I come home from today’s chemotherapy in Bartlesville sleepy from the IV Benadryl and hyped up from the IV steroids, not a good combination! Yes, my labs from yesterday’s Tulsa labs and appointment with Dr. Moussa’s nurse were good enough to proceed; in fact, my liver enzymes were normal! Ashley did note that my lungs made the rubbing sound that accompanies pleural effusion, so she ordered an X-ray, which showed a small accumulation, this time on both the right and left lungs. There is not enough to warrant getting the fluid drained yet.
It is a relief to have the port for blood draws and IVs
rather than using my left wrist or hand. Evidently, the veins farther up my arm
are crooked and roll rather easily. As long as the word “crooked” only applies
to my veins and not my character, I can handle that label!
The port itself is on my chest straight across from my
right shoulder. Unlike the port I had almost ten years ago, this one really
sticks out. I’m having a hard time getting used to it, but fortunately it is
not as tender as it was last week.
In case you don’t know, I am a people watcher. Yesterday,
as I waited my turn in the lab waiting area, two people caught my eye. The
first was a young woman with a crew haircut by whom I sat, lucky to find a
chair. (A crew haircut is a good preparation for losing your hair.) Joni
started up a conversation with me, and we shared cancer stories. I’m guessing
she is in her twenties. She was treated for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma in 2023, and
it has come back. She is nervous about traveling to Oklahoma City soon to have
her stem cells harvested and to have aggressive chemotherapy in the hospital.
(I don’t remember which comes first.) She was stoic about the significant
chance for another recurrence as well as a high probability for breast cancer later.
Our time to talk was short, and I regret not bringing up Jesus. My heart breaks
for her, and I’ll be praying for her.
Soon after she left, I noticed an older husband and
wife. A lab technician came out to personally escort her into the lab, taking
her hand. I recognized the pleasant blank look on the wife’s face as dementia
and prayed silently for her and for her husband as her caregiver.
Today, in the Bartlesville treatment room, I noted the
elderly gentleman whom I’ve seen before. Today, I realized he is likely a
nursing home resident. Eddie must be over six feet tall and skinny as a rail.
He is endlessly polite and a favorite of the nurses, who joke around with him. He
finished before I did, and a driver from Elder Care came to help him into a
hospital wheelchair. I wondered about all Eddie must have experienced in his
life as a black man.
Another person I recognized was a black man in the twenty
to forty age range and. His hair is long enough to put into two tiny braids
back behind his ears. (I hate feeling the need to mention skin color, but I
feel I must in order to give you a clear picture.) Last week he accompanied an older
white man, and this week he accompanied a middle-aged white man whom I supposed
to be poor and homeless, based on his appearance. Why am I telling you this?
Because the man with braids clearly has a servant’s heart. He not only assisted
the person he accompanied but also helped other patients, even me, last time.
When I requested a warm blanket from a nurse, and she couldn’t get it right
away—and I had no problem waiting—he brought me one and carefully arranged it
over my lap. Whether he is accompanying friends or is a hired caregiver, I saw
his gentle, respectful approach to people and the camaraderie he has with the
nursing staff.
And one more in the treatment room today, a very old white
man who looked pale and feeble. He received bad news that because his creatine levels
had increased, he could not have his treatment today. The nurse was so kind and
patient explaining this as well as that his doctor wanted him to be admitted to
St. John Medical Center in Tulsa today. Though he was surprised and flustered
by this news and did not understand it, he had the presence of mind to make a
bunch of phone calls to people he knew to get a ride and arrange for various
other needs while he would be in hospital.
Do I sound like an eavesdropper? Let me explain that
the Bartlesville treatment room is an open rectangular room with hospital
recliners and IV stands placed all around the perimeter. Thus, everyone can
hear part or most of everything that is said.
These observations reminded me again of how so many
people are dealing with so many difficult health issues. Seeing them reminded
me of the need to be gracious and respectful to every single person we meet. That
is the call of Christ, to love God with all our heart and mind and strength,
and to love our neighbor as ourselves.
Part Two
I feel compelled to share a dark, chaotic dream I had
in the middle of last night. I do not remember exactly what was happening, just
that there was no way to escape the evil all around. Surprisingly enough, the
dream was not frightening. I woke up with the shadowy images in my mind and
spent a long time pondering what I could only partly remember. After much
thought, I came up with this: Jesus the Christ is the light in the darkness and
the light that exposes the darkness: he exposes evil for the twisted thing it
is. Sometimes we cannot perceive that light at all. Sometimes we may see a pinprick.
Sometimes he surprises us with the light’s glory. That glory is reality, and
that glory is eternal life. I am safe in that light whether I live or die (and,
of course, we all die eventually!). Aligning our lives with the light of truth
is (and should be) the walk of Christ followers. Living into that light brings
unspeakable joy and peace.
Yesterday and today as I observed fellow cancer patients,
I got to see pinpricks of light in the midst of suffering. Glory be to God!
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