The Story Continues: A Ray of Light

Ezek. 37:1 “The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones,”

A Ray of Light

Darkness had fallen upon the nursing home after my husband and son left, when from around the curtain to my left rolled in a woman. 

“Whatcha doin? My name ith Ray, I’m your roommate.”
“Hi Ray, nice to meet you.”
“What time do you go to thleep?” she said in her lispy voice.
“About nine.”
“Me too. Do you like it dark?”
“Yes, I don’t mind the dark,” I said with a smile.
“I like the curtainth clothed, do you?”

Ray was a bit older than me at sixty-three but had the mind of a child. I’ll say a fifteen-year-old because she did have some intelligence as I got to know her over the next ten days. She too was immobile and needed a mechanical lift to get her in and out of bed. She had bulging blue eyes and the electric smile of innocence. Her gray hair was manly, tight and straight but well kept. She told me over and over how she loved purple and everything purple as she pointed to her pajamas. She would be one of the elements of light that God shined down on me. 

The first night I was there my dinner came at seven-thirty. To me, it was almost time for bed but I was hungry. I had not eaten since lunchtime (twelve o’clock) that day. I think my first meal was Salisbury steak with a biscuit and mashed potatoes and a small glass of water. Water, water was scarce for the next couple of days.

I brought with me a big thirty-two-ounce cup of water from the hospital. The hospital gives them to patients and well since I was so toxic, it isn’t like the cup could be reused. I took little sips because I did not look forward to peeing in this place. I could not yet put the dinner tray over both of my legs, so it was at an awkward slant over my right leg. The trauma of anything touching my wounded leg scared me to bits. I didn’t cover it in a blanket because the slightest brush of anything left me with a tinge of pain. 

My medication was due at seven and had not yet arrived and at eight-thirty when Ray pushed the button for the nurse, I asked when I would be receiving my meds. The young nurse said the ‘pill tray’ was on its way down the hall. I asked if she could help me to the commode after she was done with Ray and she said yes, finishing up placing Ray in bed with the ‘lift’, she said, “I’ll be right back in a minute.” And she left the room. 

She came back to the room at nine-fifteen with another young nurse and they were both wearing yellow protective coverings and gloves, in one hand was a gait belt. The gait belt was placed around my waist and it was used to help lift my tiny eight-eight pound body. One nurse to my right and one to my left hand, both had hands gripped on my pained hips in a two-foot space, they lifted. I always counted so we could be in sync. One, two, three, lift, small grunt, and pivot. Imagine three women in a two-foot space trying to pivot. The gait belt was a necessity so as to avoid liability in anything breaking.

“Please, hold the belt until I’m completely seated. This is how my left femur became broken, a sloppy seating on the commode.” Tears began running down my cheek as the tragic incident flooded my mind. Embarrassment, pain, vanity, all danced around in my head as I was gently seated. They removed their gowns and left the room for me to urinate. I was pushing the nurses' call button as fifteen minutes on the commode was leaving my limbs numb. They returned, put on a new set of yellow gowns and gloves, and lifted me, pivot, and I sat on my bed and was ready to just sleep. I jokingly thanked them for the dance. It was my sense of humor and personality that kept these young ladies smiling as they took care of me for the next week.

Curtains were drawn lights out. I cried quietly because I honestly was afraid to be alone. My husband had spent the ten days at the hospital with me and this place barely had sitting room for my two guests. I was alone, except for my prayers and my roommate, Ray.

“You okay?” I hear in the darkness, it was Ray.
“Yeah Ray, I’m just lonely.”
“I get like that thumbtime. Itth okay to cry. What time do you get up?”
“About five for me.”
“Yeah, me too. I go to dialithith.” I drifted off a little as she continued talking, ever so lightly, but it was comforting in the darkness. “Okay, goodnight.”
I opened my eyes a second and whispered, “Goodnight, Ray.”

I was startled awake at about one o'clock as the bright lights came on and Ray was being tended to. I called out, “Can someone get my pain meds for me and I need to pee, too.” 
“Sure Joni, let us take care of Ray first okay?” 
Okay, thank you.” 
She went and got another nurse after calling down for pain meds for me. They gowned and gloved up and came around the curtain to help me. 

I was on twelve-hour oxysomething but allowed ‘2 booster pills’ for pain if needed. And being startled awake and moved around, I certainly needed the pain medication still at this juncture of healing. It had only been eleven days since surgery. The pill lady was a different nurse, she was called the ‘charge nurse’, I guess because she was in charge of the pills? Maybe the nurses too, I don’t know. She took my vitals while she was there at two o'clock so she didn’t need to wake me at three to do it all over again. Everything normal (except me) and with a ‘I hope you sleep well’ after shutting the lights off and closing the door, she was out of the room.

“That feelth better,” I hear Ray say on the other side of the curtain.
“Yeah, it sure does,” I whispered.
“Okay, goodnight.” 
“Goodnight Ray”

Jer. 29:11 “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

My Story Continues: The Nursing Home

Pss. 136:1 "O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever."

