My 26 Year CML Leukemia Adventure

So, the next step in a relapse situation is to form a plan of action. This would consist of a meeting of the oncology minds at the hospital, setting up the consult and preparing myself for what comes next. For what comes next. I had prepared myself three years earlier. It was mental torture. The fear of the unknown and the potential outcome of the transplant was a life or death scenario. As a cancer patient, dealing with the unknown is as bad as dealing with the cancer. Here we go again.

My appointment began as usual. Blood draw, weight check, escort to the exam room and a bunch of questions from unrelenting residents. At this visit, my exam room was a larger version because Dr. Dave would be performing yet another bone marrow aspiration. I can’t wait. It never gets any easier….You just know what to expect. After the procedure we would get down to the business of what comes next. Dr. Dave went about his usual protocol. Walking in with the big stainless tray of big ass needles, it was go time. Grab the top of the table, curl my toes at the other end, feel the huge needle pierce my bone and wait for the big draw. Motherfu#%#$r. This stuff was getting old yet we were starting all over again.

I was given a few minutes to gather myself after the procedure and prepare for the consult. The pain in my hip was just an afterthought. The reveal of my future was minutes away and the only focus I had at the time. What’s the plan Dave? I was on the edge of my seat. Literally. Its hard to lean back when you just got impaled by a freaking ice pick. Anyway, the first item on the agenda was to wait for all of the test results to come back. Aspiration results, Chimerism result, new PCR result and the basic CBC. We already knew that the results were going to show, positive results for CML, but to what extent? The second item was part two of the plan. The DLI.

A Donor Lymphocyte Infusion or DLI would be my next avenue of treatment. This procedure would result in my brother, my original donor, to come into the hospital and undergo a procedure called Pheresis. This would entail having an IV placed in each arm where blood drawn from one arm would travel through a special machine, extract the cells needed for the DLI, then place the original blood back into his bloodstream through the other arm. A several hour long procedure. Not very comfortable to say the least. After processing the cells, I would receive them through an IV drip in another room and hopefully be able to leave as an outpatient barring any major complications. The DLI was supposed to regenerate my brothers donor bone marrow, now mine, to kill off the returning marrow that was my own. We didn’t want my marrow to return. Bad marrow. The Chimerism that was being run would let me know the state of the DNA in my bone marrow soon. Dr. Dave was also running a typing test to see if my blood was going back to O Positive from my current change to B Positive.

This was the grand plan. The DLI would reverse the trend. It would put me back into the desired state of remission for which we all so desired. Again. The course was charted. Two weeks. Let’s get it.

Next Up: Reminiscing

Trying to put myself together, I made my way home that beautiful day. I went from being in such a wonderful place in my life finally, to the lowest that I could ever imagine. All in the matter of a few minutes. AGAIN. Sorry, I know that you can’t tell as you read this but I have paused writing for about ten minutes as I am getting a bit emotional. This is a tough one. If you have or had cancer and gone through the tremendous emotional and physical trials and tribulations of being diagnosed and treated into remission, it is exhausting. “Remission” is such a beautiful word though. “Relapse” not so much.

Very soon I would be breaking the news again to my family. They had been through so much already. Nick was getting to be a big boy and Joe was coming up on his third birthday and fiesty as ever. They wouldn’t understand yet the seriousness of the situation. Everyone else would. Lor reminded me before writing this excerpt, she never forgets anything, about what transpired that day after Dr. Dave broke the news to me. I was in another world and it was a blur. I had to pick her at work and head out to attend a funeral. A sad enough day. Our family was going through a happy time too. My sister Donna and her husband Dave just welcomed their first child Zachary into the world. When I picked Lori up at work, I was in a bad state, she said. I told her what Dr. Dave said and then I broke down. She was so tough. Keeping it together for me. Probably in shock too though. She graduated from having a husband diagnosed with Leukemia three years earlier, a two year old, pregnant and only thirty two years old… to a thirty-five year old with a five year old, a two year old and a husband with Leukemia…again. I was facing the prospect of death for the second time and Lori the prospect of being a young widow with children for the second time. If you get my drift here, the second time just sucks all over again. But worse.

We would wait until the next day to tell my family. The night was somber enough. We wouldn’t say anything to the boys of course, they were just too young to understand. I don’t remember the rides back and forth from the funeral , I’m sure that they were pretty intense. Arriving home, the boys were in bed, our sitter Karen left and I went to each of their rooms to watch them sleep. I told them how sorry I was. How I would fight so hard again. The thought of not being there for them again…was inconceivable. The next morning I called my parents and broke the news. As you can expect, it was devastating to them… Again. And my siblings. And my in -laws. Again.

