Category Archives: Disease

Coming Home

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Today Nelson came home from the hospital. He’s been there a week, and during that time many expert medical people rode with him through days of vomiting and nights of pain. They stuck with him through bouts of severe constipation and periods of restlessness when he walked the hospital halls all night, unable to sleep. They calmed his severe anxiety when it threatened to overwhelm him and kept all of his medications straight.

And today, after a 3½ hour discharge process, they all found it hard to say goodbye.

“You’re my favorite patient,” the head nurse told him. “You’ve been so easy to care for, and I don’t like to see you go.” Her team felt the same way, dropping in to his room just to chat and staying longer than necessary after delivering scheduled pills.

As for Nelson, he had high praise for all those who helped him, thanking them for their care often. But his opinion today was, “I want out of here, a.s.a.p.”

As he left the hospital, his pain was “only at a three” and his breathing was slow and steady. He was very tired, but the bad constipation was gone, and he wasn’t at all anxious. His nausea was still there, most likely from the chemo and immunotherapy, but it was mild, and we have a remedy for that, should it escalate. He’s in a good place, and we’re going to do our best to keep him there.

Walking into our little apartment on a sunny, warm Minnesota day was satisfying for him and also for Ann Sophie and me. We’ve missed him a great deal. Little Will, too, grinned ear-to-ear whenever Nelson talked to him.

Now that we’re together at home again, new challenges begin. The hospital pharmacy handed us a shopping bag full of orangey-brown pill bottles—14 in all.

After a dinner of Ann Sophie’s delicious chunky-vegetable soup, we worked to figure out the prescriptions the hospital pharmacy sent home with us. Nelson and I threw in a comment or two, but it was Ann Sophie who had the pen and paper, marking bottles and her own chart. As Nelson said, “She’s the best person in the whole world.”

Behind all of these adjustments from hospital to home, working more efficiently than even Mayo Clinic’s finest, is God himself. We’ve seen his special touches many times now, but even if we hadn’t, we’re believing the Bible and what it says about him:

“If you commit your way to the Lord and trust in him, he will act.” (Psalm 37:5)

The Busy Day

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Hospital rooms are busy places, even when outside visitors are restricted.

Today Dr. Oliver strolled in to check on his patient’s welfare. He is the radiation/lung cancer expert and said he was pleased with Nelson’s progress. He was also completely enamored with little Will, who has become a celebrity on the oncology floor.

Later, a young woman named Sydney arrived in Nelson’s room with a guitar slung over her shoulder. “I’m from palliative care,” she said, “and I thought I’d bring you some music today—if you’d like that.

“Music, she explained, “can be very soothing—any kind you like.”

Nelson suggested she sing a Willie Nelson song in honor of baby Will(ie) Nelson Nyman. She said she was a fan of “old school country” and sung through Willie’s “Blue Eyes Cryin’ in the Rain.” Her voice was clear and beautiful. Before she left, she sang a few more, including “Amazing Grace.”

Another interesting visitor was a hospital chaplain, Alex, who sat with Nelson long enough to make a request. “Would you be willing to think about a couple of questions I’d like to ask? Not to answer them now, but just to think about them.” Of course Nelson said yes.

“If God added ten years to your life, how would you use them to get closer to him?” And, “If you could ask God to do one thing for you now, what would it be?” He quickly added, “Most people ask for their cancer to be removed. But what one thing after that?”

These are good questions for anyone to ponder, but especially for someone with cancer who has a young wife and a baby to raise. Nelson tapped the questions into his phone to do as Alex suggested, to think about them later.

Before he left, Alex reminded Nelson that his cancer experience won’t be wasted, that good things will come from it.

Later, Nelson mentioned to us that fear has been hovering over him since the beginning of this ordeal—the fear of not being able to breathe.

When nurse Jean visited, ostensibly to play with Will, she reminded him that such a scenario is highly unlikely, since the fluid in his lungs is being drained daily. More than likely it isn’t breathing that would be the trouble but pain from somewhere else that’s running away with his emotions. She challenged him to think about that before giving in to panic.

With today’s many visitors we saw that Nelson is being prepared to leave the hospital, both physically and emotionally, probably tomorrow. He has to be weaned off the little black button and its pain relief before he can go—leaving it up to pills after that.

There was so much activity in his room today that he texted us in the afternoon, asking us to cancel our planned evening visit. “I’m really tired,” he said. And so of course we didn’t go.

“I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.” (Jer. 31:25)

A Message from Martha

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We’re learning a lot about cancer during these days at Mayo Clinic. Actually, Ann Sophie is doing lots of the learning, and I’m doing a little, then learning from her.

Today we shared a phone appointment with Martha, a woman whose husband was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer that had metastasized to other places in his body—eight years ago. He’s fully functional today, and though he’s still dealing with his cancer, he can travel, work, be involved at church, and participate in family life.

Nelson was fortunate, Martha told us, to be receiving immunotherapy. Eight years ago they weren’t given that option. Her line was, “The longer he lives, the longer he lives.” In other words, if he can find a way to live longer, there will be more new treatments to help him live even longer than that. She also talked to us about the pressures on the one doing the care-giving. She said, “Let the one with the cancer be in charge of decisions.” Good advice.

The staff at Mayo’s has told us they can’t cure Nelson’s cancer, but they can most likely give him time. During our talk with Martha we learned what that might look like, day-to-day.

When we arrived at the hospital today, Nelson was being tended to by a multitude of nurses. As always, he was happy to introduce his family. Our timing was good, because a “procedure doctor” was about to drain Nelson’s right lung by way of his new catheter, and she wanted to show us how. When he leaves the hospital, our instructions will be to do this daily.

 

 

Ann Sophie and I watched as she carefully went through a long list of many small tasks to get the job done. I thought it was quite complicated, but Ann Sophie stepped up boldly to own the whole process. How thankful I am for a daughter-in-law who is smart and enjoys reading the fine print.

The medical staff is trying to figure out how much fluid Nelson’s right lung is producing every day, and it seems to be a liter or more. When I asked if the chemo and immunotherapy would lessen fluid production, she paused and said, “Well….maybe.” This wasn’t easy to hear.

The draining process is hard on Nelson and often causes pain, but not to drain it makes it hard to breathe. Thankfully, at least for now, he’s still got his little black drug-button to push, which helps immensely.

The staff has learned that his swollen left arm has no clots in it but that swelling is caused, they believe, by restricted blood flow in and out of that arm. This is due to compromised lymph nodes in his lower neck, though they are still looking into it. Today we noticed his left leg is swollen, too.

As Martha said this morning during our call, “Try not to look too far down the road, picturing what Nelson’s life or yours will look like. No one can know that yet.” Though the temptation is strong to look, we’re trying to take her advice.

“You ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that’.” (James 4:15)