The day came where it was time for me to be transported to the Nursing Home/Rehab center, I cried for more than one reason, I was losing all the familiarity I had for ten days, the closeness of the nurses and physical therapists was something I hadn’t expected. I think that was the reason they changed nurses every single day. The rotation of nurses didn’t allow for intimacy to grow between patient and nurses/physical therapist etcetera.

The Tuesday morning came when I’d await the arrival of my ride to the nursing home. No gurney was necessary because I was now semi-mobile in a wheelchair and I was commode mode so setting me loose was what my insurance called for. My husband and son were not allotted the time to look around at rehab places because conveniently a room had opened up for one woman, at St. John’s, I would be the one woman that the insurance insisted I take. 

Sadness, anxiety, and fear had all crept into my being as I was loaded on the van lift and taken to the nursing home/rehab across from the hospital I had called home for ten days. Gone were the days of very regular delicious meals that arrived between six and seven a.m., twelve and one p.m., and the dinner at five to six. Water refreshed and medication, always on time. The hospital was now a thing of yesterday.

My husband and I were escorted to the entry hall of the Home. A nice carpeted room with overstuffed chairs lining the walls, a fake fireplace was the central focal point and it looked cozy enough at a glance. We were met by a small older-than-me woman with tight curly blonde hair and a nurses uniform hugging her petite body.

“Welcome, Joni, let me get your vitals and we’ll wheel you down to your room.” 

I sat silently gazing off into space wondering just where it was I was being left. The vitals were fine and off we went, down a crowded hallway with patients lined up against one wall and equipment lined on the other wall. The patients looked helpless, hopeless and immobile, looking at me as if I was an alien that landed smack dab in their territory. 

I’ve been in nursing homes before so I knew kind of what to expect, but I honestly thought that there was a rehab wing that separates the long-term patients from us short-term patients that were just here for rehab. This was not the case. You’re not in Baltimore anymore, Joni. Back home my grandmother was placed in a similar facility but the long term/ short term patients were not together. The nurse I’ll call Bird because to me she resembled Big Bird but much smaller, she was the one who was in charge of the nurses on staff, her office was where we came in the door at and she met us there. 

I was wheeled down the hall as Bird explained that they were building a new wing to the home and for now the patients were being doubled up in rooms until construction is completed. Lucky me. Room number twelve is where we paused and she announced it as my room. Outside the door had a name and the picture of the tenant and below her was my name with no picture, just the note on the wall CHEMO PATIENT! Chemo protocols necessary. Gait belt needed.

I was wheeled into a tightly packed room of the current tenant. The room was about twelve by twenty-four, and I was wheeled back to the window where my bed was set and a side table all in about six feet of space. A commode was sitting against the wall where there was a bureau with a television on it. The home did not reek of the normal nursing home odors, for now anyway, so that was a plus.

My husband looked at me with pain in his eyes. He was horrified of the place where he had to leave me, where we had no options. This is the place where Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, also known as PTSD would set in. There were two metal chairs in the corner and I thought, at least I can have two visitors. I was already traumatized by the whole broken femur and surgery, now this. The story continues.

My husband went to work in getting my flowers from his truck to place in the window for me and to bring me my blanket that the church ladies made for me, he wanted it to feel as nice as the hospital environment but knew full well, this was not the environment neither of us envisioned. The comforter that currently covered the bed looked old and wrinkled and the sheets had a clean but well-worn look also, but I wasn’t here for sheets and blankets, let’s move on. 

“Will you be dining in the cafeteria this evening with the others?” Bird lady asked.

“No, not tonight, thank you.”

She went on, “Dinner is served at six in the cafeteria, and if you eat ‘in-room’, you have to wait until the others are back in their rooms. About seven your meal should arrive.” She was looking at her clipboard, “I’ll let you get acquainted and come back.”

Eyes filled with brimming tears I whispered, “Thank you.” My date with hell was beginning.

My son entered the room. He was finagling his time between work, moving into his new place, and visiting me often at the hospital. Husband and son were both trying to get back to a routine of working and visiting me after work. My husbands only problem was that he needed to be home before dark since he cannot see at night to drive. My son would stay until seven maybe, if he could, then it was me, all alone in what felt like an asylum. 

My husband ran off to the store and came back with a new quilt for the bed. He was not leaving me in that mess. Both husband and son went to work to make the place comfortable for me as evening was drawing near. My commode was set next to my bed on the left in a tight space with the curtain of the other tenant pressed against it. On the right of my bed sat a nightstand and the wheeled tray? That barely fit in front of the nightstand. 

I was still basically immobile, I could not bend my leg and the pain was still evident with each move. I did wonder how well I would be taken care of here. The tears...puddled the floor only to be dried by the sheet hanging down off of my bed. 

The night was closing in and the goodbyes were the hardest thing any of us have ever been through in our lives together. I would be alone. Alone in the dark, only sounds of the echoing hallways would be heard and all that the hallways held in them. I would be strong for my two guys. I would be out of here in no time. Right? I have to be.

the story continues...

"My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast! I will sing and make melody!” Psalm 57:7 (ESV)

The Story Continues...Miracles To ME!

Isaiah 26:9 (NIV) “My soul yearns for you in the night; in the morning my spirit longs for you. When your judgments come upon the earth, the people of the world learn righteousness.”

