It's been almost 5 months since the transplant. Martin continues to improve and they say he is "fully engrafted." His doctors no longer even mention "typical" recovery time, but his blood numbers stay on an upward trend (just a slow one). He still has graft-vs-host disease manifested by a rash (without itch or pain), and we treat it with a steroid creme. He's still on one specifically-cancer drug they had hoped to taper weeks ago.

This past weekend he went to an English Country Dance camp up in the Cascades. This is a milestone: his first trip outside the Portland metro, far from emergency help at his hospital. He drove himself 2.5 hours each way and slept in our camper van (VW Vanagon with Westphalia camping conversion). He discovered that he has indeed lost muscle mass -- he needed help to push up the pop-top on the van.

He was the only dancer always in a mask, and he took all his meals outside. I remain very impressed with the strictness with which he follows his protective guidelines. I call that a strong will to live (and a strong allegiance to science).

On this date 48 years ago, Martin and I met (he remembers these dates; I sure don't!) We lived in the same dorm at the University of Iowa. He was a regular student; I was there only for the summer to take a unique class offered through the museum on campus. My assigned roommate never showed up and I knew zero people there, so I needed to talk to strangers or no one (remember pre-internet? and how expensive were long-distance calls to friends?) He and I met about a week into the term, and soon my single room became an advantage!

By the end of the 8-week summer session, we were pretty sure we wanted to be together forever. I took him home right then to meet my parents in the Twin Cities (MN). We married in their living room 18 months later (he had just turned 21).

Even more hugging and grinning than usual in the McClure household today! 😘 😍