AUGUST 15, 2022 – (Cont.) Last night I slept like a rock, not because I was exhausted by the day’s interaction with the medical profession, but because of my complete confidence in the care that has been afforded me. Yesterday’s squad—Bridgette, Amber, Kaitlin, May, Annie, Randall, Bella, Laura, Angela, Mariah, plus others whose names went undisclosed—were the usual: smart, proficient, cheerful, caring, absolutely top-flight. I was additionally heartened when Angela, the appropriately named PA, said, “I see that your oncologist at HealthPartners is Dr. Kolla. He’s the finest in the field; trained here with us and was much loved and respected by everyone.”
As I said, I have complete confidence.
The “line” was still “a pain,” but that’s coming from a guy for whom all pain falls on the upper end of the 10-point scale. (By any objective standard, the pain was probably closer to 1.2.) In the middle of the night, that meant tip-toeing downstairs, stumbling into a vacuum-cleaner left encroaching on the landing at the base of the staircase and plowing into a protruding footstool in the reading room on my route to the kitchen. Good thing I’ve skied all my life and acquired a refined sense of “recovery balance.” When I opened the freezer to fetch an ice-pack, the resultant illumination was accompanied by frozen chicken sliding out of the lower shelf and attacking my bare feet.
I managed to retrace my steps safely to the bedroom and apply the ice to the “pain.” This worked to “ice” my consciousness, as well, and by daybreak, I was in the clear, mentally and physically.
As usual, I’d dreamt up a storm . . . er . . . a sequence of scenes filled with colorful landscapes, interesting people, and various problems and conundra for which no clear resolutions occurred. The closing segment involved a garage roof on which the owner had grown a veritable forest of mature evergreens. When I remarked about their beauty, the owner said plaintively that the trees were wreaking havoc with the gutter system and would have to be cut down; to which I said, “Have you considered removing the gutters instead of the trees?” He hadn’t. One problem solved.
I’m sure this dream was inspired by two observations during the day: FIRST, as my wife, granddaughter, and I rode home from the clinic yesterday, we’d passed a non-descript building in an attractively landscaped setting, the key features of which were tall, narrow, densely boughed, decorative fir trees. I liked their Dr. Seussian aspect. SECOND, as we’d turned off the street and into our alley, we’d passed slowly by our neighbor who was cleaning out her garage gutters. Rather large plant-life had sprouted from one end of the alley-side gutter. My wife stopped and lowered the window to ask why the roofers hadn’t cleaned out the gutter during a recent roof-replacement. “They did—on the other side,” said Kathleen . . .
. . . The clock hands in the apheresis room reveal that the sun in these parts is well past its diurnal zenith. For over nearly four hours I’ve been emulating Frankenstein and Dracula—no sight yet of Genghis Kahn (see yesterday’s post)—as my body is hooked up to a blood-spinning machine engineered and manufactured in Japan, fit with self-rotating knobs, plastic lines, a pump that clicks in perfect rhythm, and a computer screen that projects all kinds of graphs and data.
The nurse in charge is “Brad,” who’s been in this business for decades. We hit it off from the start: he (and his wife) are avid skiers, hikers, travelers, and we talked in earnest about the world while Brad connected me to the machine, opened and closed various line valves, and entered data into the brains of the equipment. Linda, a supervisor, paid us several visits and “talked data” with Brad, after which the two explained to me in simple terms what was what. A while later, Betsy, another nurse, stopped by. She’d administered my “frailty test” in the course of my work-up two weeks ago. She remembered our conversation about . . . skiing, she too being an adherent of the sport. We talked in full measure about treatment details. Betsy reaffirmed the importance of a positive attitude and . . . eschewing internet research about multiple myeloma.
Later, while Brad was at lunch, and after I’d consumed mine, Linda returned to check on things. She lives north of the town where I grew up and has young grandkids that are the delight of her life. That gave us plenty to talk about. Linda’s as sharp as a tack, and like Brad, Betsy, everyone here, she’s found her calling. Lucky, lucky, oh so lucky me!
My next visitor was Dr. McKenna. His affable greeting revealed much about his personality. His easy rapport with Brad furthered my favorable impression. I soon learned that we’re practically neighbors. As articulate as he was down to earth and quick to laugh, the good doctor provided added energy to my treatment.
I have yet to experience the boredom I’d been warned about during my first work-up last May. Brad’s not only an expert in the subject matter of his role, but he has a deep, broad understanding of the healthcare industry, and he conveys his substantial knowledge in such an interesting, accessible manner. I pepper him with questions, and he showers me with enlightening answers.
If boredom were to set in, I’d have to chastise myself. Under the best care in the world—care that is eminently affordable and accessible to me, blessed by abundance—I should dare to call myself bored? I could be made to feel guilty about my circumstances, but instead, I will make the very most of the life that has been given me and give back, in turn, in abundance. (Cont.)
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