Miracles to ME

The staff that I had surrounding me during my hospital stay was quite amazing. My office oncologist paid me a quick visit when I first got to my room after the femur surgery. I would then be turned over to his colleague oncologist who works at the hospital, Dr. Biscuit. (I will not use real names!) 

Besides Dr. Slim, the surgeon who did my leg, one of my miracles was my oncologist who showed up at the right time in my journey. Remember the ER doctor gave me an oncologists name? It was Dr. Biscuit, I did not see him for my initial consultation. Dr. Bradley was the office oncologist who put me on oral chemo. Dr. Biscuit was all about IV chemo being the ONLY healer and I only met him AFTER I was in the hospital and already a patient with a protocol with Dr. Bradley. 

Dr. Biscuit and I never saw eye-to-eye in the beginning. His philosophy was one thing (slaughter/drugs/chemo), mine was the other (natural)! And you know who was whom, and you probably get a picture of who won. Dr. Biscuit is the one who WRONGLY put me on a stool softener, a steroid, something for indigestion, just a bunch of unnecessary drugs! After a bad night of stomach upset, (I won’t go into the gruesome details) I had a talk with the nurse about the DRUGS I was taking, she then put me in touch with Dr. Biscuit to straighten this pill mess out! 

I DID NOT need a stool softener! I drank tea in the morning, a NATURAL stool softener. He also had me drinking Ensure, another form of laxative! I told him NO, along with my pain meds, I wanted my vitamins A, B12, C, D3, and my oral chemo, that was it! It got changed very quickly I might add. Too many people just accept that the doctor knows what is best. A doctor DOES NOT know your body OR how it will respond. My body KNEW something was wrong with all the drugs and it let me know, too!

Then came Dr. Leeb, he was a radiologist. After a lengthy discussion with Dr. Biscuit, my husband, son and myself, Dr. Leeb would be the administrator of the radiation. NOT TO MY BREAST, to the spreading pain/cancer in my shoulder, and hopefully put a halt to what was spreading in my hip, the one that had surgery. The other hip, so he says, is too far gone, but we’ll start. Okay, all in agreement! Five days of dragging me across the bed to the gurney (in pain) to the x-ray table, then drag me to the radiation slab, then back to the gurney and back to my bed/room. This was hell in itself, but I endured. I’d also endure ten more days of radiation on my leg, from the nursing home.

My room number was 3203 by the way - my birthday - 3 23. Another top question was, ‘what is your pain level?’ On meds it was a four-five, on the dragging me all around days, the pain was at a 7-9. MY BOWELS ARE FINE!  Yeah, I was tired of that one but… little did I know, a reaction to the oral chemo I was taking, was vomiting, diarrhea, lack of appetite, and skin changes. Peeling ugly pink skin. NONE of which I had, and that PUZZLED the doctors. I was in the rare 30 percentile of ‘not affected’. Good to know two weeks into the DRUG intake.

After the doctor and I were on the same page, we got along better. He came in one day with his how are you doing, any changes banter, then he said something, yes, to ME a miracle was taking place. His exact words were, “After reviewing the x-rays and bloodwork, and upon physical inspection, it seems that the oral chemo is working. Whatever we’re doing is working.” My lymph nodes were shrinking, my tumor was shrinking, my x-rays were showing physical signs of my leg healing also. All was good. Little did they know that not for one moment was I attributing the Chemo drugs to being the reason I was healing. 

You see, all of that was happening BEFORE I started the Oral Chemo, but the OC I believe sped up the healing, along with my vitamins! I may be onto something. We had a discussion about my protocol and he had mentioned that the people in Europe reacted the same way to the Oral Chemo as my body was reacting. In America, 70% of people were having adverse reactions and THAT is why they were not recommended. I told him it all had to do with my diet and nutrition! His comment? “Are you going for a Nobel Prize here? A conference of doctors have already surmised it was the diet but we hit a dead end.” HA! I’m onto something friends! Believe it or not, I was having a positive effect on him also. His final words to me on his last visit was ‘Godspeed’! 

Another incident I had was with a wound care nurse. She was sent to change the dressing on my breast. As I had told you all in previous posts, that my breast leaked and therefore after bathing it with saltwater, I placed a non-stick gauze over it to protect my garments. Since entering the hospital I had not changed the gauze and I knew I was in the best place for it to be seen and taken care of. I told her it was ugly before she proceeded to take off the gauze. She said, “Oh my.” I was taken aback and asked, “Is it that bad?” She replied, “Not at all, it looks GOOD. What were you doing for it? I know you were taking excellent care of it, that’s for sure.” A deep sigh of relief washed over me. I told her about the saltwater bathings. She agreed that it looked well taken care of and that she had seen much worse case scenarios with breast cancer patients, so yes, to keep doing what I was doing. We’ll take the best care of it we can here, she said, and they did take the best care THEY could. 

Then there was the Palliative nurse, Jan. She was the nurse sent to be on my side and didn’t allow the doctors to bully me, but remember she works FOR the hospital. She was a semi-tall sweet woman with short bobbed blonde hair. Her voice was very soothing and relaxing and I felt comfortable telling her anything. She visited me daily, allowed me to cry on her shoulder, offered options to heal, and didn’t allow doctor Biscuit full reign of the floor.