There would be new treatments, more bone marrow aspirations, more medications, more weekly visits to the hospital, more pain, anxiety, missed work and at this point, no clue about what my future would hold. This was some serious shit… again.

Next up: Charting the Course

Mid July, 1999, it was time for my semi annual trip to see Dr. Dave. It was now three years plus since my original CML diagnosis and life was just great. The move to the new store was going well and at five and three years old…Nick and Joe were just a blast. My whole world. My goal when I was originally told that I had cancer was to see Nick go to Kindergarten and of course meet Joe. This I’d written in my prior blogs and this September Nick would be graduating Pre-K and heading to the Upper Moreland Elementary school to begin his academic big boy journey. My goals were met! Now today, no need for GPS, my car knew all by itself how to drive down to the hospital.

Up the elevator to the 15th floor, a quick left, then another and into the office to see Dr. Dave. My appointments were always made for Thursdays in the late afternoon. I would begin my appointment day at the store and gather everything that I would need to drive down to Jewelers Row and take care of business. I would visit my diamond dealers, setters, lazer jewelers, polisher, findings dealers and gold dealers, engraver and get any needed boxes or bags etc. I would keep my trusted briefcase firmly attached to me and after completing my work tasks head to my appointment. That briefcase never left my side and followed me while my blood was drawn, my weigh-in and my walk to the exam room to wait for Dr. Dave. “Keenan”! Always freaking upbeat, ” How ya feelin”? Always asked about the boys, Lor, my family and business. The obligatory exam followed and within a twenty minute window, I was on my way back to the store. In about 10 days to two weeks , I would call in to get my results and begin the cycle all over again.

Jay Roberts Jewelers was a fine jewelry store in Marlton, NJ. The owner Jay was a super nice guy and very successful in the field. Another guy with humble beginnings in Northeast Philly who made it big, hobnobbing with pro football and basketball players etc. He had a beautiful store and a great business. We did business together providing my store with some added bling and custom jewelry that I would occasionally need on memo for customers. On this particular day, I had driven to Marlton to pick up a few things that I needed. A beautiful afternoon in July. Sunny, bright, warm…but not too. A glorious day. On my way back to the store, I thought that sufficient time had passed since my appointment at Hahnemann and I would give Kim in the office a call. She was the head person in the office and usually conveyed the results of my bloodwork to me. I dialed the phone and asked to speak with Kim directly… like always. I was driving down Rt. 73 in Marlton, windows down, taking in the breeze and the warmth of the sun. “Hey Jeff”. I didnt like the sound of her voice. I asked about my bloodwork and awaited her response of “Everything looks great, see you in six months”. Instead, she told me that Dr. Dave wanted to speak with me.

I waited on hold for what felt like forever. The phone clicked in and he started to speak. “Keenan…how ya feelin”? “Where are you right now”? I told him that I was driving at the time and he asked me if I had a chance to pull over or call him back when I had a chance. I pulled into the parking lot of a Marriott hotel on 73 and parked under the shade of a Maple tree. “Ok Dave… what’s up”? He told me that there were inconsistencies with my bloodwork and that they needed me to come in as soon as possible to repeat the tests. The silence on my end of the phone compelled him to ask if I was ok. I told him that I needed him to be straight up with me…then and there. “Apparently”, he said, my white cell count was trending up again and my PCR test was also positive for the CML markers that confirm that I was relapsing back into the full blown Leukemia that I had fought so hard to overcome. Really?? I was so confident that I was in the clear! Three years out!

Dave asked me if I was ok and his voice was not so upbeat anymore. He told me to keep my head up and that he would put a plan into effect after I came in to repeat the bloodwork again, along with another bone marrow aspiration. He told me to be careful driving home and that Kim would call me to arrange an immediate appointment. “I’m so sorry bud…talk soon”. My sunroof was open and I looked up to the sun. The tears began to flow down my face and my chest tightened up to the point that I felt dizzy as panic and anxiety coursed through my body. Sobbing uncontrollablly, I couldn’t imagine how I would tell Lori that this was happening again! Why me? I couldn’t fu#&*%g believe it!! It was like a huge freaking rock just dropped out of that tree above me… landing on my head and crushing my whole being. This felt ten times worse than the first time they told me that I had Leukemia. And my boys. My Boys. Oh my God. So much for such a beautiful day. “Relapse” is an awful word. Bring it on…Bitch!

