Scrub City

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We’re gradually becoming familiar with our new home town here in Rochester, Minnesota. At 6:45 this morning, Nelson and I were sitting at a stop light on our way to one of several hospitals that make up the Mayo Clinic, going in for more appointments.

As we sat at the light, a crowd of medical people paraded past us wearing their work gear. Scrubs come in all colors, and as we watched, a rainbow of people in helping careers passed in front of us. Rochester is a medical town, and we’re really grateful, because we need lots of help.

It was a rough weekend for Nelson. His chronic problem is not being able to breathe well, never able to take a deep breath. There is fluid in his lungs making efficient breathing impossible. As the fluid builds, a little more each day, his breathing deteriorates. He can no longer lie flat without feeling like he might suffocate.

Over the weekend he called one of the many doctors on his team and asked if they couldn’t please drain at least one of his lungs so he could breathe better. Mayo Clinic responded quickly, coming to his rescue. They drained not just one but both lungs in a quick, almost-painless procedure, which brought a measure of relief. One lung had 1.6 liters of fluid in it, and the other over 1 liter—nearly 3 liters of fluid making it a struggle to get air. That’s about 3 quarts of liquid, pressing on all sides.

Nelson has had this procedure done twice before, and each time the “filling” of the lungs has happened over a shorter period of time. Yesterday they assured him they could redo the draining process whenever he felt it was needed. They even offered to put in a shunt so he could control it himself, but the accompanying risks were something he wanted to think about for a while.

In the mean time, we’re all grateful for the quick action Mayo takes. He has more appointments yet to come today, and the staff here continues to work on Nelson’s case from multiple angles. Waiting for the comprehensive, long-term plan to become known has been frustrating, and the doctors commiserate with that problem. But they want all the data before making the plan.

More later today about what they can do right now to ease Nelson’s pain….

“We hope for what we do not see. We wait for it with patience.” (Romans 8:25)

 

Lightening the Load

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The Mayo Clinic doesn’t generally do weekend appointments, so there are no new test results to report today. But the arrival of Nelson’s brother Lars from Chicago yesterday gave all of us a boost. Nelson, Ann Sophie, Will, and Lars are spending the holiday weekend at cousin Luke’s beautiful home 80 miles north of our apartment, where Luke continues to anticipate each need and stretch himself to meet it. He’s one of a kind.

During these days, all of us are sensing God’s close presence. Looking back on the week just ended, we see evidence of this dotting the days. One moment in particular served to sweep away disappointment and substitute joy.

Nelson, Ann Sophie, Will and I were together in an exam room listening to two experienced doctors describe what was going on in Nelson’s body. They came to the hard part about the places where cancer has taken hold, and the air became heavy with sadness.

But just then, baby Will decided to answer nature’s call, and with one quick grunt accompanied by lots of explosive noises, he filled his diaper.

 

All five of us burst out laughing—right in the middle of the sadness. Nelson said, “We call him the Authentic Man. He doesn’t hide anything from anyone.”

Sometimes silly moments like this are God’s way of showing us He’s nearby. And if we’ve been given too much to bear, he’ll lighten our load.

“Come to Me… My burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28 & 30)

A burst of happiness, but then…

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All of us have been encouraged by the reports of literally thousands praying for Nelson and his family. It’s the most powerful thing any of us can do for him.

In addition to that, many have asked, “What can we do to help?” And suddenly multiple packages have begun arriving at our apartment complex, mostly things to help us set up housekeeping in our little apartment. Though a few days ago it was completely empty, now it’s beginning to look like home.

My nephew Luke loaned us furniture along with his trailer to haul it from his house to Rochester, an 80-mile ride. (He also let us stay at his house until we could find a place.)

YWAM friends Mike and Judy drove 100 miles from their home in northern Minnesota, to help us move. With Luke’s help, they loaded his trailer and towed it an additional 80 miles to our apartment. They carried it all inside, put together a couple of Ikea items, drove the 80 miles back north to return the trailer, and then did the last 100 miles to get home in the middle of the night – all with good cheer and the joy of the Lord.

 

Yesterday the landlord of our apartment complex said, “Come to my office. There’s a roomful of boxes for you here.” And suddenly it’s Christmas in May. We stand amazed.

But the gifts haven’t been limited to material things. Yesterday we met with a world renown doctor who is an expert in three areas: radiology, oncology, and lung cancer. He will be the “head honcho” over what happens to Nelson in coming days, dictating treatment along with his team of other specialists.

This doctor gave us a piece of good news that had us all rejoicing. Nelson’s MRI of his brain revealed no sign of cancer there. To that we shouted hallelujah! And the doctor was pleased to meet Nelson and his family, since all of us attended the meeting.

In 28 appointments over the last 5 days (doctors, nurses, labs, tests), no one has mentioned Covid and they’ve encouraged all of us to attend everything, even if Will is fussing. They understand how much Nelson has to live for and want to make that happen.

But…

today the all-important biopsy took place when they removed the center of an infected lymph node, poking Nelson 9 times in his neck. As Dr. Oliver said, “Without the tissue, there’s no issue.” Determining the source of the cancer’s origin is critical, because that will dictate treatment.

As we were talking about that today, the phone rang. It was one of the doctors letting us know that the labs done on the fluid that was extracted from Nelson’s lung showed lung cancer. But worst of all, his cancer is Stage 4. This difficult news has taken all day for us to absorb.

The renown doctor told us not to Google “Stage 4 lung cancer,” because we’d only find bad news. “And,” he said, “Google doesn’t know about all the new meds and treatments we have here at the Mayo Clinic.” So we continue to follow the doctors’ lead, knowing they know more about all this than we do. And we’re praying for a miracle.

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” (Romans 12:12)