One day I was sitting in the recliner (as opposed to being bedridden) and Jan upon seeing me, smiled, she was pleased with my progress since seeing me the day before lying in the bed. She said to me, “I have a little something for you,” she put out her hand and offered me a small book and went on to say, “This randomly fell onto my desk yesterday out of the blue as I was going through stuff on my shelf. I looked at it and thought 'who would benefit from this, Joni' that’s who.” It was a book of daily prayers and affirmations. I smiled, I cried and offered her a hug. Such a dismal reason to be in the hospital but God saw to it that Light was brought to my door on a daily basis! I tried to offer the book back before I left the hospital, thinking it was on loan but she said, “Oh no, you keep it, that book was meant for you when it fell on my desk!”

Then there was the visit from a clown. Yes you read it right, my mother-in-law and I were just sitting there chatting and my husband had gone home to shower and in the room walks a clown. “Would you like a visit from me and my friend?” She was holding a stuffed monkey. I had tears in my eyes and exclaimed, “YES! I need a visit to cheer me up, no offense, mom.” Daisybug the clown went on for twenty-five minutes of corny one-liner jokes to make my day. God really does know me and knew what I needed to cheer me up!

The list goes on and on of the miracles that happened those twenty days I was away, and this list is just some of the ten days I was in the hospital! I had wonderful physical therapists who visited daily and would leave me with exercises to do myself and I would leave them with laughter and smiles. That is what made me so strong in ten days to be released. I had attentive nurses and one day an intern stood for an hour detangling my long hair that had gotten itself knotted in just a couple of days.  I was being transformed from immobile to mobile, from bedpan to commode mode, from weary and teary to beautiful laughter and smiling. It was now time to be released. A single flower from my vases was handed to nurses, doctors, interns, physical therapists, home health aides, cafeteria workers who brought me food, and even the cleaning ladies! Anyone who helped me in any way, I gave to them a smile and a gratitude flower. My work here was now complete.

Psalm 95:1-2 "O come, let us sing unto the Lord: let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation. Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms."

The Story Continues: Hospital Stay ~ Flowers Arrive

Pss. 96:6 "Honour and majesty are before him: strength and beauty are in his sanctuary."

The Story Continues...The Hospital Stay

The aftermath wasn’t so bad, in the beginning. I woke after the operation back in my room and my husband and son looking over me with pale faces. I could see the worry and stress dripping from their eyes. His mother was in the waiting room as I had requested because I just wanted my first loves to be what I saw when I woke.

Today I’m going to write a bit about my hospital stay. The second or third day (remember, I lost all sense of time) flowers started coming in. My son had told my niece about me being in the hospital and she being the sweetheart that she is, put a post on her/my (blood)family FB page. My two long-lost brothers sent flowers and balloons, my mother and sister sent flowers as well as two of my nieces. I do remember having to wait to tell my mother what happened to me because she kept ringing my phone incessant with worry, causing me undue stress in the process. Finally, my son had to call and tell her I was in the hospital. I only used my phone for hubby and son. I couldn’t move anyway so the phone was just a comfort artifact for a couple days. This post may seem choppy but I'm trying to get it all out there.

My husbands' mom gave me flowers in a beautiful deer coffee mug and the cutest softest dog ever! My niece posted a link to the gift shop at the hospital. My sister sent up from the gift shop a precious stuffed dog. And I received two angels too! And balloons, I received balloons attached to stuff, just what, I have no idea. I now have two stuffed dogs that I named Riley and Sassy! 

My husband, well he brought me a ton of stuff, a cross necklace, a single cross that in the center crystal stone when looked at in the sun, the serenity prayer is written! No kidding, it’s pretty awesome! A coffee mug that says ‘Good morning, Punkin’ with a small pumpkin in the cup. Halloween was nearing (I had no idea) and ‘punkin’ was one of his pet names for me. Over the ten days he had to bring tons of stuff from home and the store, so no I can’t list it all, but this man really came through for me, his broken woman and the confused man that he had become. He also brought the beautiful prayer quilt that my mother-in-law’s church had made for me and prayed over every stitch as it was being made. 

My son, he brought to me White Roses, in a vase. Not real ones he said because they die. He also gave me a Squirrel and a bluebird since I couldn’t sit and look at my birds and squirrels at the feeder at home. He also gave me a plaque, a wooden wall hanging that had two ‘wings’ (angel wings?) and the words ‘Believe you can’! He arranged everything so nicely at the window for me, and my husband draped the quilt over the back of the sofa.  All of the nurses (and docs) commented on the beauty of ‘love’ that I was receiving! 

My room was being filled with treasures and I was essentially just lying there staring at them, immobile, in pain and every shred of vanity and dignity tossed out the window. By the second or third day, I was getting more comfortable in the place. I’m not sure if it took that long for the drugs to wear off but the days seemed endless.