Next up: Breaking the News

Summer of 98, my lease in the Roosevelt Mall was coming to an end and it was time to go. Seventy five hour weeks would become a happily welcomed bygone. After what I had lived through since May of 96, it was time to slow down. Business after ten years had been going well and my customer base was growing exponentially. So here we go! I could probably throw a baseball across Bustleton avenue and hit my new store. The store was attached to a Pep Boys Automotive center and was formally an ice cream store called Hillary’s. The store was empty for a few years but had great visibility, parking and traffic in the small strip center. I would have to be ready to move in by November 15th to capitalize on the Holiday season and provide a seamless flow of business without interruption.

We had an blank slate/palate to start with and this made things easy. I always built my own stores with the help of various contractors who were friends of mine. I used to do tenant fit-ups for many retail chains for years, another of my many talents/businesses, so it was easy and cost efficient. Working day and night between stores, we built quickly and with just a shut down for a few days opened right on time. The biggest issue always was moving the safe. So Heavy!

I was able to now reduce the unnecessary business hours we had at the mall and generate the same amount of business. This was sweet! We had a great holiday season as well as our first TV commercial that aired locally on Monday Night Football throughout the holidays! So cool! I was in it as well as two friends and employees. We added billboards all over and promoted, promoted, promoted! The Northeast Times and the Carrier Pigeon were crucial print avenues too! Who needed an “Internet”! Those were the days.

We entered into 1999 with a full head of steam, a new store, more free time to spend with my family and a new lease on life. Life was good. My January visit to HUH went well and I didnt have to see Dr.Dave again until June for my next sixth month check up. “Relax” and “Breathe”were my new words to live by…according to Dr. Dave. “Ok Then”.

Next up: It Was Such a Beautiful Day

December 25th,2020. We all know about what a year this has been! I drove myself to Abington hospital this morning to the ER. Last Sunday I felt a tremendous pop in my head akin to, but not as severe, as the Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage that almost killed me in 2017. Couldn’t go to the ER this past Sunday because I had five more days to get through the Santa season and deliver at the store. My head has been killing me, so here I am with time to kill. This leads me into my next planned blog of my Christmas present from Lor and the boys…1997. It was amazing!

After returning from Europe, I settled back into my work regime and life as normal as it could be. Everything was fantastic! Felt good, business was getting better and my visit to Dr. Dave went as well as could be expected. Platelets were still coming along slowly but making great progress. No more anti rejection drug and no sign of Leukemia. That was such a relief. We were heading into the summer of of 98 and some big changes were coming. My lease was up at the Roosevelt Mall and the management would not allow me to decrease my hours. I requested this in the new lease because seven days a week, 10 to 9 was very hard on my recuperation and family. In the latter part of summer, I decided that I would be moving the store across the street to a small strip center where I could make my own hours. Much better! About that present now.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I love cars. I’ve had so many. From my 75 Formula Firebird to my 82 Z-28 Camaro, my 85 Nissan 300ZX, my 87 Mazda Rx-7, my 00 Corvette…. it goes on and on. Porsche, Cadillac, Infiniti, Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, etc… had them all. I Love cars. The gift? A gift certificate to the Nazareth Speedway and the Richard Petty Stock Car Experience! The Saturday was in early summer of 98 and beautiful. My friend Rob and I drove up together so that he could video the event and check out the scene. It was very cool! We began with an intro to the actual cars, safety precautions and driving devices. Each rider, there were about 15, had to show that they could get out of the vehicle quickly in case of fire or crash. We were fitted with driving suits like the ones that the Nascar drivers wear and of course the drivers helmets. Looked pretty good I must say! At that point we all made our way to the racetrack where we loaded into window vans and took a trip around the one mile oval where the instructor showed us where we needed to accelerate and decelerate as we went into the four turns. Nazareth Speedway was not like Pocono Speedway . Pocono was a 2.5 mile tri-oval where top speeds could reach 165 to 185 mph. At Nazareth, it was a four turn, one mile almost round oval where top professional drivers peaked at 125 to 130 mph. Meanwhile, Rob bought himself a ride-along with a pro race care driver. Top speed. He loved it.

