Chemo

I procrastinate. I know I am doing it. I drag my feet, waste time, loiter over little details like walking the dog. I watch the clock ticking down. I have to leave. I don't want to be late. Do I? I rush to pack my big pink bag that Sherri gave me when round 2 began. I am comforted by her presence. You can't wait any longer. You have to leave NOW!

I force myself down the steps and out through the laundry room door. I flip the car unlocked and squint as the yellow lights blink. It isn't even early. Only 8:30 am. I nose out into traffic on 390 S. Today I am in no hurry. I refuse to exceed 55. Cars whizz by. I shake my head. Let them pass.

I check in to the reception area and for once end up sitting there awhile. The infusion center is abuzz with activity. I hadn't realized how crowded it would be today. It makes me more nervous than I already am. I give myself a stern talking to. Behave yourself. You are not a little girl. Act your age. I am braceleted, weighed, temperatured, blood pressured and ushered to the farthest possible pod where I have never been before. One nurses' aide going by tells my guide there are only 2 chairs left until they reach capacity.

I ask if its unusually busy. My friendly guide happily announces that there are over 140 of us in the clinic today. All hands are on deck. They have squeezed everyone in because of the holidays. She is not kidding. I panic that I might not get a window. How selfish of me. But God is with me and of the two remaining chairs, one is not only by a window, it is in a corner with 2 windows! And the other candidate does not want it! Yeah!

I immediately raise the blinds. Even though the scene outside is construction and the sky is gloomy and gray, I feel better. I am not in prison. How silly, but how important for me. My nurse is new to me. She tells me she will get to me as soon as she is done setting up her other patients. Two people are with the other new arrival, and they ask to take my extra chair since I don't have anyone with me.

I nod, smiling. How little they know. I do have someone with me. God is with me, but he doesn't need the chair. I settle in facing the great outdoors, plug in my iPhone and dial up St Olaf's media page. For the next hour I am blessed by their fall concert. I do not even notice how long it takes the nurse to get to me. Who cares? Maybe they will send me home free of chemo!

But no. The nurse finally enters my pod and asks me if I always have a reaction to the Rituxan. I say yes. She is surprised that they are not trying to prevent the reactions. She decides to talk with the charge nurse. They call my doctor and discuss how they might help me. There is another preventive drug they can add to my list of stuff. Maybe I will not have a reaction today. Isn't that interesting? Underneath the conversation I can almost see Jesus' smiling face. Once again I know the comfort of being in good hands, just like last night.

I dutifully swallow the cupful of Benedryl, Decadron, Tylenol, Pepcid. I ask the nurse to wait long enough for stuff to take effect, and to hang a simultaneous bag of fluid to thin out the Rituxan. She is happy to oblige. And so the drip begins. I select another service at St Olaf, then one at Duke University chapel. I am alone for long stretches, yet I am not alone. I am comforted.

People wander in and out offering me warm blankets, animal cookies, ginger ale. I gladly accept them all, then return to my uplifting music. I hit the ceiling of my endurance at 200, a notch above the usual 150. The reaction starts in my feet, then the neuropathy climbs my legs to my knees. I don't say anything. I want to be done and get out of here.

Then it hits my mouth and I know I cannot delay. I tell the nurse. Here we go with more IV Benedryl. Thank God I learned the trick of putting it in the IV fluid because the straight dope makes me pass out. We pause the Rituxan until the burning, swelling and itching subsides, then we back down to 150. I will have to be here awhile longer. Sigh. I turn to the St Olaf Vespers service. Time is immaterial now.

One by one, my pod mates complete their treatments and depart. Even the latecomer newbies are done and pack up to take off. The center quiets down, unwinding after a hectic day. I am impressed that the nurses handled it so well. I watch out the window as darkness falls, shrouding me in a cocoon of nightness.

And Then.

Then.

Then the choir sings this gorgeous song called Stay With Us from Egil Hovland's Captive and Free. (see the last 5 minutes of this) The words pour over me like a warm and soothing potion. From deep within my being, all the angst, the fear, the burden, the heartache of my entire lifetime cried out to God. I can feel it rising straight to heaven in a shaft of misery. In return I feel a ribbon of light and warmth tumbling back down, covering me, healing me, comforting me. It is almost unbearable it is so amazing.

Stay with us, Lord Jesus, stay with us.
Stay with us, it soon is evening.
Stay with us, Lord Jesus, stay with us.
It soon is evening and night is falling.

Jesus Christ the world's true light.
Shine so the darkness cannot over come it.
Stay with us, Lord Jesus, it soon is evening.
Stay with us, Lord Jesus the night is falling.
Let your light pieerce the darkness and fill your church with its glory.

Stay with us, Lord Jesus, stay with us.
Stay with us, it soon is evening.
Stay with us, Lord Jesus, stay with us.
It soon is evening and night is falling.

These are the words of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, talking with Jesus and not knowing it was him. Recognizing how they longed to be with him, urging him to stay with them (Luke 24). As the darkness fell and I became more alone in my isolated pod, as the bustle of life worked its way down the hall away from my place, the tears streamed down my face in total release of the weight I had been carrying. God's love washed over me, tender and caring. I felt loved beyond measure. You cannot imagine how the music and the love and the words and the darkness outside and the aloneness aligned in one amazing heartlifting moment caressed by His presence.

Nothing else mattered. It was all true, what the song said. I knew it. I felt it. I pressed repeat over and over again until all the tears were cried, until all the heartache was eased, until I was at total peace. It was the primal cry of my being. God, don't leave me. Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Stay here. Stay here with me. Please. I took a deep breath for the first time in days.

And just as suddenly as the Holy Spirit appeared, my world returned to normal. The nurse came to tell me I was done and remove my hook up. One bandaid later I gathered my things and began the long trek down the darkened hall and into the glaring light of the parking garage where I climbed into my car and started the engine.

Stay with us. Stay with me. You will never leave me or forsake me. You are with me always even to the end of my world. Be with those who watch and weep and wait through the long hours of the dark night and comfort them with your eternal light. Stay with me, Lord. I know you will. You promised.