Category Archives: Adult Children

A Dying Man?

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One of the best things about the Mayo Clinic is the constant communication  between doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel. They also communicate faithfully with us. Every patient can set up a portal on their phone that allows them to ask questions, arrange or rearrange appointments, and view test results literally minutes after the tests conclude.

Today’s appointment at the Clinic was the result of a question Ann Sophie had texted to the head oncology doctor. We’ve been concerned about the swelling in Nelson’s left arm/hand, and in both feet/ankles, and thought it was important that a doctor see him and make a judgment.

This afternoon we met with Dr. Oliver and his PA. Because of the frequent back-and-forth between them, both were well aware of the reason for our visit. They were current on everything that had happened to Nelson while he was in the hospital recently and in the days since then.

The three of us asked countless questions, and the bottom line of Nelson’s swollen limbs is that the cancer is causing fluid to build up not just in his lungs but throughout his body. When I asked if it would help to surgically remove the small mass in his neck, the doctor said, “We can’t do that because it’s not just that mass that’s causing trouble. The cancer is all over.”

We knew it had been growing but didn’t know how extensively. Just as we were absorbing that negative news, Dr. Oliver dropped a bomb on us. He said, “When I visited you in the hospital about a week ago, I took one look at you and thought, ‘This young man is dying. He won’t make it to the end of the week’.”

We were speechless. We had had no idea.

Dr. Oliver told us this, we believe, to encourage us, because he also said, “You were a very sick man. And now, a week later, here you are, looking a little better.”

All of us sat still, hearts beating fast, wondering what else he might know that he wasn’t telling us.

Later we talked about whether or not hearing the whole medical truth is good or bad. Would it have been helpful for Dr. Oliver to have come into Nelson’s hospital room telling him he thought he wouldn’t live through the week?

We concluded that it’s best if we don’t know everything the doctors know. They aren’t really in charge anyway.

God is.

As we arrived home this afternoon, we recalled the prayer we’d prayed over Nelson on the day Dr. Olivier judged him to be at the end of his life. Here’s part of our prayer over him that night, personalized just as we prayed it then:

“Let the morning bring Nelson word of your unfailing love, Lord, for he has put his trust in you. Show him the way he should go, because he has entrusted his life to you. Rescue him from this cancer, because he hides himself in you. For your name’s sake, O Lord, preserve his life.”

And God did.

(Psalm 143:8-11)

A Blog by Nelson

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The last month has seemed like a year and also like a week, all at the same time. A month ago, for the first time, I heard the word Cancer used by a  doctor talking about the condition of my body, Stage 4 Lung Cancer. At first it felt like something that would only happen to someone else. Then I realized I had no comprehension of what I’d just been told.

One dominating thing for me throughout the month since then has been PAIN. It’s been nearly more than I could bear, and no meds could get on top of it. When you hit your hand with a hammer and the pain shoots into you, no encouraging word will help at that moment. And up until recently, I’ve had pain that’s been much like that.

It has included an intense and painful cough with severe pain in the bones around my whole rib cage, along with ongoing constipation, nausea, and vomiting. Constant shortness of breath was and is the norm for me. I still get completely out of breath after the slightest exertion.

It took almost an entire week at the hospital with nonstop appointments and continual visits from nurses and doctors to stabilize the medications and their side effects. They needed to get ahead of my pain and then create a treatment program to get me to where I am today. Only since I came home from the hospital two days ago could I stop to take stock of what’s really going on.

Being told that you have “Stage 4 Lung Cancer” is a foreboding diagnosis. It sounds more like a death sentence. And tonight I sit here trying to think it through.

I wonder why having a son and getting a cancer diagnosis happened at the exact same time. After having wished and hoped and prayed for a baby, I wonder why God would do that if I wouldn’t be here to raise him anyway. Will I be alive in a year? In five? How much pain will there be before it’s over? How long will it be before I no longer have to sleep sitting up? Will I ever be able to swim a mile in the open ocean again?

I know none of us can answer these questions, and the Scriptures tell us not to obsess over the future, so living for today is my plan. That’s what I’m determined to do. And it has proven to be a massive challenge and has shaken my whole thought process—as I’m sure it would many of yours.

I want to thank all of you for the love and support you’ve shown us during this month by showering us with gifts, helpful Scriptures, relevant sermons, cards, emails, texts, just all of it. Thanks you. It means so much to us.

Hallelujah Time

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Nelson’s most difficult battle through the last 13 weeks has been the struggle to breathe. He acknowledges that the fear of not being able to breathe is an ongoing assault on his mind and emotions. Without the ability to take the next breath, there’s no Plan B.

Our many Q & A sessions with doctors and nurses have done a lot to educate us on how to best deal with Nelson’s cancer and what to do if a breathing crisis occurs.

Nurse Practitioner Jean was most helpful the other day when she said, “If you feel a crisis coming on, try to figure out it’s source—whether it’s emotional or physical. If it’s emotional, then know that you can distance yourself from it without medical help. If it’s physical, go to the ER.”

Also helpful with breathing issues is to have Nelson’s right lung drained daily. Until four days ago, that process had only been done by a doctor or nurse in a clinical setting, every several days. Now it’s happening daily, and Ann Sophie is the one doing it—at home.

Once she unwraps the catheter going directly into Nelson’s lung, she attaches the single-use tubing at both ends, and the fluid begins to flow into a bottle. This must be a sterile process, and only she, wearing her sterile gloves, can touch the many sterile parts included in the process.

When Nelson’s lung begins to hurt or the flow includes bubbles, she knows it’s time to quit. Sometimes his pain increases afterwards, and sometimes it doesn’t. We’re thankful we don’t have to return to a medical facility every day to get this done. When it’s completed, his breathing is often improved.

By measuring the amount of drained fluid his lung produces each day, we can determine if the chemo and immunotherapy are eliminating cancer cells or not. Today is Day #4 of the daily drainings, and the amount has, indeed, lessened slightly every day.

One of the disadvantages of shallow, ineffective breathing has been Nelson’s inability to sleep lying down. The lung fluid tends to do just what a bottle of water does when put on its side–level out toward his throat. In that process, he quickly feels  like he’s drowning…thus nights on the couch.

For the last 10 weeks or so, he’s been sleeping in a sitting position, straight up-and-down. It doesn’t make for a good night.

Yesterday, for the first time, he decided to try lying down, once his lung had been drained. Amazingly, he took a brief nap, flat on the bed, before needing to get upright.

 

Today he tried again, this time sleeping for nearly an hour on his side before getting up. Something like a nap on the floor might not be a big deal in the great scheme of things, but for us, it’s hallelujah-time!

“The Lord your God is he who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to give you the victory.” (Deuteronomy 20:4)