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)

Long Ago and Far Away

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Today’s blog includes something special that’s far away from cancer, hospitals, and medicines. As Nelson adjusts to being home from the hospital, we need a break from all things cancer, and maybe you do, too. So…

When Nelson was ten years old, he became a published author by writing a column for a booklet put together by a group of church moms who all had preschool children. The publication was called “The Crib Sheet,” and Nelson’s submission was for a regular column, “Children of the Heavenly Father.”

In 1983, this is what he wrote:

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My name is Nelson Hamilton Nyman. I am ten years old. I would like to write why I like having brothers and a sister. {Louisa and Birgitta had not yet been born.}

 

I like Lars, my brother, because he is only two years younger than me. He is very agreeable and loving. He is my best friend, and he will always be there, even when all my other friends move away. We can talk privately in bed, and talk about anything we want.

I like my sister Linnea because she likes me and thinks I’m pretty neat. She looks up to me.

I like Klaus because he is someone to play with when Lars is gone. He is a real nice boy, also.

Hans is the youngest of all. He is nice to talk to when I need someone to smile at and talk to. It is great to have them, because I have someone to play with most all the time. I am the first born child in the family, and that means that I have a lot of responsibility, because all my brothers look up to me and do what I do.

But someone who is an only child, they have to use the TV for a friend, and sometimes his or her parents are busy and don’t have time to play with them. There are times when I wish I was an only child. Like when everyone is crowded around the TV and I have the worst spot in the room. And like when Mom is busy with the other brother’s homework, and I need help, too.

But God wanted me to be in this family, and that is why I am here. And I know God is glad that I am happy with the life he gave me. The End

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I’ve enjoyed remembering back when Nelson was ten, and I thank God for those happy, busy days. But more than that, I’ve thought about Nelson’s last sentence in regard to what’s happening these days. Back then he wrote, “I am happy with the life [God] gave me.”

But I’m wondering–in light of everything–is that even possible today? Actually, I think I already know what Nelson’s answer would be, 39 years later:

“What is impossible with men is possible with God.” (Luke 18:27)

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)