Tender Mercies
Today was another day of chemotherapy. I was also able to meet with my oncologist and receive an update on my progress. My hemoglobin level is lower than they had hoped. If it continues to drop, I may need a blood transfusion.
Everything else seems to be going as well as can be expected.
Have I mentioned how much I absolutely love Dr. Northfelt? I can see why he became an oncologist. He is loving, caring, and compassionate. Before he left today, he gave me a hug and said, “I love you.”
With tears in my eyes and gratitude in my heart, I said, “I love you too.”
It is amazing how our hearts can be opened to people who were once strangers. The Lord allows us to feel just a glimpse of the unconditional love He has for each of us. I have especially felt that love through the people who care for me and truly have my best interests at heart.
Today, I had the pleasure of having my husband take me to Mayo Clinic and stay with me throughout my chemotherapy treatment. This was a first for him because he usually has work meetings on Monday mornings. Today’s meeting was canceled, which was probably a tender mercy for both of us.
This morning, I told him I did not want to go. I was filled with anxiety because I remembered how sick I had been after my last treatment. As I got ready, I cried a river and repeated to myself, “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.”
Eric, in his usual cheerful way, kept saying, “You can do this.” He encouraged me to think positively, and nothing would keep him from taking me. I think he may have been afraid I would ditch out if he gave me the chance.
When we arrived at my chemo suite, I could see the concern and uncertainty in Eric’s eyes. He did not know what would happen next. When the nurse accessed my port, I thought he was going to faint. His face turned white, and the nurse asked him to sit down and relax.
He made it through the entire day, with a few naps here and there.
On our way home, he looked at me and asked, “That’s what you do every week?”
I nodded and reminded him that he had been the one cheering me on that morning.
“Now you know why I dread chemo,” I told him. “It’s not fun.”
Yesterday, I finally felt well enough to attend our church meeting. It was good to partake of the bread and water, which we call the Sacrament. It is our way of renewing the promises and covenants we have made with the Lord.
Sometimes we take the Sacrament for granted. Yesterday, I listened closely to the prayer and closed my eyes to concentrate on the life of our Savior and all He sacrificed for us.
A good friend of ours, Rich Larsen, was sitting on the stand. Our eyes met, and he winked at me with a smile and a tear in his eye.
After church, he came up to me and said, “You look beautiful today.”
Those words meant so much to me. I sat there with no hair, feeling very vulnerable and knowing that many eyes were on me. Yet I also knew that those people care about me and are concerned for me. I think many of them simply do not know how to express their love.
What matters most is that so many people pray for me and love me—and I know their love is sincere.
Tonight, I want to thank Rich Larsen and his dear wife, Teri. Even while carrying their own trials and pain—they lost a granddaughter in a drowning accident about a year and a half ago—they continually find quiet ways to show me love and compassion.
I love Teri tremendously for who she is, and I know she has a tender heart. She may not always allow others to see that part of her, but I have had the privilege of seeing it and feeling it.
Thank you, Rich and Teri. Your quiet love means more to me than you know.
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