The bright room was a nice size all for myself and the usual monitoring machines. There was a studio style sofa in front of the window whose cushions unfolded into a bed for a family member if needing or wanting to stay. Steven stayed all ten days. He’d go home, take a shower, grab a bite to eat and bring essentials back to the hospital for me. He missed too many days of work for me and the poor fella was run as ragged as a war-torn handkerchief. His mind to me, looked like a jigsaw puzzle scattered on the floor as he tried finding all the pieces to go in the proper place as we went along on this journey. It was tough on all three of us. This wasn’t just a journey for Joni to learn and GROW.

For the next ten days, I was miss popular as were my bowel movements and my birthday! Those were the questions asked daily, the birthday one was asked with every nurse visiting the room. I was also known as little miss toxic. If a nurse helped me with the bedpan they had to gown up and double glove. If they handled my oral chemo pills they had to wear gloves. Funny how I was not told of the toxicity of these pills they handed me. I handled them like they were aspirin. My room was labeled outside with the skeleton and crossbones, listing me as a toxic commodity? 

With each nurse and or doctor that entered the room, I made them leave with a smile. In only ten days I had built relationships with the nurses, x-ray people, the radiation men and women, doctors, even the women who mopped the floor and emptied garbage pails. Not one person left my room without a smile on their face. 

The doctor who did my surgery, whom if you remember, held my heel for an hour before getting my leg to straighten out, it turned out he was from Colorado and would be returning home at the end of the week. He told me that he would be leaving Nebraska a different man than the one who came. He visited me daily and on the last day, handing him a rose, I told him to, “Always smile!” He stopped by before leaving for Colo. bidding me goodbye. He didn’t have to stop by but I’m assuming as a changed man, he wanted to. 

After bantering back and forth with the oncologist about the toxic port kind of chemo (who was the colleague onc. I missed at the office), we finally saw eye to eye when my tests, x-rays and my response to the oral poison was in my favor. Everything with the oral chemo was working. Tumor was shrinking, lymph nodes physically smaller than before. I was eating normal, bowels normal, skin normal, all in all I was a model patient. He had no argument seeing I surely didn’t look or act like a Stage 4 cancer patient! 

Talk of putting me in a nursing home/rehab came up at the end of my 'welcome' and I didn’t want to go but the insurance was not going to allow me much longer in the hospital. I don’t know why I couldn’t rehab in the hospital but then I guess the journey would have been pointless. When Portia came in and told me (as I’m eating my delicious lunch meal) that they found me a spot in the nursing home/rehab and I’d be transferred at three o’clock that day. My face drained of all blood. I suddenly wasn’t hungry. More tears puddled the sheets and filled the wastebasket with kleenex. Change. That week I think I could’ve built an ark to float away on all of those tears I shed. I closed my eyes and silently prayed. Portia was sitting right in front of me and my husband to my left. She gets a call, “Oh. Uh huh, Uh huh,” She looks at me and says, the room won’t be ready until tomorrow. Talk about prayers being answered! I kicked once again into the ‘accepting whatever God turns my way’ woman. 

With each doctor, nurse, Physical therapist, palliative nurse, or janitor that came through the door that day they received a carnation, daisy, or a rose to brighten their day and as a token of remembrance of me. While they expressed how sad they were to see me go, they smiled and thanked me for my kind gesture. Only one grumpy nurse (she was young too) turned down my gesture with “I have no place for a flower.” I knew she needed prayer the most.

Nurses have so much to contend with on a daily basis, that I wanted them to know that there is one person that appreciates all that they did for me. While my three vases thinned out of flowers, I sat in reflection of the ten days I was there. The room emptied for a few moments and I was alone in silent tears. I gazed out the window, a monarch butterfly passed by, all the way up on the third floor. Must’ve seen my flowers in the window. Thank you, Jesus, I whispered. At that moment a feather, a white feather, floated by. I knew I was being watched closely and guided by everything spiritual and Godsent! The only birds I had seen during my visit were two pigeons off on a roof two or three streets over.

I came into the hospital a pure nutrition-filled body enhanced by vitamins and a strict healthy protocol and I left a drug addict, having been on Morphine, using oxy something, Percocet, oral chemo drugs, a bone-strengthening drug shot into me once a month, and a lost healthy diet. Gone. A year and a half of health ~~~ lost to this. And we wonder why the nation has an opioid crisis? The doctors made it this way, not the people!

1 John 4:18 “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.”

The story continues…

ER 4: One Traumatic Event

Job 14:22 “But his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall mourn.”

ER 4 - The Traumatic Event

I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing. Taking care of myself, visiting the doctors I was supposed to and life was moving along. I had a stool in my shower so I could safely shower, I now had a bedside commode because the journey into the bathroom alone was too risky as well as painful, I had the walker and cane and everything seemed to be moving along fine. 

The orthopod, Dr. Wrong, had told me that surgery would more than likely mean a total hip replacement, after looking at more x-rays that the office did and that work on my right side would be risky since it was covered in cancer, the ugly cells that spread like wildfire through my bones. I told him I was on oral chemo and he arrogantly said that he offered nothing oral here and thanks for coming. I did not hit it off with this ortho and quickly made an appointment with another, Dr. No.

