Category Archives: Thankfulness

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)

A Better Day

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The good thing about a bad day is that the next one is bound to be better.

Yesterday was rough, and it didn’t end at bedtime. Nelson’s vomiting continued through the night and into the morning, a vomiting like we’d never seen before—violent and ongoing for many minutes at a time. It seemed like he would pass out at any second.

This morning as the vomiting continued along with overwhelming coughing and choking, Ann Sophie and I didn’t know what to do. His pain was “off the charts” (his words), so we contacted his medical team. The first one to respond said, “Take him to the ER.”

And so back we went for our 3rd visit there in 2½ weeks. As we got in the car, we prayed, crying out to God to rescue Nelson—from vomiting, from coughing, choking, severe abdominal and lung pain, and inadequate breathing. Thankfully the ER was empty, and we went right in.

Several nurses and a doctor quickly focused on each problem in turn. Within an hour Nelson was breathing easier because of receiving oxygen, and his count had gone from 88 to 95. His pain was being treated with fentanyl and the vomiting with anti-nausea meds. And best of all was when Ativan diminished his panic about not being able to breathe.

Finally he fell into a sound sleep, which made me cry as I watched him. He hasn’t slept well in many weeks, some nights not at all. And always sitting straight up.

By 4:00 PM, the staff had decided to admit Nelson to the hospital for at least 24 hours to investigate the vomiting, a sky-high white blood cell count, and severe constipation from pain meds.

By 5:30 Nelson was being strapped in for his first-ever ride in an ambulance. This time he went to a different hospital, landing on a floor with only cancer patients. When he arrived, the staff said, “We are your people. We are already working with all the doctors you’ve been with so far, and we’re familiar with your medical situation.” It felt a little like coming home.

After they delivered all of Nelson’s meds along with an extra blanket, he  ordered dinner (an omelette, fruit and coffee), a welcome sight after not eating anything since yesterday’s nausea had begun. But today’s greatest delight was that we had cried out to God in the car, asking him to rescue Nelson, and he did.

Though his cancer and all the harm it’s doing remains, we were encouraged to hear that this week systemic treatment will begin. And our hope is that it won’t include vomiting.

“Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him. I will protect him, because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble. I will rescue him…” (Psalm 91:14-15)

A Young Buck

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Any day with surgery on the schedule promises to be a long one, and ours was no different. Today Nelson had a small procedure followed by a more significant one.

The day began with a phone call from his pulmonologist who started the conversation like this: “I’m thinking no news is good news.” He had given Nelson his personal cell phone number yesterday in case he had a lung emergency during the night. Nelson had told him he felt “different” yesterday and that something strange was about to happen, like a sudden collapse.

He’d been advised that if such a thing occurred, he was to go to the ER, call this doctor, and he, the specialist, would meet him there. Since Nelson hadn’t called him during the night, he concluded all was well.

“So,” he said, “did you sleep in a prone position last night?” It’s been weeks since Nelson has been able to do that, since the fluid in his lungs has made him feel like he was drowning.

Nelson answered honestly. “No. I still can’t lie down. It was another night upright on the couch. Breathing was still hard.”

“Well,” the doctor said, “in order to have today’s surgery, you have to be able to lie flat on your back. Can do that?”

“No. Not with all this fluid in my lungs.”

“Then come over this morning, and I’ll drain them again.”

And once more we were off to Mayo’s on short notice, thankful that our apartment was only six minutes away. Nelson felt a little better after the procedure but was surprised that already, in less than 48 hours, more than a liter of new fluid had accumulated in his right lung.

He was prepped for the surgery to place a stent in his superior vena cava vein just above his clavicle bone.

All of us (Ann Sophie, baby Will, church friend Keith, and me) were allowed in and out of his cubicle while he waited for his turn in the OR.

Keith had flown to Minnesota all the way from Tennessee to put his arms around Nelson and pray with him. He also brought lunch, though Nelson couldn’t eat anything pre-op. He prayed with Nelson and said, “You’ll get through this OK ‘cuz you’re a young buck who can put up a good fight.” A young buck. The perfect description.

We could also check a “live” progress board with his number on it, supplying information about where Nelson was in his surgical day.

Several hours later, Ann Sophie got a text saying he was ready for visitors. And once again, all of us were allowed into his room—even baby Will, despite a hospital rule that no one under five could visit. For some reason, they made an exception for our little guy. (Thank you, Lord.)

Nelson’s friend Derek had also joined us, flying north from Dallas to connect with his buddy.

Nelson was glad to see all of us but was especially glad when his wife and son walked in. This man has a lot to live for, and we could see it all over his face.

He’ll stay in the hospital overnight so he can be watched carefully by a trained staff rather than an untrained Ann Sophie and Margaret.

Then tomorrow morning he’ll be discharged before 8:00 AM, and a new day of appointments will begin.

 

“Let your eyes look directly forward and your gaze be straight before you.” (Proverbs 4:25)