Holly
and I arrived at OCSRI-Tulsa for my nine a.m. appointment. Since school has started up again and my
son-in-law is back in the classroom teaching, daughter Dana can no longer take
me to appointments. I am so blessed to
have friends that jump at any opportunity to help me. If there is a silver lining in the cancer cloud,
it is friends: acquaintances become
trusted friends and trusted friends become even closer than before.
In
the lab, I was pleasantly surprised to have one of the nurses from my very
first treatment. It was nice to talk
with her and find out the latest concerning her seven-year-old twins. I even made sure to read her name tag, but
already I have forgotten her name.
From
the lab, Holly and I made the short trek to the doctor appointment waiting area. It didn’t take long before my name was called. My oncologist had a medical student with him
today, and after introductions, Dr. Moussa said with a smile, “Two doctors for
the price of one!” I rather like it when
he has a med student because he then gives a brief summary of my case, most of
which I understand. Medical repetition
is an essential learning tool for me.
Both
lab and doctor cleared me for today’s chemo.
We waited the usual twenty minutes or so in the treatment waiting room
before being called back. For the first
time, I was placed in a “double.” Most
of the cubicles are set up for one patient; a “double” is set up for two
patients. I had my choice of
recliners. Then I was pleasantly
surprised to see that the nurse who had done my blood draws in the lab earlier
was also going to be my main nurse for treatment!
She
hooked me up to the first IV drip—a steroid/anti-nausea combination—and not
long thereafter an older gentleman was directed to our cubicle. He sat down in the other guest chair instead
of the other recliner. I don’t remember
exactly how, but Holly included him in our conversation and he shared his
story. His wife died from cancer twelve
years ago, and now he has cancer in several organs. He explained, though, that he had felt led to
just do injections instead of IV chemotherapy.
We talked about our faith in Christ.
He has been a music minister since 1958, and the peace and love he has
for the Lord simply exuded from him. It
wasn’t long until he was called away to receive his injection, but those few
minutes talking with him were the highlight of the two hours in the treatment
room.
I
remembered to have Holly take my picture and to stop everything to pray just
before the chemo drug, Taxol, was hooked up even though I was more than a
little drowsy and spacy from the IV Benadryl drip. I dozed for a good part of that last hour.
Earlier,
I had been given my Bartlesville and Tulsa dates from the scheduling office, so
all that remained was a stop at the in-house pharmacy for a refill of one of my
anti-nausea drugs. And then the drive
home, pleasantly filled with conversation and laughter. I noted the relative absence of lower back
pain, which was especially wonderful after what had happened this morning when
I got up—the most intense lower back pain I have ever experienced. Every movement caused excruciating pain: walking, reaching out or up or down, turning,
sitting. I took a pain pill, which
started to help a little by the time Holly arrived, but I could not carry my
bag and getting into her van was challenging.
I’m
thinking that seeing an orthopedic doctor is in my near future. Hopefully, a physical therapist, too. At least I already know what is wrong from
earlier imaging: degenerative disc
disease. In the meantime, I’ll gradually
increase my walking, stop picking up anything heavy, avoid hours in my
recliner, use the ACE ice pack, and carry on.
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