddy!” and ran into my arms. You needed a mop to wipe all of the tears from that garage floor. I just held him. He had grown so much. So beautiful. This is what I was fighting for. This is what kept me going. This is why there was no way that I wasn’t going to beat this crap. This was the best welcome home ever!

Next up: No Freakin Way!

I was very weak. The transplant had taken a huge toll on my body. I was no perfect specimen to begin with, not awful though. Before I was diagnosed in May, I had just completed another season of men’s league Ice Hockey and was still refereeing after many years. I loved the game. Playing since I was twelve, officiating since I was seventeen and playing in the Trico men’s league in Bucks County for over 11 years. Hockey was a big part of my life. Getting back on the ice again was a huge goal of mine. Pun intended. In the seven weeks that I had been in my bubble, I went from 185 pounds down to 130. There wasn’t a hair left on my body. So pale, I looked the part…consumate poster boy chemo patient. The trips made to the shower were getting easier though and became a part of my rehab regimen. Still tedious, but so necessary for my mental well being.

The famous blackboard continued to be filled with glorious blocks of positive numbers. So positive that Dr. Dave had great news. ” Looks like you might be going home next week Keenan”. Scary, but welcome news. I was coming along well he said. Plus my numbers were high enough to sustain being outside of the bubble. This meant that my white cell, hemoglobin and platelet counts were conducive to fighting infection and high enough to hopefully allow me a protected release. Dave would let me know the exact date in a few days barring any complications or setbacks. Of course, he reminded me that a parting bone marrow aspiration would be coming. I was actually welcoming it. Believe that?

So, it was time to prepare myself for what was going to be a rough recuperation I was told. So many instructions, visiting nurses, food restrictions, etc. I would be going home with the Hickman Catheter too. Whatever. I was going to be staying with my parents for a while so I wouldnt be around Nick or Lori in the beginning. Joseph was also due to introduce himself to the world in about three weeks. My parent’s home would be another form of isolation but way more comfortable. Plus, in case of emergency, it would be easier to get me to the hospital. I also had an appointment every three days at the hospital for a few weeks after I was home. I wondered why they just didn’t keep me longer? Probably the insurance companies. I couldn’t wait to see Nick though! It had been too long a time since I kissed his head and told him goodbye as he slept, not knowing if I would ever see him again. Buddy, I made it. Next week I’ll be home. Hopefully.

Next Up: What a Welcome Home!

The phone on the table next to my bed was very busy every day. Occasional calls from friends and family would keep my mind occupied and entertained. There were many days when I really couldn’t talk and wish the phone wouldn’t ring. But it did.

Owning your own business is a very time consuming, laborious, financially intensive endeavor. Especially a fine jewelry store. I usually worked 70 hours plus a week, seven days at the time. Business was good. I had finally worked my way up from very humble beginnings. My first tiny store, just a front door, no window or bathroom, a virtual shoebox. Broad St. North Philadelphia. It was what I could afford. The rent was cheap. It was my start. It took about four years and another move to N. 5th st. in between for me to make it to the promise land. The Roosevelt Mall ! Starting small again, the rent was much higher than what I was used to, I went all in. Thats what you had to do in business. Again, we outgrew our digs and moved to a larger space after our first year in the mall. Constantly building new stores is a real cash drain but necessary for growth. So was the need for more and more expensive and expansive inventory. That’s the problem in our industry. Keeping the cases full.

It was now my eighth year in business. 1996 was moving in the right direction. Sales were good, my employees were becoming seasoned and gaining experience in a very difficult field. I would tell them that every piece of jewelry was unique. Every piece… a snowflake. Diamonds, gemstones, different metals, tolerances, timepieces, etc. All unique. That it would literally take 50 plus years to even begin to have a small understanding of every facet of our business. The most important thing that I taught my employees was that, above all, every person, every customer, that walked through our door, was your number one priority. To acknowledge the customer immediately and treat them with utmost respect. Integrity, trust, great prices and beautiful inventory built the business. One on one relationships with my customers was so important. We deal with Engagements, Weddings, Birthdays, Anniversaries, New births, Milestones, Graduations….you name it. Generations of families at this point. It’s a special thing. A labor of love.