The second ortho’s opinion differed from the first one and mixed signals were rampant in my head. I realized that all the little stuff the doctors and nurses put into the computers they carry apparently is for their eyes only. Your information is not shared with the medical community (the doctors you’re seeing) as it should be so that everyone is on the same page. Mass confusion ensues.

My shower that day would be the last for three months. I felt a twinge in my left thigh and I just figured I hit a nerve trying to get out of the shower from my awkward shower-stool. My physical therapist had surmised that my sciatic nerve was damaged, but the ‘know-it-all-doctors’ and their x-rays said it was my disease, munching on my bones like a beaver!

The rest of the day went off without a hitch and both my husband and son were home able-bodied and assisting. My bed was the most comfortable spot to rest my weary bones so there I went, to relax for a bit. 

After dinner, I needed to pee and the commode being inches from me seemed like an easy task but as soon as I put any weight on my left leg, pain shot through my leg like a bolt of lightning singing its target. I screamed. My husband came running. I think that was the last time I saw the sound, stable mind of my calm man. Fear gripped his face like a Hannibal Lecter mask. It covered every portion of visible skin. He was now someone else.

I squirmed and writhed. The pain was intensifying as was the need to pee. I just wanted to pee in the bed but knowing I was on TOXIC CHEMO, I would’ve destroyed the new mattress. My bodily fluids were now a danger to anyone who came in contact with them, so precaution was needed. Twenty-four inches is not a lot of room for two people to maneuver someone to a commode but maneuver we tried, I made it to a seating position on the commode and I screamed like a woman in childbirth, my thigh had dropped. It was gone, disfigured and dangling, a portion of my thigh just hung there as my knee no longer was where my knee should be. Between my legs is not where a knee should be. Something was seriously wrong.

My husband looked at my leg and just short of vomiting, he said, I’m calling 911. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I screamed, in pain and a not-this-again yelp.

Yes...911 had to get me out of this literal twenty-four-inch hellhole.

I want to give all of the gory and painstaking details of the next hours after this point but as harsh as it is to read, it is even harder to write. Just know, this event was the one where I found the true living meaning of gnawing and gnashing of teeth. The pain was more intense than childbirth. Considering I’ve given birth three times (two natural) you will not read this and say 'no way'. Intense, piercing pain went on for days even with the strongest of drugs they offered.

Miracles were taking place and prayer was right there in the ER with me as the nurse held my hand and we said the Our Father as an x-ray machine was brought into the tiny cubicle to get a picture of this mangled mess before them. Their faces spoke volumes. They have seen the worst of the worst in this hospital and looking at my leg, their faces drained of blood. 

I, in my natural fashion, kept the atmosphere as light as possible and made lil jokes and comebacks as they asked for the umpteenth time my birthday and the one nurse even remarked calling me a little spitfire! The Lord did not take away my humor. In the depths of darkest pain, I cried out to Him and He kept intact what makes me special, my personality.

I was wheeled to a room, obviously going to be kept for a while and with each bump in the floor, I screamed in pain, the ER nurse held my hand through it all and even went to my room with me. She made some calls that night that went against the doctors' orders but honestly, I trusted her as I had yet to even SEE a doctor. Not calls that would put me in danger, calls that would help me, like a catheter and stronger pain medication. It was obvious to her I would not be using a bedpan for days and bless her heart for making that call!

They had to shift me from the ER bed to the bed in the room, and though I’m light, my leg was so mangled and twisted it took about six people to lift, shift, slide my body to the new bed. Tears and screams flooded the room and each nurse again, stood looking as pale as if they had just seen their dead relative walk in the room. They knew and understood the damage present.

An Asian doctor (Ming, not real name) came in and introduced himself. He looked at the nurses and knew my case was serious, the color had not returned to their faces. He informed me that my Orthopod was trying to make a call on my situation without even seeing me, ‘keep me in traction until he can get in to do the surgery on Monday.’ Dr. Ming took one look at my mangled leg and said ‘No! I call dr. here on duty. You need surgery on this leg.’ I and my husband gave him permission to do what needed to be done. 

A miracle walked in the door in the way of Dr. Slim, who was a fill-in for the original Dr. Wrong Orthopod I had seen and didn’t get along with, this doctor was here for a week doing his rounds. Tall, slender and handsome, the concern darkened his raised eyebrow. His lips were perched tightly shut as he knew he had to make a split decision. After looking at this disfigured leg in front of him, he made his call, we need to operate. The doctor overrode the ‘keep her in traction’ orthopod’s decision! Thank you, Jesus!

Now to get the sleeve that the paramedic had placed on my leg at home, to keep the leg from moving, off of my leg. Yeah, all that pain I had felt was with a protective sleeve on my leg, I did not want it removed but the doctor told me my leg would set that way and it would become almost impossible to fix.

The original ER nurse was still there, holding my hand and squeezing it tightly. They all knew about my stage 4 disease and that I was on oral chemo and practically a danger to society since I was now a toxic minefield. They didn’t care, I was the patient and their first priority. Those women became MY heroes!

Dr. Slim stood patiently with my heel in his hand, as the women went on, to slowly free the sleeve, gently and cautiously sliding it under my leg, and in between screams and clenching my teeth, and darned near breaking the poor woman’s hand, the sleeve was removed. Now, to get me to straighten the distorted injured leg.