It was soon to be my turn. The anticipation of jumping into the 650 horsepower race car was intense. The pro driver would pull into the pit in front of you and the instructor would slam on the roof for you to go! If you stalled out…you were screwed! Back in line. Not happening. It was so freaking loud you could barely hear the pit crew. Here he comes. I revved the engine to 2500 rpm, let off the clutch and BAM here we go! Five laps of Holy Shit! Had to come out of the pits in third gear and hit the track at 85 mph. The lead car had to be three lengths ahead and you better keep up. That was the rule. If not he took you off the track. If you were too aggressive he waved at you to back off. Fourth gear we were up to 105 mph and already heading into the third turn. Just like you can imagine or see when you watch NASCAR. Like five inches from the wall… flying along it at a blur…then diving down to the infield at the turn. Let up on the gas diving down and hitting it full throttle back up to the wall. This was fun! But wait, where the heck was he going? I was losing him at 115 mph! I was following directions…as usual…what was going on? The radio in my helmet went on….”You’re doing excellent come catch me!” Ok then. BAM! The next three laps we were cruising! 118 mph…121 mph…124 mph! What a rush! Just amazing…thanks Lor! The checkered flag waived me in after the last lap, let off the gas…put it in neutral…Cruise into the pit and into the slot for the next driver. The crew gave me a high five and you couldn’t wipe the smile off my face! Or the bruises on my ribs.

When I got home that night and got undressed, I knew that I was sore but OMG! Each side of my rib cage was completely black and blue. The race car seats, literally all aluminum sides, were so tight to your body that the vibrations from the 650 horses and the pressure from the G forces flying around the track did a nasty number on my body. I guess my platelet count was still too low. Completely purple and black from my hips to my armpits…both sides. But boy was it worth it!!

Next up: Time to Move

It was a valiant effort. Our sixth game of the tournament. We made it to the semifinals. Italy, Holland, France, England, Germany and now the Swiss. Every game was a battle. If we didn’t know it when we went in, we knew it now. Nobody likes Americans. Really. Especially while playing against us in hockey. Like we are the perennial Broad Street Bullies. The Europeans play a wide out open skating style in a huge rink. We play a hard hitting, kind of nasty style, dump and chase, in a small rink. Tough to adjust too that big surface, but we did our best. Our best wasn’t good enough as we bowed out to a slick skating Swiss squad that showed us the locker room and an end to our week. No worries, it was a great time and a good showing from the boys from the USA. We had four days to kill now. We’re going to London!

A three day, two night trip across the Channel would be our move. Four tired puck players from the states. Should be good times. Our first task was to secure hotel rooms which we completed with the help of our hotel concierge in Holland. Next, we packed up a small bag and headed to the train station in Amsterdam. A huge facility bustling with a massive flow of travelers headed out to various locations throughout Europe. At the ticket counter we spoke with a Danish teller. Her broken English was less than capable as was her attitude. It would be $120 US dollars for a round trip through Belgium and then the Chunnel train into London and back. Non refundable. We purchased our fares and asked her for directions to the terminal. We were on our way. NOT! Wrong directions, wrong platform and wrong time. We missed our train. The beginning of a crazy three days. Back at the teller window, our ticket girl told us sorry, no refunds. Was she kidding! Our wild man Chris took the lead. That led to our almost being in a brawl with a few KAL Dutch Airlines pilots standing up for their countrymen. Chris got right in the lead pilots face, nose to nose, and told him how it was going to end up. Pretty funny. Top Gun backed down while I took over and averted our first international incident. Requesting the manager, I politely excused my friend and was able to restore our passes and head on our way. The trains we started on were like Septa commuter trains. Plastic seats, Aluminum bodies, swaying back and forth. We crossed into Belgium in about an hour, passing through many brick and stone neighborhoods adjacent to the railway. Pretty sad though, almost every home had graffiti sprayed all over them. Not what I had envisioned. In about another hour, we pulled into the Chunnel terminal for our high speed, underwater ride under the English Channel into the city of London. And the famous Tube. The Underground.

The Tube was awesome! The underground subway train that ran all throughout the city stopping in every neighborhood and historic district. You had to master it. The timing, the entrances, the maps inside the trains, how to stand on the platform amongst the masses. The platforms were very thin too. Same as they were since World War 2. Pretty cool. Just needed a pass for the three days to get us around. Our first stop was to check into our hotel. It was literally right near where they filmed that movie Notting Hill. Cool area, lots of brick paved streets and pubs. First problem though, English food sucks. Literally inedible. The Chinese and Thai and Indian places were the go to eateries. We made the usual trips to Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, London Tower, etc. Then back to the hotel to rest. It was a long day.