Behind the scenes it’s crazy. Making sure all of the repairs are perfect and on time. Dealing with multiple lines and vendors. Craftsman and specialty jewelers. Churning out custom engagement rings and bridal jewelry. And especially making sure that that perfect holiday gift was always ready. There was no…”Sorry but Santa couldn’t make it on time!” Never! They say ” No Pressure, No Diamonds”.

“Mr. K…there is no easy way to tell you this…you have Leukemia”. Screw me. My phone rang all day in my bubble. My employees. Questions. All day everyday. I handled what I could. They understood. So did my customers. It was very frustrating for me. It would be a long time before things would be the same. A long time until I would be able to recuperate and assume my full duties. Without the hard work and perseverance of my employees, the financial assistance of my Dad and the dedication of my wife on top of everything else going on, I doubt that Belaggio Jewelers would still be here after 31 years. Thank you all. This was not the end of the story though. Leukemia is not your friend. It’s Relentless.

Next up: Time to Go Home

It had now been five weeks since my admission into the Bone Marrow Unit here at Hahnemann Hospital. It seemed like forever. The freedom to be able to take a shower now was just amazing. I hardly had the strength to get there but with the nurses assistance and a shower seat, it was heaven. Like the one hour out of twenty-four a solitary confinement prisoner gets to exercise. The short walk to the hall shower was very taxing. The biggest issue I had though was getting my gown off and on. The Hickman Catheter and IV tubes were a real pain in the ass! I always spent as much time allowed away from the bubble.

The big blackboard in front of my bed was changing everyday. The positive updates of all of my blood counts incrementally rising was music to my eyes, so they say? Dr. Dave came by as usual and recited the statistics for me with his positive “We’re getting there!” He listened to my lungs, my heart and gave me a visual inspection on his daily rounds. There was the usual army of med students and Oncology residents with him with their questions and remarks. I felt like a test dummy all of the time. Everything was about the stats though. The stats let me know the condition of my marrow and how the DNA was morphing into that of my brother. The stats let me know that sometime soon the blood and platelet transfusions would begin to slow down. The stats would let me know when I would be well enough to be cut loose and be able to go home. The stats were key. The stats enveloped my life at the moment.

So… the day to day continued. Wake up, check out the time on the Inquirer clock tower, watch tv, field the phone calls, try to eat, more bloodwork, try to rest, see Lor, talk to Nicky and oh yeah….get my eyeful of those Baby Back- Baby Back Ribs on the tube! It just doesn’t stop!

Next Up: The Business

September 5th. Sometimes, it’s Labor Day. Sometimes, the first day back to school after summer break. It’s always my birthday. This time it was labor day weekend and my birthday. Thirty five days in the bubble. I have to say that things were finally getting better. I could stomach certain foods like watermelon, honeydoo melon, goldfish crackers and pudding. They didn’t hurt my ulcered mouth or make me overly nauseous. Some good nutrients and fiber for my diet. This was my daily regimen.

This Holiday weekend I learned a lot about the 15th floor nursing staff. I learned to really appreciate their skills, their compassion, their love and their ability to lift up their patients hearts and alleviate their fears. Its a tough job all around. They see suffering and pain and death. They are tougher for it yet treat everyone equally and beautifully. Unless…unless its a holiday weekend.

When you lay in bed for thirty days with contraptions all around you and tubes from IV’s all hooked up to you, you become aware. Aware of everything going in and out of your body. Frequency of drugs. Color of bags, styles of needles and methods and talent. Well…during holiday weekends, your high intensity personnel become ghosts. Its their turn to take a break. Enjoy the beach, their kids, their hobbies, etc., forget all about their poor transplant victims. So what happens to the poor bedridden souls? The trapped in bubbles Leukemia patients? The lost kids?

Well…we get Temps. Temporary nurses. Fillins for a couple of days. Unfamiliar faces taking care of all the menagerie. It’s freaking scary! These nurses are not seasoned Oncology fellows. They are inexperienced grifters. At 2 am the first night a temp entered my bubble. She was carrying like four bags of fluids and rifling through all of my IV lines trying to decide what goes where. With one eye open, I watched in horror as she began to do exactly what she was not supposed to do. I immediately stopped her and asked to speak with the head nurse. The charge nurse came in and chased her out. It could have been ugly. I never slept after that night until Tuesday when the pros came back. And I let them have it.

