Renaissance and the Unbearable Lightness of Being

I had intended to publish this message yesterday, May 8, 2025, which was the first anniversary of my successful bone marrow stem cell transplant. My present for having arrived hale and healthy at what I am variously calling my “other birthday,” “John Dillinger’s birthday,” or “the first day of the rest of my life”  was that I received another bone marrow biopsy (BMBx). It was number 13 or 14 in a long string of BMBx. Now, BMBx is not a big deal. It takes about 30 minutes, is done with local anesthetic, and results in a tiny hole in the skin over my pelvis. On the other hand, the clinician, in this case Michelle Arnold, NP, has me premedicate with a couple of oxycodone (opioid pain reliever) tablets and an Ativan (sedative) tablet an hour before the procedure. 

You may think me odd, but I actually kind of look forward to these appointments. The primary reason is that Michelle has been a big part of my care team for the past four years. She is like a dear sister, a trusted therapist, and a cheerleader all rolled up into one tiny package. Jill and I always enjoy visiting with her because she is so enthusiastic and encouraging. 

The second reason I look forward to BMBx appointments is that those powerful premedications, while they don’t really make me high, result in the most relaxing, refreshing sleep I have ever experienced. That, dear reader, is my excuse for not posting yesterday. We returned home yesterday after my 11:00AM appointment, had a little lunch, and then I slept in my recliner until about 4PM. Meanwhile, Jill got to do some retail therapy, which she has mostly avoided during my illness, because of our quarantine mandate. That (the quarantine mandate) was also removed yesterday, along with a 2 centimeter core of bone from the left iliac crest of my pelvis. 

And so, this morning, I awoke with the title of a book about the experiences of two men, two women and a dog during the 1968 Prague Spring on my mind. That book is titled “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” written by Milan Kundera. It is not that my journey has been remotely like the characters' in Kundera’s novel, but the title describes the feeling I have today. 

After a year or more of government mandated quarantine during  the pandemic, followed immediately by the medically mandated quarantine of a nearly four year battle with acute myeloid leukemia, having the restrictions lifted is like coming to the end of a 50 mile hike and taking off the 60 lb. backpack I was carrying. 

I have written before that Jill and I are having a little bit of a struggle with this paradigm shift in our lifestyle. Quarantine is all about avoiding other people on the premise that not to do so carries the risk of either passing to others or contracting from others some form of serious illness. A noble pursuit; but the subliminal message is “avoid other people, for they are a threat to your existence.” Like any oft repeated mandate, quarantine becomes part of the soul. So, that unbearable lightness of being will take a little time to manifest itself completely. At this stage, Jill and I both embrace it with our minds, but living it out fully will require a renaissance of our hearts. 

In Matthew chapter 11, Jesus has a long discussion with his disciples about John the Baptist and his role among the Jews of his day. John was a messenger come to “make straight the path of the Lord" who, Jesus said, was “Elijah who is to come.” Elijah was an Old Testament prophet who performed miracles to the glory of Yahweh (God) and whom God took up into heaven alive in a chariot of fire. He is also celebrated during the Seder meal of Passover. The children are told to open the door and watch for Elijah during the ceremonial dinner celebrating God’s deliverance of the Hebrew people from their slavery in Egypt. Elijah would announce the coming of Messiah.

Jesus ends the discussion with his disciples about John’s role in ushering in a new way of being human by telling them that He [Jesus] has come to lift the burden they have been carrying as they suffer under the heel of Rome, but more importantly, as they suffer under their slavery to sin: 

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Every human being knows that the cares of the day and the circumstances of life can sometimes feel like that 60 pound backpack. Jesus tells us that He came to carry it for us. He certainly came to carry my burden during these four years. His yoke truly has been easy and my burden light as He has carried me and Jill ever so gently through what could have been a traumatic experience, but which actually has been a tribute to God’s love for us. Would we have chosen this path? Nope. Do we regret having walked it? NO! And I suppose that is in part why, for me, making the transition from the quarantine to a life of relative freedom will take a little getting used to. What I have learned is that true freedom is relying on Jesus whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light. 

We Christians talk about being “born again.” The story of spiritual rebirth is found in the third chapter of the book of John. Spiritual rebirth is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Physical rebirth, in the guise of bone marrow stem cell transplant I call my “other birthday,” or “John Dillnger’s” birthday. And of course, there was that day in July when my mother, during a 105 degree hot spell at Emanuel Hospital in North Portland, gave birth to a scrawny baby boy with lots of curly hair on top of his head and a full beard (no, really!) So, in all, I have had three different birthdays. And what happens after birth? Growing up, of course. After my first birth, I have spent nearly 79 years trying to figure out how to grow up physically. After my second birth, I have spent nearly 64 years trying to figure out how to grow up spiritually. So, I suppose I can’t expect to grow up overnight into the reality of my third birth. I will eventually fully embrace that Unbearable Lightness of Being, but please be a little patient. Renaissance takes time!

Let me close by saying thank you. Thank you to those of you who have followed this blog. Your time is valuable, and I am humbled that you have spent some of it to follow the saga of our journey through AML. Thank you to all of you who have been praying for us. It really is true that prayer changes things. Thank you to those who have been so helpful with taking care of Jill and our home, while I have been under the weather. And Thank You, Lord for carrying my burden all the days of my life, even when I didn’t recognize You.