The next day we planned to check out another part of the city, Piccadilly Circus. A lively part of town with entertainment, restaurants, arcades, shops and shows. It was a lot of fun…but pretty cold and rainy. I saw a sporting goods store with young Pakistani teens playing soccer in the doorway. I went in and grabbed a really cool lime green Fila jacket that was perfect for my trip. I hadn’t planned on the English rainy weather. I still have that jacket! Wish I could still fit in it! We ventured into a side neighborhood to check out how the real folk lived. Nice clean tightly knit homes. All brown brick and cobblestone streets. Fancy cars that traverse the wrong side of the road. I still don’t get it. We came upon a class of about twenty Kindergarten age kids walking with there teachers in a single file line, all holding hands, and dressed in very professional looking uniforms. I struck up a conversation with their teachers and told the kids that we came from America on a very special quest. With that, I asked them if they could point us in the right direction to where the Teletubbies lived. That we wanted a picture with them to take back to our kids. The looks on their faces was priceless! They laughed and laughed and told us good luck…we were crazy! It was great. Now, back to the tube again to get back to the hotel. Got lost and had to ask a BFI garbage man how to get to our destination. He drove slow and said follow me. Worked for us!

Back to the hotel area for more Chinese and some rest as tomorrow would be our last day to explore. We would only have a few hours before heading back to the train station. Our destination was the World Famous Harrods Department store to experience it’s so called majesty and grab some souvenirs to take home to our families. We packed up or backpacks, checked out of the hotel and headed to the store. It was not far, walking distance, and I had my nice new Fila jacket to keep me warm. We entered Harrods and were immediately taken by the huge size. Ten floors at least full of luxury clothes, furniture, shoes, electronics, jewelry, you name it. Some items were millions of dollars! So Expensive!! I picked up a few knick knacks for the boys and Lor, some t-shirts and snacks for the ride back. The department clerk was a beautiful young lady dressed like a bell hop Barbie Doll. Knee length skirt, white tailored shirt and blue matching jacket with a fancy hat. She was very proper and a bit snobbish. After all she could probably spot an American tourist a mile away. I payed for my gifts, like two hundred dollars of nothing with nary a thank you. I asked her for a favor though. Bad move. Here comes another International incident. The clerk in Piccadilly Circus had forgotten to take the security tag off from the inside of the jacket. I asked her if she could help me out. She had the removal device right on her counter. She called security. In a moment, a huge British mate in a police style uniform came and asked me for a receipt for the jacket. I told him that I bought it the night before and that I had thrown the receipt away at the hotel. Can you help me? Hard no. Treated me like I was a thief and were going to escort me out! Chris to the rescue. “Are you calling my fine friend a thief??” They then called the main head honcho, Chief of Security of Harrods! Now we’re scared! Here comes this Heavy, short, really short dumpy guy with round rim glasses and bald head and his sidekick Ultra Girl. OMG! I said to the guy that we were gonna have a real issue if he couldn’t simply and courteously just take the freaking tag off of my jacket! They finally said, after a cold stare down, “Certainly Sir”… with that condescending British accent and escorted us to the main entrance. I gave them the jacket and these two monster guards struggled with it before Ultra girl stepped in, finished the job and handled it to me. “Your jacket sir”. Humpty Dumpty said to me. USA-2/ HOLLAND/GREAT BRITIAN-0.

We made it to the Chunnel train for our high speed ride back to Belgium. The boys were wiped including me. It was early afternoon and hardly anyone on the train. Chris and I sat caddy corner across from one another. The seats faced each other like booths, four to a section. He put his feet up on the opposing seat, tilted his hat over his eyes and handed me his ticket and ID for the conductor. Goodnight. Other passengers on the train, mostly locals, assumed the same position. About thirty minutes later, this long haired, skinny, Conductor hat wearing French guy around our age came to collect our tickets. I handed Chris’s ticket and mine to him. He looked at me and said “Please ask your friend to remove his feet from the chair.” I said that he was sleeping, we were very tired, and there were many others in the train that were in the same position. He began to tell me how rude and disgusting we Americans are. That we think we can come to his country and do as we please. Chris’s eyes started to open. Here we go. I told the guy to apologize for his rude remarks and ask Chris politely to remove his feet. At that point my boy got up and in true fashion, got nose to nose with him and of course, the guy took off with a huff and some French expletives…we assumed. Great trip. USA 3/ EUROPE 0.