When Monday came it was Labor day and my birthday. 35 years old. I laid there and wondered if I would make 36? My wife and parents came down along with some friends that came buy. My best two presents were…a beautiful photo of my Nicky. He was holding up a sign, a big smile on his face, that said “Happy Birthday Daddy- I Love You!” Best present ever!!! I also got a great present from Dr. Dave. A shower! The nurses were going to wheelchair me to a seated special shower with an alarm inside in case of emergency. I must have sat in that shower for 4 hours. Absolute heaven. They had to drag me out. I was moving along. I was feeling hopeful. The light was growing brighter. Dont let me fool you though, when it got dark, and it got late and it got lonely…the tears would flow. A lot to handle, too much sometimes.

Next up: The Stats

Last week my father mentioned to me about the excerpt I wrote on platelet and blood donations. He said that he would show me a file that he had kept from the duration of my hospital stay and beyond. I received that file today(08/17/2020) and was amazed at the outpouring of love and support from so many people on my behalf. Remarkable letters of prayer and well wishes from such dignitaries as…Cardinal Keeler of Baltimore, Cardinal John O’Connor of New York, Cardinal Anthony Bevilacqua of Philadelphia, The Vatican Secretary in behalf of Pope John Paul, Ed Snyder and the Philadelphia Flyers organization…and many more. I never knew that these existed. Wow!

In this file were the Guidlines for the Donation of Platelets and Whole Blood for patients during their stay at Hahnemann Hospital. Three to four Platelet transfusions per week and about four to five whole blood transfusions. For every week of my stay, I would need three to four donors…approx.- 24 to 28 donors. Well, the list my dad showed me tonight had 144 potential donors who had volunteered their services. This army of donors collected by my sisters, Lisa and Donna, worked to make sure I had the resources needed to keep me alive. They literally had to turn people away. How great is that! How selfless and compassionate. I was overwhelmed tonight.

I would personally like to thank everyone who donated or offered to donate their blood on my behalf. These are some friends and family who donated in the first week on record….Bill Piszek, Vladik Piszek, Arlene Naids(rip), Mark Oswald, Eric Cutler, Bill and Rick Dunn, Matt Winger, Dave Brecher, Craig and Reesa Ostroff, Michelle Selvaggio. I do not have the records beyond that but thank you to all. You helped save my life. This file also contained the Medical Power of Attorney that I completed with my wife the day before I entered the hospital. Very sobering.

Also included were the many letters my father wrote to elicit prayer and goodwill on my behalf from special religious groups that specialize in the power of prayer and healing. They replied enmass. Anything to help the cause. Thanks Dad….They worked.

Up Next: A Holiday Weekend, My Birthday and a little bit of Freedom

In 1996 we did have cellphones. Primitive as they were, they were a real step up from beepers. Remember them? Anyway, my main mode of communication in the bubble was my push button dialing antique phone. The standard flesh color block of a contraption that blinked for messages and left you tethered to the slinky cord. It did the job. Our cellphones were also just hand held blocks with a dial pad and a digital readout panel for incoming and outgoing calls. Yes, hard to grasp the fact that we had no video screens, Facebook, FaceTime or anything even close to the technology of today.

The communication that I had with Nicky was done through the phone as often as he was up to talking with his daddy. We hadn’t seen each other for a month now. It seemed like forever. I was able to see him through photographs that Lor would bring in taken especially for me. He would be holding signs saying…” I love you Daddy”…”Miss You” and more. I cherished them and they were displayed prominently on my windowsill.

Enter the Videophone. A marvel of modern science, this contraption was a big telephone that had a really small video screen on it. If you had one in your place and someone else had one at their place, you could connect and see each other when you are talking. It was very grainy and often did not work but I was actually able to see live video of my boy! And he could see me! I cant imagine what was going through his mind because I was looking pretty bad. This was a game changer for me though. I was feeling so low at that point, just being able to see his beautiful little face made it all make sense. When you are facing a life or death cancer battle, the most important thing or reason you have to fight “To the death” so they say…is for your children. That bond, that love, between you and your child is the best medicine of all and by far the single greatest motivator to fight that you could ever imagine.

The Videophones were donated to the bone marrow unit by angels who knew that it would lift the patients spirits to new highs. It certainly did for me. Thank you to those benefactors. It was so special. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Next Up: My Donors