God's Gifts of the Day

Today was the day I had to learn how to give my darling five-year-old an injection. There are many worse things in the world, but this was certainly a milestone I didn't expect.

I am terribly afraid of needles. When I was a child, I had such huge reactions to needles that I had to be held down by many people and the doctor would bring in all medical personnel available to watch me because the magnitude of reaction was pretty unusual. I've calmed down and can get through needles now only because I've had a lot of needles over six pregnancies. During years and years of needles, I would have to lie down on the exam bed because after the shot or blood draw, I'd be dangerously faint, room spinning, blackness closing in. I hired a doula to get me through placing my IV during my two hospital deliveries. I've never donated blood in my life.

Now, I should learn how to give this shot because Thomas will need it 24 hours after each chemotherapy cycle and it's pretty silly to drive all the way downtown just to get a five second shot.

Becoming an Obvious Cancer Patient

When we arrived at the hospital, we had to go through our COVID health screening as usual--for historic reference: checking us for fever, requiring a face mask, making us fill out a symptoms check list, and logging our names and exactly where in the building we are going (for purposes of future contact tracing). I've been going to this hospital building at least once weekly, usually more, for seven weeks, and every single time I was asked, "Who is the patient?"

That is, until yesterday when we showed up for Thomas's chemo day with his head bald for the first time. His hair having fallen out between last week's visit and this one, now he is so obviously a cancer patient. That day I noted immediately that the person screening us said, "Write his name down as the patient and yours as the visitor."

In the middle of the night when I can't sleep anyway, I wondered if that was happenstance, but today's entrance to the building was a repeat of the same. Now it is entirely obvious who is the patient.

My Injection Lesson

The nurse gave me a very good lesson with Thomas diligently overseeing it all. The nurse had set up two practice kits: With the first, she showed me every step. With the second, I did every step (and gave the shot to a stuffed pillow).

Then it was time.

I went through my steps carefully.

The Neulasta arrives in a pre-filled syringe, but the dosage is for a grown adult. Thomas's dosage is so small that, according to the paperwork, the syringe cannot be pre-filled. Therefore, I have to obtain an empty syringe and fill it from the pre-filled Neulasta syringe that will arrive at our doorstep every three weeks.

Then I am supposed to flick away the air bubbles and squirt out all but Thomas's dosage.

"You mean, I'm just supposed to squirt it down the sink? What if I mess up and then there is no extra? Do you remember that this medication is $7,000 per dose?" (My husband and I don't pay the full $7,000, but still, it makes one's hair curl to think of pouring that away!)

Then, having cleaned Thomas's skin (30-second clean, 30-second dry), I am supposed to gather together the subcutaneous fat on the back of his arm, insert the needle (half an inch long?) into his skin at a 45-degree angle, squirt slowly over 5 seconds, then let it sit for at least two seconds seconds before withdrawing it from him. The instructions do not say that I'm supposed to do all that without fainting to the floor, but they should.

I was such a bad actress in school plays that I became a stage manager, but today was my shining moment. I had to embody cheerful confidence with a dash of sternness thrown in because my little fella became quite anxious at that time. He was twisting away and crying and saying, "I just want to keep talking about it longer! Can we talk about it?"

We had already explained the purpose of the medication (to boost his white blood cells--good soldiers--to help him avoid neutropenic fevers and hospital stays) while at home, on the car ride, and with the nurse at the office. This was important and this was "go time."

I could not let Thomas see that all I wanted to do was throw aside the needle, scoop him up, and cry together.

Praise Jesus, Thomas calmed down, and I successfully gave him the injection such that he did not even feel it!

I then cleaned up my belongings, hid in a corner away from Thomas, and burst into tears from all my pent-up emotions.

God Multiplied His Gifts

We were able to drive home then and now I want to give glory to God for how he took care of us coming and going today.

While I was loading Thomas into the car, already a bit late for our appointment, a friend had unexpectedly dropped by. She came bearing art supplies and zany hats for the children and a gift certificate to a fancy local deli.* Pasta and Provisions. What generosity!

As we left the clinic after the shot, I knew I'd be walking in the door right before dinner and I'd be serving frozen cheese pizzas, which leaves something to be desired. I remembered the brand new gift certificate and knew that I'd be driving exactly past the deli Pasta and Provisions on Providence on my route home! I decided to pull in to buy some delicious food to augment the cheap frozen pizzas.

As we had been parking, Thomas had expressed urgently, "Mama, I'm very hungry!" You can imagine my mother's guilt, as this was one day after chemotherapy, his appetite had been strongly suppressed all day, and I'm supposed to catch any moments when he feels he can eat. That's my job. My Cancer Mama job description reads in part, "Make sure the child having chemotherapy does not lose weight!" My tiny son wanted to eat something and I had forgotten to pack snacks. So, while placing my order, I said, "My little boy is hungry and I'd like to give him a snack on the car ride home. Do you have any snacks there? Chips? Anything? Whatever you can find, just add it to my order."

This deli Pasta and Provisions is not allowing customers inside, so I stood on the sidewalk, calling in my order via cell phone to the lady just inside the store. Thomas got out of the car and wandered on the sidewalk till he connected with a staff person who was on the other side of the door. They talked through the glass, which warmed my heart, so I snapped a picture.

Thomas chatting through glass with an employee

I did not mention that Thomas has cancer, but his bald head spoke for itself.

When my order of ready-to-heat eggplant Parmesan was delivered to me on the sidewalk, the lady handed me a second bag, saying, "This is for your son." I looked inside to find a fancy dancy ice cream sandwich, a gourmet frozen popsicle, and two bags of Italian cookies.

I burst into tears at her kindness, but she was gone.

God took the gift of money and convenience from our friend and increased it even more via the lovely staff at this deli.

* Note that the fancy deli does not want publicity. I actually went to its Facebook page and wrote up this story, including pictures of Thomas. The public is allowed to post directly to its wall, which I think may have been an oversight against the owner's preferences. The owner contacted me, having taken down the post from the Facebook page, but expressed his tears of joy, the ethic he tries to teach his workers, and how proud he was of the female employee (whom he identified) who gifted us with the snacks. [UPDATE: Today Pasta and Provisions on Providence posted my Facebook post, check it out here.]