We made it home to the states in one piece, a little banged up, but proud of our accomplishments nonetheless. I couldn’t wait to see Lor and the boys! It was a trip of a lifetime. I’m very sad to say though, Chris, Tom and Steve, have all passed away since our trip together. I am the sole survivor. The guy with Leukemia. Unbelievable. Tom passed in the forest near his home in Minnesota. He had gone out alone in the woods to cut down trees for firewood in the winter when a tree inadvertently fell on his leg. Breaking it and trapping him. He died of exposure. Steve, I heard from Chris…died of a heart attack a few years after. And Chris, well Chris found his dream job out West for years in hospitality. Working for ski resorts from Sun Valley to Tahoe. I got a call one day from his brother that they found him dead in his bed with his two Pugs guarding him. Otherwise, he was alone in his apartment and to this day I never found out what happened to him. Chris and I were great friends and hockey teammates for many years. Very sad. All were great men. And great hockey players too.

Next Up: I Get to Use My Christmas Gift!

We had plenty of down time while we weren’t playing games during the tournament. Chris and I became friends with two players from Minnesota that were also friends and played together in their home state. Tom was a scary looking guy. About 6 foot 4 inches tall with long hair and a long beard. He looked like Jesus Christ. One hell of a hockey player though, he was about 40 years old and fun to play with. Steve was about the same age and more of a dry Midwestern kind of guy with a nasty temper on the ice. Two guys you were glad that they were on your team. Chris and I hung out with them a lot during our down time and subsequently got into some really interesting situations. Our first trip, into Amsterdam, was very eventful. A mandatory visit to the Red Light District was crazy! Countless tiny streets of red neon trimmed windows, each with a different themed prostitute inside depending on which street you wandered down. We didn’t dare indulge in the festivities of course being the married men that we were, not Chris though. He was single and a bit of a wild child. He took up a conversation with a pretty young Russian girl who invited us into her “Domicile”. A scant room with a small bed, sitting area and a wash area. What a way to make a living. We would wander around and catch up with Chris a little later. We strolled past the multitudes of foreign sailors and soldiers that indulged themselves with the girls of their dreams. I guess. Our next stop was the Anne Frank house. Blew me away. What was so interesting was the fact that there was really nothing interesting about it. Aside from the way the house was disguised inside to hide Anne and her family from the Germans, there was nothing unique to the fact that a normal family was living in a normal house that was decorated like houses that I had been in back in the day. Like an old Frankford rowhouse. I couldn’t comprehend that the atrocities that happened to Anne and her family and millions of others at the hands of the Nazis, could happen only like 50 years prior. When I walked through, I felt like I could have been in my grandmothers house. Anne’s room had pictures of American celebrities I knew well of and newspaper clippings of current events thumbtacked to the walls. A normal teen bedroom. It sickened me to think about what happened there. A must visit and experience if you are ever in Amsterdam.

The next and final stop for the boys was a small bar in town. Marijuana is legal there and you just need to be inside the bars to partake. They literally bring over a tray with a selection of different strains to choose from. Not my cup of tea. After grabbing a Coke , I watched two young American guys next to us blabber incoherently figuring how they would be able to persuade their parents to let them remain in Holland, legally and constantly inebriated. Pretty funny. I excused myself. I made my way down a tiny side street, exploring the area. The streets were so narrow there. So old. Brick and stone paved, only bicycles could make there way through. And there were zillions of bikes everywhere! Just sitting parked everywhere. All along the canals of Amsterdam, on the bridges, lined up along the sidewalks, everywhere. I came upon a tiny shop on one of the streets near the bar. A beautiful blond Danish woman was behind a glass counter/ case. The place was maybe ten feet wide. The case held several trays of hot food and assorted salads. You picked what you wanted and she doled it out to go in plastic containers. There was no kitchen. That was upstairs. Her daughter would send down more food as she needed it on a dumbwaiter. Business was brisk. She spoke excellent English and we had a great conversation about her business, family and my trip there. There was one small table and I had a great lunch as well as three servings of the best Chocolate Mousse I ever had! And those guys just got drunk and high. Ha!

Next up: One More Adventure

I was enjoying my re-entry into the hockey world and taking full advantage of the situation in this new league. The A division was actually pretty competitive and I had my challenges with some opposing players. Always handled it in a most diplomatic way….except for Lerch. Lerch stood about 7 feet tall on skates, a very imposing figure. He looked just like Lerch from the Addams Family. A really scary looking dude. And he hated me! I would chirp him incessantly and he was constantly trying to hurt me. I didnt blame him. On the last face off of our championship game, I was in our left defensive corner. The center pulled the puck back to me and with only 10 seconds left in the game I turned my body towards the boards and covered up the puck in my skates. The bodies started flying at me as I kept the puck secure and my teammates all tried to fend off the attack. Out of the corner of my eye, this huge animal of a man, full of rage and spitting nails, came flying at me. Lerch was trying to kill me. I ducked. He missed and slammed ferociously into the glass. I took off and the refs grabbed Lerch and escorted him, one ref each side, away from the fracas. At that point the celebration began, the Championship won. While the refs were holding Lerch I skated up to him and jumped up and punched him square in the face. I took off like a lightning bolt to my locker room and locked the door! Sorry but not sorry!

