February 20, 2023

Sunday worship was a very blessed morning. My niece was baptized and some others made decisions to return to the Shepherd. I guess God isn’t finished with me quite yet.

The trip yesterday was gladly uneventful. Larry C. and I split the driving. In bed about 11 Mayo time.

The weather forecast for Rochester was mild and clear. We woke up to 25 degrees and snowing. Less than an inch of snow here must not even be forecasted. Calling for a major storm on Tuesday afternoon, so we are hoping to get out of here before then.

I have felt for some time that all I went through 22 years ago meant that I had met my lifetime quota of tests, treatments, etc. Wishful thinking.

I looked over the schedule for the day. Mayo is magnificent at planning appointments, knowing that many folks come from a distance. One consultation and five procedures, none of which I will relish.

I have some of the same feelings that I had 22 years ago on the first day of coming to Mayo. Lots of unknown and knowing I am going to be poked and stuck, while at the same time having some trepidation of going through the procedures.

I can say that I wouldn’t call it fear. Some folks might.

Larry lets me out of the car and I head into the main Mayo building feeling a bit of something. Not self-pity. More of self-focus on what I am facing today.

And like God does so many times for all of us, He brings His discipline in just the way that I needed. The very first person whom I encounter is about a seven-eight-year-old little boy in a wheelchair. His body was somewhat handicappped and the look on his face, even through the mask, was one of fear.

I couldn’t help but pray, “Lord, give that little boy whatever grace that maybe folks had prayed for You to give to me today.”

It was about a 15-minute walk to the first appointment. As I am waiting to be called, a mom wheels in another child and they “park” close to me. He’s about 10 years-old and has a patch on his left eye. I am at the radiationon cology desk. This little boy is dealing with cancer or he wouldn’t be there. It’s obvious that this isn’t his first time
in this waiting area. He was greeted by the staff with an obvious familiarity.

And to beat it all, he has this huge small on his face. I’m pretty sure that’s not what he saw on my face. In his lap are two things: a huge bag of candy and a large container of cookies, possibly homemade. His mom wheels his chair behind the “desk” where he presents the good stuff to the young man at the radiation oncology desk. It appeared that they were gifts of gratitude to the staff for their care of him. When he rolls back to his waiting spot, there is this even bigger smile on his face.

Discipline #2. This one, however, came with a great sense of joy to celebrate with this young lad. I pray that maybe it is the culmination of his radiation treatments. Two little boys dealing with far more than any child should ever have to deal with.

I guess the Lord has prepared me enough that I will be able to handle whatever comes today.

8:00 p.m. Mayo Time

Hungry and exhausted I climbed into Larry’s SUV about 5:30. I couldn’t eat anything all day because of the tests. Some were textbook like having blood drawn. We’ve all gone through those.

The main reason I am here is to get ready for radiation in a couple of weeks. The procedure today no man would ever want to endure.

Sedation was little more than a Tylenol and I was more than cognizant of everything that was happening. Uncomfortable would be way too weak of a word to describe it. Two folks were working on me.

Not too long after the pain had begun, I felt this hand on my shoulder, patting me lovingly and gently. The tech didn’t say a word. But each time they changed to do something else, I felt this hand of encouragement.

I can’t say I felt like it was the hand of Jesus in any way, but it was a hand that God used to give me comfort and grace. After it was all over, I thanked this man for what he had done for me. It may be something that he does each time for each patient. I sure hope so.

I headed to another building for the hormone injection. Hard to believe the medicine in a small syringe is enough to basically destroy your hormones for several months.

As I am headed back to the next to last procedure, I walk through the lobby to get to another building. As is often the case, someone was sitting at one of the grand pianos. Over the years I have heard classical music, a bit of contemporary music, and even Christian music.

As I walk by I recognize the song the young man was playing. I began to sing as he was playing this chorus:
One day at a time sweet Jesus
That's all I'm asking of You
Just give me the strength
To do everyday what I have to do
Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus
And tomorrow may never be mine
Lord help me today, show me the way
One day at a time

Could there be any better song for someone to play at Mayo Clinic? Lord help me today, show me the way. One day at a time.

The PET scan was the final procedure for the day. I will know the results in the morning.

As yet, we haven’t heard the results of the bone marrow biopsy. Very unlike Mayo. Hopefully tomorrow.

Let’s cap this off with a text I sent to our family after the long day.
Best vitals of the day:
BP 122/57
Heart rate 61
Blood sugar 98
O2 level 99%

Other than having cancer, I’m pretty healthy!

Thank you, Lord, that you had enough grace for that little boy and for me for this day.