Category Archives: Grandparenting

Grueling Turns to Grand

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Although Nelson came home from the hospital yesterday, by 6:45 AM today we were leaving home to go back to “Pill Hill,” which is what the locals call the massive Mayo Clinic campus.

First-up for Nelson was a blood draw— only two tries today, which is the limit for each tech. After that, they have to call someone else to try.

The blood draw was to help doctors closely monitor Nelson‘s clot, along with his levels of blood thinner. And these must be balanced with his fluctuating platelet count.

At our second appointment, this one with an oncologist, we learned that if the platelets in his blood continue to drop, the blood thinner must be decreased. Today that happened, since his new count, which had been 55 yesterday, was down to 42. This was disappointing, since dissolving the clot will now take longer.

The doctor lowered Nelson‘s blood thinner from 10 mg twice daily to 2.5 twice, quite a drop, thanks to chemotherapy doing it’s dirty work.

She spent a while examining Nelson and listening to his comments about how he was feeling. The mouth soreness, which has twisted Nelson‘s sense of taste, has become a film, a coating that makes food taste like sawdust (Nelson’s words). She said this will lessen with time, and we hope that’s true.

She told us to wrap Nelson‘s legs more firmly, noting the swelling of his limbs, which is worse than ever. Blood flowing into his arm and hand , she said, can’t freely return past the clot, causing swelling. The legs, she thinks, are a different problem. Veins are leaking fluid that’s been separated from blood flow (thanks to the cancer), which accumulates at the lowest point.

Nelson‘s third appointment was with pulmonology. His doctor and his assistant drained the left lung through its new catheter, 550 milliliters since yesterday. “You’ll have to drain it daily like the other side,” he said.

The right lung had virtually no fluid in it, which is why Ann Sophie couldn’t get it to drain last night. Doing that lung now will be just on alternate days.

As the doctor did an ultrasound, he showed us small pockets or fissures filled with fluid that only a special drug could “get.” But since that process involves being off blood thinners for 48 hours, he felt it was too risky to use it right now.

Our next stop was in the cardiology department where Nelson had another echocardiogram, an imaging test that sees how the heart chambers and valves are working. When the tech suddenly left the room telling Nelson she needed a signature to continue, he pictured himself leaving the exam room on a stretcher and heading back to the hospital.

He said he prayed harder than he ever had that God wouldn’t let that happen —and God didn’t. It turned out the tech had seen some unusual things on her screen, but when she looked at the rest of Nelson‘s record, she understood. Abnormalities are his norm.

From there it was off to one of the Clinic pharmacies to pick up seven prescriptions. Everything was ready.

Halfway through our busy day, Nelson and I shared a brief
lunch in the hospital cafeteria. He was plagued by nausea throughout the meal, scanning the area for an appropriate place to run, if needed. Eventually it passed.

As we headed home at last, chemo’s misery came with us. Soon after we got there, he was vomiting. When it was over, his oxygen helped, and he quickly settled into his lazy boy and fell into a deep sleep.

 

 

It had been quite a day, made worse by chemo dogging our steps. But at 7 PM, something grand happened. Ann Sophie‘s mom arrived to our apartment, all the way from Germany! It was love at first sight for Oma and little Will— something chemo could not snatch from us.

“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us…” (Hebrews 12:1)

To Be Understood

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Toddlers fascinate me. Children between the ages of one and three can be more fun to watch than a good movie. As they begin to walk, explore, and taste new foods, they do it all with captivating charm. But my favorite is to recognize their first bits of language, parroting what they’ve heard while trying to form words their tongues haven’t tried before.

Little by little they begin to put words into sentences. “My do it. That mine. Me want that.”

A few years ago, I remember asking one of my toddler grands a question. “Emerald, did mommy fix your pretty hair today?”

Her response was, “I think it is.”

Close.

But I understood what she meant, and that was good enough.

The same is often true of our conversations with God. He might say, “Will you do what I’m asking?”

And I might answer, “I think it is.”

What do I mean? Maybe it’s, Yes, I’ll do it, or Yes, but maybe later, or Yes, but not in the way you’re asking.

No matter how I answer, God knows what I mean. In a sense, that’s good, because all of us long to be understood. But does it go both ways? How good am I at understanding him?

I remember with Emerald that as she first learned to talk, I often failed to understand her. That produced frustration in both of us. Eventually I learned to say, “Show me.” She would take my hand and lead me to the subject of her words, and that helped.

It’s interesting to note how important words are to God. One of Jesus’ names is the Word. But amazingly, he uses words much like we do – although each of his words packs a power ours never could. Because of that, we ought to pay close attention to every word he says and try our best to understand him — and respond appropriately.

Toddlers eventually learn to talk so everyone can understand. No more guessing. I do confess, though, that sometimes God’s words to me can still be confusing. When they are, my best response is to figuratively take his hand and say, “Show me.” And he will.

“As for everyone who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice, I will show you what they are like.” (Luke 6:47)

In a Safe Place

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It’s not uncommon for me to put things away so well I can’t remember where they are. They aren’t lost, just hiding. The worst of it is that the more important the item, the harder it is to find.

More often than not, when I put these important items “away,” I’ll tell myself, “Take note. You’re putting this next to the computer paper in the hall closet.” Or, “Remember now. It’s in the far back right corner of your dresser drawer.” I take a good look, locking in the details and then walk away – forgetting.

Case in point: Last spring I was given a special key. It opened my church. I needed it for an evening ministry commitment when the church staff would be gone and the church locked. With my own key, I didn’t have to call for assistance but could open the door for our gathering, then lock it as we left.

The key found a safe spot on my car key ring, and it went along with me wherever I went. But then the time came to return the key. I removed it from the key ring and put it in a “safe place” to await my next trip to the church.

A few days later, when I looked for it, it was nowhere. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to picture myself hiding it, coaxing my brain to think as I might have thought then. And then I started hunting. I moved every piece of furniture, swept thoroughly, emptied drawers and closet shelves. I prayed. I pleaded with God. I begged, crying out to him for help. As I talked to him, I knew he was looking right at that elusive key. Why wouldn’t he tell me where it was?

Days went by. Then weeks. I kept looking… to no avail.

When nine of my grandchildren came for a visit (the reason I had put the key in a safe place), I taped a five dollar bill to the computer screen and drew a picture of the missing key and it’s blue key fob. “Whoever finds it gets the money.” And oh how they searched! They were out under the bushes, and checking garbage bags, and searching through the car. But when those two weeks ended and they’d all gone home, the key was still at large.

Though I didn’t stop looking, I began writing a speech in my mind, a tail-between-the-legs apology to the pastor for having lost the church key.

But then…

“Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath! (Psalm 116:2 NLT)