I was heading into my first full Holiday season at the store and now it was time to make the money. Hockey had gotten me in shape and ready for the grueling season. Twenty four straight working days until Xmas eve. Crazy but satisfying as we would always catch up so much on the debt. Never fully, but close. I always closed the 26th of December. A day of rest for my employees and a day for our family to be in New York with the In-laws. Christmas was so hectic being a Jeweler. The holiday turned out terrific. The boys loved their gifts and Joey at one and a half was finally feeling it. I was feeling great and life was good.

The New year brought an invitation to join the Team USA tournament in Holland, Europe that May. My great friend Chris Longo and I were chosen to represent the Philly area to play on the Team USA Mens Senior team in Europe. Players were chosen from all over the US to join together and play against similar teams from France, Italy, Germany, Holland, Belgium, England, Sweden, etc. It was a big deal. We arrived in Holland and traveled to an area just outside of Amsterdam. We settled in and met the other members of the team at the hotel and prepared for the next day. Two games. Italy first and then Germany. At the rink the next day we received our beautiful Team USA jerseys. It was a proud moment wearing the red white and blue jersey, listening to the Star Spangled Banner and getting ready to play against guys who didn’t speak your language. Well here goes.

First off, I never played on an Olympic surface. Absolutely huge! The first shift, an Italian winger came at me with the puck…no problem. I had him forced to the outside. Not. He just went so wide and blew past me. Way too much room on this wide rink. I adjusted for him the next time, poked the puck away from him and then immediately got a nasty elbow to my eye! Not easy being an American in Europe. We won though. We adjourned to the hotel to rest and get ready for our second game of the day. We had some lunch, rested, taped and iced my eye and then made our way back to the arena. Getting dressed, I realized that I forgot my jersey back at the hotel. The USA B team had just finished their second game so I ventured into their locker room to beg for a replacement. A nice guy threw me his jersey to use. Lifesaver! I put it on and jumped out on the ice. This game was against the local favorites. A Dutch/ German team comprised of area referees and named “the refs”. Good luck. We were in trouble. In the first 10 minutes we had 5 penalties called against us. It was fixed. To make things worse, a non check game became a slugfest, no holds barred war. Chris got the moniker of the “Hammer” by the fans for running the Dutch players and piling up the penalties. I just got a bloody ear! Standing next to this humongous Aryian assassin at a face off, the guy elbows me with all of his strength right in the side of the head. Like What! That freaking hurt. I took off into the play and kept my eye on him. The next face off, guess what? Slam! Elbow to my head! That was it. Slashed him across his wrist..that hurts, and got into a major tussle that “the Refs” gave me no help with this monster. Like a scene out of a WW2 movie. I said ” What the F is your problem!!! He looked at me and said “Juden”! What! I skated to the penalty box to join Chris in his new home and immediately asked him what the name was on my jersey? He started laughing and said …GOLD. I was Jewish! 1998 and being discriminated against for being Jewish but not being Jewish. I felt violated! When the Hammer and I got out of that box we ended up right back in. But not before teaching that big dude a lesson. By the end of the game we had won. It was a war. The Dutch fans knew how much the refs were screwing us all game and towards the end, were standing and chanting USA..USA..USA! AMAZING! I got my “Keenan” jersey back ASAP! Good times!

Next Up: Chris, Tom, Steve and Jeff Go Exploring.

I was coming up on the one year anniversary of my diagnoses. A conundrum of sorts, I guess. Do you celebrate one of the worst days of your life or do you celebrate because you are alive to see it? I didn’t know either. But I was grateful to be alive. What the future would hold was a big question mark. We were moving in the right direction. Gradually returning to work and getting on with life. My doctors appointments were now increasing to bi weekly and then to monthly visits. The usual bloodwork, weight check, and the occasional Chimerism. A Chimerism showed the percentage of my brothers DNA versus my own DNA. The test was done using a normal blood draw and was a welcome substitute for a bone marrow aspiration. The goal was to be one hundred percent my brother. Full change. From my type O blood to his B positive. We were close coming into the summer, almost there. It wouldn’t be long and the anti rejection drug was working well.

