April 14, 2006
Yesterday, when I went into the Specialty Clinic for my Neupogen injection, I was placed in the small room that has a water color painting of a patio or garden entrance on the wall. It always reminds me of a wonderful back yard of a dear friend in California, so it is a place that pleases me. The door is left open into the hallway, and I am privy to everything that takes place nearby. This time it was a farmer and his wife coming out of the adjacent room, and stopping to hear the nurses’ instructions. The man’s face and arms appeared already tanned from time in the fields, and he stood bent forward just a bit twisting his cap around and around in his hands, looking at the floor. His wife stood near him, stroking her hand up and down his arm. The nurse said, “Now you know what this means, don’t you? When your white blood cell count is this low, you are very, very susceptible to infections – to getting sick. And when you are working in the fields, sometimes there are things in the soil that can really make you sick.” The man looked up and said to the nurse, “You think maybe I could wear one of them masks like the doctors and nurses sometimes do on the TV?” The nurse said gently, “Of course you can, but you just have to be so careful.” (I had counted on wearing the mask myself to work in the garden and go about, but was told by both doctors and nurses that the truly nasty sorts of things come right through and it was a mistake to count on a lot of protection from them.) The couple turned and began to walk toward the entrance quite slowly, not saying anything. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to consider that their decisions about field work and chores and going on would not be easily made.
My own story is a happy one on this Good Friday; I went in for my third blood draw this week, and this time the readings indicate an improvement that is so fine I will consider going to church on Easter. My white blood cell count is at 2.1, a reading I haven’t seen since that day in February when we were rejoicing with white tulips and happy dances. The neutrophils, those warrior cells that must be there to hold off infections, have come all the way up to 1.0. (At their lowest count, they read 0.1, and stayed there for many weeks. The low end of normal begins at 1.6) This also tells me that for five splendid days I will not be getting injections. The up and down course of this disease has cautionary signs everywhere, but what a fine gift is this day! The dread mouth sore is waning, and life is good.
I will accompany Charles to church this evening and sit in the balcony to sing the hymns and hear again the story of Good Friday’s great drama. I know the readings, the solemnity of today, the quiet prayers, and the stillness of the tenebrae, but it is in the community of believers singing, listening, and speaking together that I can get a sense of how large and life changing is this action of God. And yes, because of today, I have already leapt ahead to Hallelujah’s and songs of joy and gladness!