September 3, 2024

     I know this is a third blog after not writing for quite some time.  Obviously, you don’t have to read them.  I appreciate it when you do.
     I try to live about 28 days a month trying not to think too much about being a cancer patient.  Today brings home the reality that I am still fighting cancer because today was a chemotherapy day, my last one until I go back to Mayo Clinic the end of this month.  For that I am grateful.
     I had the nurse today that I had the very first day that I walked into the infusion center with very much the “deer in the headlights” look.  I will forever be grateful for the loving way she handled me then.  Today was no different.
     I’ve gotten to know several of the nurses.  I had joked with Nurse A (we will call her) several times about her blacklisting me because in 16 months I hadn’t had her again, until today.
     I have become a difficult stick.  Not as tough as Scott Matin, but much harder after having an IV so many times.   Nurse A took more time than most nurses to try to find the right vein.  She did—on the first stick.
     She is loving, skilled, knowledgeable, appropriately communicative, and patient.  What more could a patient expect?
     As most times in the cancer center, I can’t help but notice the other patients.   Two women today were in much worse shape than I am.  There was a young woman in her late 30s or early 40s in the waiting room.  I was hoping that maybe she was there with a parent.  She wasn’t.   They called her name.  And I prayed for her.
     The chemo days tend to wear me out.  I have tried to deduce why.  It takes a while for the chemo to get in my blood stream, so I know it isn’t the only culprit.   Maybe it is the stress of having the IV, sitting for 3-4 hours, and the steroids.   Maybe it is that reality does set in for a day or so.
     When I got home I worked on some stuff on the computer and decided that I’d check to see the temperature of the pool.
     After “de-leafing” the pool, I slipped in.  It was tolerable.  It never ceases to amaze me how much better I feel after swimming.  More tired than before I got in, but a different kind of tired.   Maybe I will be tired enough that the steroids won’t win when I go to bed.
 
Some thoughts to ponder while I was swimming:
 
● Four or five degrees don’t matter if you are cooking something on the grill.  But four or five degrees matter in the pool.  And if you have a child that is ill, tenths of a degree might matter.
 
     Lukewarm is my preference for swimming.  Not cold, not even cool, and not hot—like a hot tub.  Lukewarm.
 
But lukewarm is a bad thing for a believer.  Jesus says in the third chapter of the book of Revelation that He would prefer us to be hot or cold—not lukewarm.  The illustration to the church at Laodicea was that there were pools outside the city from underground springs.  A person could drink from the hot springs or the cold springs, but not from the lukewarm pools.  The bacteria would make a person sick.
 
     The world has a way of beating us down.  We don’t intend for it to happen, but sometimes we get to the place where we are lukewarm.  It’s not the spot to stay very long before our spiritual lives suffer.
 
● It is interesting to swim when you’d prefer to stay in the water that is warmer than the air, especially when the wind is blowing.
 
● Should a loving husband tell his wife that there is a frog in the pool or just let her get the joy of surprise when she looks at one of Kermit’s kin eyeball to eyeball?
 
Lord, I don’t really need a spiritual thermometer to know the temperature of my heart and soul.  It is something that I can feel.  I am glad for the “hot” times and thankful for the difficult times.  But Lord, the lukewarm times make me sick, just like they do You.  Use what You will to increase my spiritual fervor.  On fire for You might be the hope.