We are going to fast forward a bit. The status quo and my daily life becomes pretty mundane at this point. By June of 1997 I was working full time again and trying to put the past year in the rear view mirror. I had gained about thirty pounds back and my appetite was on a roll. It felt so great to be normal again. I was enjoying my boys so much now, life was good. Also, my Platelet count was gaining ground, over one hundred thousand and stabilizing. Still way below the norm of 250k to 450k, but guess what? Dr. Dave gave me the green light to start playing hockey! The season was coming up in the beginning of September and as long as my platelet count was above 100k, I was good to go! Now, where do I play? I was still underweight, hadn’t skated in over a year and a half and I knew that playing in the normal men’s league level that I was used to would be no good. I wasn’t ready for that.

Enter the NNHA. The National Novice Hockey Association. A fairly new National organization that was setting up beginner leagues across major U.S. cities. We called it “The Not Necessarily Hockey League”. The league was set up with four different levels of A, B, C and D. Now, I wasn’t sure how beginners were classified into four divisions, but whatever, I made the call. I explained my situation and was put on a D level team to start the season. Entering the rink for the first time again was like heaven. The smell, the cold air, the usual crappy locker room… Heaven. The players that I met were guys from all walks of life that loved and wanted to start playing hockey. I coached guys like this for many years as a Learn to Play instructor at the Wintersports Ice Arena near Philly. They were literally taking the ice to play in a real game for the first time. I had played for twenty five years. This would be interesting.

I still looked pretty sad. Hair was still growing in, pale, skinny and totally out of shape. I had to completely reign it in. OMG, you would of thought that I was an NHL hockey player. It was fun though and such a great feeling. It only lasted a couple weeks though. I was getting my wind back and my legs. The league moved me from D to C to B to A in about four months. We did have a few hiccups though. Twice my bloodwork came back and my Platelet count was under 100. I had to wait it out and bite the bullet. If I had gotten hit too hard or with the puck, it could cause me to bleed uncontrollablly. I was already full of bruises anyway but it could get worse if I didn’t follow Dr. Dave’s orders. When I moved up to the A division, I recruited some friends to play on my team and we won the Championship. I was back Mr. Rod Brindemour, just like you said I’d be.

Next up: Team USA and A Trip to The Netherlands

After the New Years mishap, it was time to start getting back to normal. Time to heal and time to be me. It was a new year. 1996 was an absolute whirlwind of huge changes. Ups, downs, tragedy and triumph. This was life dealing with cancer. 1997 would be much better. I had two healthy baby boys, a wonderful wife, a supportive family and a lot of hope.

In February, I would start spreading my wings and venture out a bit more. A few days a week I could go into the store and take care of some business. I still had to wear a mask and had to limit my exposure to customers. A baseball cap was imperative. My bald head and the wisps of hair starting to grow back in were not my best look. But they were growing back in! WooHoo! It felt great to be back. Things were normalizing at home too. It was a new beginning for me with my boys. I was able to spend more time with them than I would normally. Before I was diagnosed with Leukemia, I was averaging seventy hours a week at the store. Mall hours are brutal. 10 am to 9 pm, six days a week and 11 to 5 on Sundays. It would be a while before I could work those hours again. My recuperation would last almost a year as long as there were no more major setbacks. Spending so much extra time with my family was wonderful. So much time to bond with my boys. These two little guys were the reason that I knew no matter how hard the fight, I was winning. Joey was five months old now and Nicky was getting ready for his big third birthday. Every day, every week, every month and every new event was a milestone. This may sound over dramatic but dealing with cancer really alters your sense of being. The World changes. Perceptions change. Life changes.

My trips to see Dr. Dave were gradually spreading out too. The weekly visits for bloodwork and examination were expanding to two week increments. My counts were improving gradually as well as my weight gain. At this point in my recovery, the most watched stat was my platelet count. We were hoping to hit 100,000 in the near future. The average normal count is from 250k to 450k. As long as my count was under 100k the risk for bleeding uncontrollablly was very high with even slight injury. Bruising was a constant issue right now. My White cells were improving very well, correlating to a stronger immune system and response. It was Cruise time. Keep eating as well as possible. Keep vigilant with my meds and my interaction with the public. Keep enjoying my new lease on life. Start getting back into the Groove.

Up Next: Life Goes On