It has been several days since the last blog post.
I wrote this one yesterday and I considered not sending it. It’s far more like a journal that I did when I had cancer in my leg. Really, I would prefer for no one to read it. I’d also prefer that you not respond to this one. Sympathy isn’t what I am looking for. Maybe there is something in seeing that as a pastor I am no different than anyone else. Just a different calling than most. You might think that by now I would be accustomed to medical procedures not going as hoped. I guess not. The morning didn’t start well because I knew there was an hour difference between the blood work, which meant an IV today, and the infusion appointment. Those two have never been scheduled that far apart. The nurse who was to start the IV was new to me, though she has been in the unit for eight years. As she tapped on my arm and then on the other arm I could tell that she was having trouble finding a vein. I gave her insight about where the easiest vein has been, but she didn’t take my advice. She tried to stick the vein that I had told her had blown out before. She said more than once as she was moving the needle in my arm, “There is no blood that I can find.” Could it be that there was a reason? Of all the IVs and sticks I have had, this one was far and away the stick that brought the most pain. I literally became sick to my stomach. That’s a rarity. Maybe it was because it was on an empty stomach. I don’t think so. I felt the same sick feeling later in the day as I recalled the pain. Finally, the nurse called in a replacement whom I had never seen before either. She tied the torniquet around my arm, tapped the vein I recommended, and slid in the needle with almost no pain. I am pretty confident that going forward I will not allow anyone to use the blown-out vein again! Things didn’t go much better from there. After I was there for two hours, I finally received Benadryl in the IV, which meant another hour before the chemotherapy. In all I was there almost three and a half hours. I am usually finished in two. The best thing about today was that it was the last of the chemotherapy treatments that requires an IV. For that I am grateful. Volunteer Joe stopped by and brought me the usual two small cups of peanut butter and graham crackers. Later he stopped by again and introduced me to his wife. They both volunteer in the Cancer Center each week, but usually on different days. I could see that in my future someday. Two things kept going through my mind amid the events of the morning. Four weeks from today I will be in the middle of the tests at Mayo Clinic to determine if I am a candidate for the stem cell transplant. This morning’s struggle might pale in comparison. More than that, I kept encountering several other patients for whom I eventually prayed. At least today, they were in far worse shape than I am. One lady had a deep cough that made me rather nervous to be near her. Another lady was in the throes of cancer and chemotherapy’s clutches. I could tell that she felt as bad as she looked. The nurse who gave me the treatment is a good heart. She is a believer and we talked about the Lord during the treatment. When the treatment was finished she started to rip off the bandage that keeps the IV from moving. I asked her if she could use an alcohol swab to help remove it. She did—for a bit and then ripped it off, saying “sorry about that.” Maybe I will look for a “hairy-armed” nurse in the future. It might make a difference in how much hair I keep on my arms. Later, as I went through the day, I felt guilty over how I felt about the treatment this morning. I feel some of the same guilt writing now. Some folks are far worse off than I am and have far greater pain. I received a text from someone very dear to me as I was headed to the treatment indicating that she was praying for me. She knew it was the last of the treatments that require an IV. She thanked me for fighting this disease. There are times in this when I don’t feel like I am a good model of a fighter. Pam, who deals with Parkinson’s, now there is a fighter. If I can have half the fight that she does, I will get through this. I left the hospital and headed to the DQ. I felt like I deserved a banana milkshake. Thanks for letting me vent. Writing my feelings down helped a lot. So did God’s grace.
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Chuck Cooper
Pastor at Daybreak Community Church Archives
November 2024
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