It was now the middle of the night and yes, after holding my leg/heel for an hour, Dr. Slim did eventually get me to straighten my leg but I’ll spare you more tears and screams, the thesaurus doesn’t hold enough words to describe the angst I went through that morning.

The operation was early that morning and my husband and son were there with me before I went in. My mother-in-law postponed a trip she was going on that day but she wanted to be there for us all and waited with them for the hours the surgery took. I woke, still in pain, but not the same pain as the night before. Now it was time for healing and keeping infection away. The next ten days would be a journey of a thousand hours. Pain-filled, buckets of tears, but love and miracles abounded! My God is an AWESOME God! 

...story to be continued

Rev. 21:4 “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

Poetry Sunday ~ Time is Short

John 16:32 "Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave me alone: and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me."

Time is Short...

Time is so short life is so sweet

There is no reason to repost a repeat

Over and over the same old stink

Missing kids, adults, dogs on the brink.

Political banter of who’s right and wrong

Hatred spread for far too long.

Claiming to love country and fellow man

Proudly boasting from where you stand.

I sometimes look and feel great shame

There’s no sign of God and love you claim

The social realm is for you to stand tall

Making life look like you have it all.

Why not spread truth, a message convey

Not the sinister life of a hypocrites day

God has a story for you to share

If only you’d take the time to care

Time is so short and life is so sweet

Nature subdued and health incomplete

The media has blurred the beauty within

Whitewashed all truth and amplified sin.

The Story Continued ~ ER 3

Job 27:3 “All the while my breath is in me, and the spirit of God is in my nostrils;”

You might not see ER visits as answered prayer but this second ER visit is where I got a referral to an Oncologist after this sympathetic ER doctor heard my story of being turned away from my first two oncologists.

I had told my husband and son of MY wishes and I wanted their blunt honesty in THEIR wishes. Both wanted me to live and try the chemo route, maybe my way wasn't working anymore. No, this was not my wish, but I gave into half their wish, I made an appointment to go see the oncologist doctor. I respect their wishes because I too, don’t want to die. My alternative protocol had been working all along but the stress of a dying dog was too overwhelming and my body reacted; mind, body, and soul, internally and externally.

For eight months I watched as my 14-year-old dog slowly dwindled. Right around Christmas of 2017, she showed signs of her arthritis winning the battle of her bones. She was not making it up the steps too well and a month or two passed as we carried her up the stairs on a daily basis. We knew what was inevitable but no one wanted to face or admit what was happening. Everything I had tried was simply a pacifier and got her to August where the heartbreak became an inevitable reality. We had to let her go to release her from the constant pain we knew she was enduring. 

Eight months of stress. I had done the research and knew wholeheartedly that stress was an enormous factor in the onset and the spreading of this dreaded disease but I was so hellbent on my protocol, I didn’t see the failure for what it was. I was still feeling great, walking, riding my bike, eating right and taking my vitamins but slowly the walking became strenuous. Month after month walking worsened and I blamed everything except what the culprit was, STRESS was beating me over the head with a lead pipe, stress was winning the battle.

How do I know that stress was the culprit? As soon as we put our beloved Sassy to sleep, strangely things started to happen to me in great succession. I told you I’d straighten out the timeline in the editing phase of this story, but yeah, the ball started rolling and still to this day has not stopped. It has lost momentum but that’s a good thing, it means I’m gaining balance over the situation again.

Rolling along, I called the oncologists number and the secretary told me that the (prescribed) doctor was only available at the hospital, she could hook me up with (no name) the first oncologist that dumped me, I told her no way and she offered yet another colleague of the first oncologist. The appointment was made and now everything snowballed. 

The first appointment went as expected. My husband and I sat listening as we were told that chemo was the only way to go if I wanted any quality of life. I stood firm in my stance with my protocol but admitted stress had won out and I needed help. He almost laughed at my protocol and what I’d been doing for a year and a half, but the first blood test showed, I had done something right. He admitted that I had done a good job in taking care of myself. But now it was his turn if I’d allow.

I asked him about the Oral Chemo I had seen and read about, he said the product was still in trial phases and I asked why I was seeing commercials on TV for stage 4 ER+ PR+? Hmm...he left the room and came back and offered an Oral Chemo real quick as well as monitoring blood tests and a listening ear. He was hearing me for the first time, someone in the medical field was listening and hearing me. He also wanted me to see an orthopedic surgeon to see about the pain in my hip. But first he put me right in touch with Physical Therapy for my lymphedema in my arm and that also led to a Home Health nurse coming to check up on me.

I didn’t get to see the Orthopod (as nurses called them) before my third visit to the ER via ambulance. Once again, I was in pain, called 911, the ambulance came and I was scooted onto the gurney and taken to the hospital. As I was leaving, the Home Health nurse was coming to my door wondering what was going on. I let my husband and son handle her as for the third time, I was being escorted to the emergency room. The Volunteer Emergency Unit now called me by name. I joked on the ride so as not to let worry consume me. They always agreed that laughter was the best medicine.

X-rays once again, this one of my hip. This is the one that told the story of my disease basically eating away at my hip bone and causing them to be brittle. I was told my right leg was the one in most severe trouble and to guard it. I was put on morphine and sent home. My Oncologist and Orthopod both knew of the visit to the ER and reached out to me for a visit with each of them respectively. Both had dire prognosis’, use a walker at all times and look into buying a wheelchair. 

I let my left leg do all the work for my right leg. I was in a lot of pain when I walked so we ordered a wheelchair and it was on its way. Fear had now slithered into the place where stress has dwelled. My life was failing and I needed help that only my great God could give! I think prayer is the only thing to save me now. 

Jonah 2:7 "When my soul fainted within me I remembered the LORD: and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine holy temple."

The Story Begins - ER visit One

2 Cor.12:9 "And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

ER visit One...

The first ER visit was the one that got the pebble rolling wherever I was being led on this path. The ride of a lifetime was sweeping me into its arms. And so the journey began. I'm not going for time consistency right now and will get back to it at the editing phase and make the timeline more clear. After the first ER visit, everything seems a fog, it was the first time in many many years that a hardcore drug entered my body, Percocet.

I couldn't breathe that night, my chest seemed to be tightening, the air in my lungs minimal and by morning, Steven accidentally missing his alarm, called for him to be at home that day and me needing to be driven to the ER. We drove to the Emergency Room entrance, pivoting to a (hospital owned) wheelchair, making it from car to hospital sign in, the formality and tagging began. This is where my birthdate would be the most uttered words over the next couple of months.

The ER2, 3, and 4 were all maddening visits in their own stage. While in ER1 I was told what the x-ray had shown. That my disease had metastasized (spread) to my liver. "Mets to the liver," he said. I didn't blink. I sat, I stared and quite honestly thought, 'and so it begins'. Don't ask me what 'it' was, I hadn't figured that part out but was assured in the deepest depths of my being, my sacred place, that I would know, and also I would know when it was time to share.

I left the hospital in tears, only a cane in my hand and my husband by my side. A blur, that is the only way I can describe it. I felt like I wanted to shelter this news in a cocoon and allow only one or two (okay, maybe three) people know that I was now Stage 4? I think that's what they call it when it has spread. Hey, some is still a blur. I'm still in my healing phase. It was at this time that I was told that I should use a walker at all times and think about getting a wheelchair. I should also make an appointment with my GP (General Practitioner) if for my pain and my inability to breath should I need medication to continue. The spot, I was told, was pressing on my lungs, making it feel like the air was being restricted. My oxygen level was 97%. 

Rolling right along I went. I made a GP appointment and thus began the struggle between illness and law. She was hesitant in prescribing Percocet 'because of the 'LAW', so she prescribed a delicate drug that did minimal assistance to my pain. Being raised in MG's placed me in the ER again, the pain too much to bear.

ER2 found me visiting by my first ever ambulance ride. Unable to breathe and a lot of pain in my lower extremities. The meds my GP gave me, obviously were not working and little did I know that the Opioid crisis running rampant across the nation would imprison medication to aid me but could be prescribed for 30 days only, then its, "SUFFER American, your illness means nothing to us, we have a drug problem here!" My illness is defined by legalities, stigmas and the good old Almighty Dollar! UNLESS you find a caring doctor.  

This doctor had NO PROBLEM prescribing my medication. I am Stage 4, what's going to happen to me, I'm going to become addicted in a couple of months or worse overdose and die? Get in line, we're all going to die some way somehow eventually and DRUGS are NOT going to take ME down! BUT I was now given a choice. I was ‘encouraged’ to go the chemo route. I was gently nudged to an Oncologist. I also sat nodding my head in utter disbelief I was going through this. I needed my son and husband. I had no idea what to do.

I think this is where I hopped on the merry-go-round for a spell. FEAR wrapped its long fingers around my neck gripping with flames of fire. Messages, mixed and otherwise were scrambling through my head. I heard them but I could not discern. Surely enough, I was on the fatal merry-go-round from a Ray Bradbury novel.

Friends and family were getting concerned, seeing that this was my second visit to the ER after all. I made the decision to see an Oncologist. Miracles were evident and prayers were being answered at this time. Some people like instantaneous answers to prayers but I AM LIVING PROOF, prayers are answered in the most minute ways. You might not see Steven missing his alarm clock as an answered prayer, but had he been at work and I, home alone? ER visit 2 brought me to a possible third oncologist looking at my disease since last year.
Think about the ramifications had God not intervened.

To be continued…

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.” 1 Peter 4:10 (NIV)

Poetry Sunday ~ Autumn's Gate

Matt. 6:22 "The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light."

Autumn's Gate

The pumpkins sit

nestled in the cold

surrounded by dry

leaves gone old.

The empty feeder

lonely and bare

swings to and fro

in autumns air.

The wind lifts death

skyward bound

places it gently on 

the frost-kissed ground.

The season seen

as ill-spent time

the leaf now burrowed

in mud and grime.

The secret's hidden

in the sleeping season

with eyes on the sparrow

gives Spirit new reason.

Matt. 25-26 "Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?

Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?