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)

Crushed?

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Having hope is something everybody needs, at every age, and in every category. But our enemy, the devil, works relentlessly to demolish our hope, especially in medical crises. For example, he whispers, “Nelson can’t beat this. No one can overcome cancer this extensive. I’m going to win this one, and you know it.”

But we don’t know it.

The only things we know for sure are the things God tells us—things like this:

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9)

Nelson is being hard pressed on every side, but we believe he won’t be crushed.  He and all of us are perplexed, but we won’t despair. He’s been persecuted by this awful cancer, but neither God nor any of us will ever abandon him. He’s been struck down, definitely. But we’re asking his Heavenly Father to protect him from complete destruction.

Today a worn out Nelson, who’d struggled with increasing pain through the night, was transported to a separate Mayo Clinic building where he endured what he called a “brutal procedure.”

Since his lungs continually fill with fluid making it difficult to breathe, his pulmonary doctor moved to install a catheter or shunt so Nelson will be able to drain it himself. In the process, he had his right lung drained for the 5th time, another liter-plus of fluid.

Following this, Nelson was taken to radiology for a chest x-ray to check the position of the catheter in his lung, and then back to his hospital room. When I asked him if he’d been transported by wheelchair or ambulance he said, “By bed.” Then he gave me a goofy grin, as if to say, “How ‘bout that.”

In addition to the lung procedure today, three other significant things happened:

  1. All nine of the biopsy studies came back, revealing that Nelson was a good candidate for immunotherapy. We were thrilled with that news, since this cutting-edge method of treating cancer, even Stage 4 cancer, is getting good results.
  2. We also learned that Nelson’s treatment would begin today. This was to be a combination of chemotherapy and immunotherapy, delivered through an IV. As I sat in his hospital room this afternoon, the process began right in front of my eyes.

I almost cried knowing the long wait was over at last. As of 5:30 PM today, his cancer cells would no longer be allowed to rule the day, even those recently found in his brain. Instead they would be forced to die.

  1. Something else wonderful happened today. Since the battle to get ahead of Nelson’s pain had failed as many days as it had succeeded, they gave Nelson his own button to push whenever relief was needed. When I arrived today and said, “How’s it going?” he lifted up something small and said, “This…. is a game changer.”

A cylinder the size of a chapstick with a button at one end was delivering high-powered pain relief with every push of his thumb. No more calling for a nurse and waiting for a pill that would take 30 minutes to work. He was in charge now, and he couldn’t have been happier.

…..not crushed, not despairing, not abandoned, not destroyed.

“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial….” (James 1:12)