Just Following Along

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Today begins a new week, one in which the results of the biopsy will come in. They took nine bits out of a cancerous lymph node two weeks ago, though it seems like two months ago.

But today brought word of the first analyses, and what we heard was good news. Though they are still looking for certain mutations that will swing the door open to the new, effective immunology treatments, they did have one piece of good news. The numbers showed that Nelson’s immune system is extra-strong for his age, which should help him during immunology treatments—should he qualify for them.

Meanwhile, they told us he’ll probably start chemotherapy tomorrow, even before all the biopsy results are in, possibly alongside immunology. If they give him the first blast before he leaves the hospital tomorrow, it will be a helpful kick-start (the nurse’s words) to his long-term treatment.

One new problem is that Nelson’s veins are flattening. Drawing blood morning and evening is getting more and more difficult. The staff has to dig for it, and Nelson has bandage wraps around multiple places in both arms. He’s a good patient and endures without complaint, but it’s hard to watch them try and try.

Today they wheeled Nelson from his room multiple times for more tests that they can compare to last week’s information. Sadly, we heard the words “fast growing” today, an invitation to lose heart. But God wants us always to be on a blessing-watch, and today he gave us a special one.

Though no young children are ever allowed on the oncology floor, we asked Nelson’s nurse if maybe just once we might bring Will up to see Nelson—only briefly, and in the lounge at the end of the hall, not in his room.

The nurses are a fantastic crew, and this one went to work on it immediately. Today as Ann Sophie, Will, and I entered the hospital, we were stopped by the doorkeepers like everyone else. Ann Sophie mentioned that the baby should be allowed in today, expecting opposition. But the woman at the desk brought up Nelson’s patient-page and quickly said, “Yes. I see that here. Go right up.”

We skipped the lounge and went directly to Nelson’s room. No one stopped us. Will was wearing his onesie that said DAD’S BEST BUDDY and charmed all the nurses and other visitors along the way. His daddy was very glad to see him and vice versa. And thankfully Will was an angel throughout the hour we were there.

 

 

Another blessing was that the staff told us they’d gotten permission for Will to be on the cancer floor any time we wanted to bring him…a standing order of sorts.

And one more good thing was that the staff had finally gotten ahead of Nelson’s pain. When we came, he was relaxed and content, a big gift to him—and to us. He was sleepy, since they had literally doubled his pain meds, but that was OK, too.

And so we forge ahead, pleading with God for more years with Nelson, and doing our best to follow his lead.

“Your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way. Walk in it’.” (Isaiah 30:21)

Help is on the way.

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Today was originally the day Nelson was to exit the hospital after being admitted yesterday to stop his vomiting and coughing, and to help him breathe. He enjoyed his ambulance ride, knowing that better help was on the way.

Nelson’s cousin Luke, who has always shown up when it counts, came to Rochester today,    “…just to connect and be helpful any way I can.” When he texted that he was starting the 90 minute drive, he became more help that was on the way.

Luke and Ann Sophie appeared in Nelson’s room simultaneously while Luke’s two kids hung with Will and I in a hotel lobby across the street from the hospital. No children are allowed on cancer floors.

Cousin Luke was there only a few minutes before he texted me a list of what he thought we should strive to work on for Nelson today:

  1. Left arm has swelling.
  2. More consistent pain management.
  3. Cough suppressant to manage bronchial irritation.
  4. Draining of the lungs, or a shunt to steadily remove fluid.
  5. Acute anxiety med if needed at night.

By the end of visiting hours, Luke had worked his magic, and all five of these things had been addressed. In addition, a palliative care doctor will visit in the morning at the hospital, rather than having Nelson discharged prematurely to meet him elsewhere. Ann Sophie and I were relieved, and Nelson was feeling better.

As we often say, God is a very present help in trouble. He proved that again today, through Luke’s timely visit and in another way.

Since I knew I’d be partnering with little Will much of the afternoon, I decided to leave my purse in the car but slipped a credit card into my coat pocket.

Later, when Ann Sophie and I sat down to talk about Nelson at a Caribou Coffee shop (inside a hotel lobby), I reached for my credit card, and it was gone. Will and I had done lots of walking during our hours together, and somewhere along the way, it must have jumped out of my pocket.

Before sipping her hot chocolate, Ann Sophie prayed, asking God to show us where the card was. I left the table to search the sidewalk, hotel lobby, hallways, and everyplace we’d walked that afternoon, coming up empty. The hotel desk clerk said no one had turned it in. It was just gone.

Back at the coffee shop we chatted about Nelson’s busy day for 15 minutes while an older man sitting 30 feet away watched us. Ann Sophie and I wondered if he was homeless. He had a duffel bag and seemed to be trying to sleep on the hotel lobby couch. We agreed that he looked angry. His cap said “Vietnam.”

Suddenly he stood up, and believe it or not, help was on the way. He walked straight to our table. “Is this yours?” he said, holding up my credit card.

I was stunned but reached for the card, telling him what a kind and honorable man he was. He said, “I saw you wheeling the little one around and around, and when I saw it on the floor, I knew it was yours.”

After he’d returned to the couch, I borrowed $20 from Ann Sophie (I had no purse) and went over to thank him again—becoming help that was on the way to him. When I handed him the money, he said, “Oh bless you! I really need that! You don’t know how much!”

God sees to it that help is always on the way. And sometimes he even tends to it personally.

“Behold, God is my helper. The Lord is the upholder of my life.” (Psalm 54:4)

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)