Category Archives: Disease

Nelson’s Day

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Many of you frequently ask, “How was Nelson’s day?” Some days are more dramatic than others, but during a typical day in the hospital, here’s what he’s doing.

Blood draws are frequent, starting at 5 AM. A lab lady knocks and enters every 4 to 6 hours, dragging a massive medical cart behind her. She searches for a good vein in Nelson’s bruised arms and sometimes has to make multiple tries. This is especially hard on Nelson during the night when she rolls in at 1 – 2 AM. It’s not a happy way to wake up.

As soon as the shift changes (6 AM for doctors, 7 AM for everyone else), The medical personnel begin their visits. They take Nelson‘s vitals again and again, change IV bags, check lung fluid accumulation, record it all on a computer and fuss over him till he wishes they would go away.

After that, a parade of other “helpers“ come and go throughout the day— a skin specialist to check on bedsores, a palliative care nurse to ask about pain meds, a social worker, a chaplain, a cleaning crew, a food server, and a transport person to take him away for x-rays, procedures, or tests.

The nurses are in and out multiple times every hour, delivering meds, fetching ice water, checking oxygen, updating the whiteboard, and unnumbered other tasks. And of course the doctors on Nelson‘s team of about 20 are part of the parade, too. When they come in, they often bring students or interns with them. Sometimes a nurse accompanies them, and the visitor headcount increases.

By the end of any hospital day, Nelson is thoroughly depleted. He asks for the lights to be turned off, even when it’s not bedtime. And his frustration mounts when every person who enters his room asks a series of questions. If he has just taken a pain pill for his constant lung pain, he finds it difficult to answer.

Tonight when Ann Sophie, Will and I were visiting, he told us that each day felt like an eternity and he was just marking time so he could call the day done.

 

Wanting to encourage him today, Ann Sophie suggested we all go to a rooftop patio that’s furnished with comfortable tables and chairs, just so Nelson (who loves the outdoors) could be outside for a while. It took a crew of helpers to free him from his many tethers, but he complied and seemed to enjoy the patio, once we got there. It wore him out in a good way, since so much time in the bed wears on him in a different way.

Nelson always thanks us, and his words about the patio were positive, but since he’s been in the hospital, there hasn’t been much sparkle behind what he says–unless he’s talking to baby Will. Then he becomes animated.

Little Will, approaching 4 months old, is a celebrity on the oncology floor. He’s only there with special permission. The nurses call him eye candy, and when he’s smiling, there’s no better mood-lifter than him. 

We’re praying Nelson will get to come home soon, but not too soon. The clot issue, still unresolved, and his swollen limbs will have to improve before it’ll be safe to leave the hospital. He knows that but then said, “This is all so hard.” And we agree.

“When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them.” (Psalm 34:17)

Little Victories

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As we suspected, Nelson is pressing the hospital staff for an exit-date from the hospital. Now that he’s been transferred from the ICU to a regular hospital room, there’s a new set of physical goals to reach. For example, he needs to be weaned off the high density oxygen without his numbers slipping below 95. And he needs to be able to walk around without his heart rate rising above 120. Nelson is doing everything in his power to meet these requirements, but most of it is out of his control. He did have several victories today, though.

1. The cancerous nodules in both lungs that were “too numerous to count“ have all significantly shrunken.
2. The swollen lymph nodes on both sides of his neck have also gotten smaller. They can’t be felt anymore from the outside.
3. His platelet count is up and all other blood numbers are stable.
4. He needs one less blood pressure medicine to keep his pressure up.
5. Two catheters have been removed, along with one IV line.
6. The lab lady was able to find a vein on her first try for this morning‘s blood draw.
7. Pain meds are no longer being given by IV but only by mouth.

But sadly, today wasn’t only about victories. We received one negative piece of news that both shocked and disappointed us: Despite being on blood thinners, Nelson now has a large blood clot under his clavicle bone area.

When his team gave him the details about this, he became overwhelmed with anxiety. After the doctors left, leaving his mind swirling, he called and told us he couldn’t handle “all this“ anymore, because there was no end in sight. They had asked him questions about making choices for moving forward, and he had been unable to organize his thoughts enough to answer. He seemed on the verge of panic, so we quickly mobilized and were in his room in just minutes.

He was still feeling anxious, telling us he felt like his hospital room had become a prison he could never get out of. But he was relieved to see us, especially his beloved Ann Sophie.

Just before we arrived, they had done a 90 minute ultrasound of his swollen arm, looking closely at the clot. They learned it was not just a small, marble-sized clot but one that reaches into four different veins: the internal jugular vein, the subclavian vein, the auxiliary vein, and the upper arm cephalic vein.

As a result, blood is flowing into Nelson‘s arm and legs but can’t get out. His limbs are so swollen now that he virtually can’t bend them.

The head nurse came in to answer more questions, bringing a print-out to help us understand. Once we saw the scope of the problem, we quizzed her at length about how to “fix it.“ She told us three teams of oncology experts would be arriving tomorrow morning: vascular, pulmonary, and radiation. All of them are familiar with Nelson‘s case, and together with him, they will structure a plan. We hope to be there listening in.

Before we left tonight, Ann Sophie questioned Nelson‘s nurse about his anti-anxiety meds, and they promised to be sure he had enough. Nelson never asks. He just carefully thanks every person who enters his room, telling them what a good job they’ve done and how he’s thankful for their care. This goes for everyone from medical people to food servers to cleaning crews. We’ve watched him bring light and goodness to each one.

Nelson is making a difference in the lives of many at the Clinic. As the old Sunday school song says, “Brighten the corner where you are.“

And despite today’s bad news, that’s what he’s doing.

“You are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light.” (Ephesians 5:8)

Sirens and Rotors

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Although Rochester, Minnesota, isn’t a big city, there is no day without the sound of sirens and helicopter rotor blades. And they all say Mayo Clinic on the side. These are welcome sounds because they indicate that some very sick people are being transported to the help they need.

 

After a 911 call last Thursday after midnight, Nelson was ambulanced to the people and medical equipment he needed. Today the doctor told Ann Sophie that the single most important factor in saving Nelson‘s life was that our apartment was only five minutes from Mayo Clinic.

This helped the EMTs get him there in a hurry. We were speechless in hearing this, since it’s the second time God has stood in the way of death to let Nelson live.

Today included more sibling visits as the clinic continued to listen to, and act on our pleas to be near Nelson—beneficial to both patient and visitors. He was much like his old self today, though still in need of morphine to eliminate pain that would otherwise be unbearable.

Several doctors said they were shocked by Nelson’s rapid improvement. After all, it’s been only 2 1/2 days since he was in a very bad way. The plan had been to let him stand by his bed for a few minutes today. But as usual, Nelson pushed the envelope and did three laps around the nurses station instead. The walker, the two nurses and Ann Sophie accompanying him, were there mostly to tote the equipment. 

Nelson worked up a little sweat during his walk but was glad to be back on his feet. Best of all, he did it without the warmed, humidified oxygen he’s been using in the ICU, though he still needs a high concentration through the smaller cannula.

Then, at about 4 PM, the catheter into his heart was removed—no longer necessary. All of his heart numbers have stabilized.

By 5 PM the hospital let us know he would be moving from the ICU into a regular hospital room, and by 7 PM, he was there. Knowing Nelson, his first question for the doctor will be, “When can I go home?” 

“Nothing will be impossible with God.“ (Luke 1:37)