Palliative Care

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Noel extends his left hand while holding the car door open with his right.  Grasping his outstretched hand, I swivel my body towards Noel.  I hook my left hand under my right leg and heave up.  My right leg flops outside the car.  I repeat the same motion with my left leg.  Now, I'm ready to use Noel as leverage to stand up.  

Can I stand up by myself?  Yes.  Do I want to?  No.  Let's just say that after a bumpy car ride, I hurt.  I pick which battles to fight.  Getting out of the car is not high on my priority list.

Upright, my torso bends forward so all I see is the ground in front of me.  Leaning heavily against Noel's arm, I shuffle forward.  This is so much less painful than being rolled in a wheelchair where each bump in the ground is exponentially magnified.  Clutching tight, Noel half drags me up the ramp.  My thighs are burning.  My knees shaking.  With determination, I scrape one foot forward in front of the other.

On flat ground, my legs are ready to collapse.  Did I really used to play paintball and rock climb?  Not in this current body!  Maneuvering myself behind Noel, I throw both arms across his shoulders and lock my hands together against his chest.  With most my weight being carried by my husband, we make it to my palliative care appointment just in time.

After being repeatedly told by staff at Stanford Palliative Care that Santa Clara Valley Medical Center does not have a palliative care team, I meet 4 staff members in the Valley Med Palliative Care department... and this team is amazing!

Unlike my hospice experience, the people I met in this one day alone made me feel human again.  My needs, my struggles, my heart... this group listened with open ears, accepting hearts, and richly positive but refreshingly honest attitudes.  Today, I feel safe.  I feel hope for pain management options.  I see doors open for Noel and I to discuss the "what if I die" issues.  I feel wholeheartedly supported.  

Father God, thank you for this amazing blessing to meet the staff within the palliative care department. Thank you for renewed hope in dealing with my pain.  The doctor wrote me for a trial of fentanyl lollipops, but even though denied by the insurance, the palliative care team is so on top of communicating with me and fighting for me that I am honored by their service above and beyond anything I expected.  In the meantime, Lord, you provide a trial of liquid methadone for pain management and a medical marijuana extract spray that lowers my pain from a brutal stabbing sensation to a strong ache.

Father, thank you for the pain management options.  Thank you for time to try the medicines before leaving to Hawaii.  Thank you, Father God, for providing the ability to manage my pain so that I can travel more comfortably.

Lord, I can see you so clearly through the timing and provisions of receiving my medications.  I am blessed in abundance by so many family and friends who so completely support Noel and I.  You provide people who enable Noel to take breaks from constantly caring for me.  The new medications allow me some level of comfort such that Noel doesn't have to watch me writhe in pain.  Lord, I lift your name in praise.  You make the impossible possible.  You continue to shape my heart and my mind to know you more.  

Give me the wisdom to properly manage my body in a way that brings you honor, demonstrates my trust in you, and shows that you are real in my life.  Teach me to pray so that your power is visible on earth as it is in heaven.  Help me to have the courage to share the amazing stories of you in my life.  Guide me, Lord, so that all glory and honor are yours.

In the name of Jesus Christ, I thank you for calling me your child.  Thank you for loving me.  Thank you for sending your Spirit to walk with me.  Thank you for never letting me go.

In the emergency department to get checked out for a new bleed.  The bleeding stopped as soon as I got to the hospital.  Ah well, God took away my pains and aches without any medical intervention while I was resting: