This morning I had a “line placement” appointment. This is the line that will be used to circulate my blood while extracting the stem cells, to be restored later.
So, I somehow imagined it would be something along the lines of a glorified IV, but I was wrong.
My first clue should have been when the appointment details included the phrase “vascular access.” A big second clue was the fact that I was actually admitted to the hospital for the procedure, even though I didn’t have to remain in the hospital.
At any rate, it ended up being a morning of “firsts” — my first time being wheeled through hospital corridors from the prep room to the procedure room; my first time having oxygen tubing placed at my nostrils (just in case); my first time receiving IV sedation; my first time getting a tunneled catheter placed in a vein near my heart(!); and, finally, my first time being pushed in a wheelchair by one of the attendants to the parking lot afterwards.
All this was on top of yesterday’s rush of packing, the drive down, and afternoon appointments. Needless to say, I spent the rest of today in rest and recovery mode.
I had just arrived at the Infusion Center to receive my weekly Velcade injection and was waiting for my nurse to come and get me.
While still in the waiting area, I heard over the intercom: “Attention. Code blue in the Infusion Center, Room 210.” The announcement was repeated three times, which allowed me to slowly process that this was happening just steps away from where I was seated.
I’ve heard the term “code blue” on TV shows and in movies, but realized I didn’t know exactly what it meant. So I looked it up: “Cardiac or respiratory arrest or medical emergency that cannot be moved.”
Over the next little while I gained a whole new appreciation for just how “professional” the medical professionals were in responding to the emergency. If I hadn’t heard the announcement, I wouldn’t have immediately been able to tell by the noise or activity level; it was more a matter of feeling the intensity ratchet up to very high levels.
That intensity level definitely affected me. I closed my eyes to meditate and focus on my breath so that I could stay calm enough to pray and send love and healing energy to the situation. But it wasn’t easy to stay centered.
Gradually I could tell there was more coming and going. At one point, a hospital employee escorted a young man into the room and I realized that Ramesha and I had seen him, together with a young pregnant woman and an elderly man, in the oncology waiting room just the day before.
We noticed them in particular because the young people (married couple? brother and sister? friends? We have no way of knowing) seemed really kind and considerate of the elderly man (father? grandfather? Again, no way of knowing); while he, in turn, was a very refined, articulate, good-humored gentleman with a lovely voice.
This made it feel personal enough that I found myself sinking into a more emotional space and had to work to raise my consciousness again.
They helicoptered the gentleman to another hospital and of course, I don’t know if he made it. I sure hope so.
But what a beautiful opportunity it was to bring our techniques and understanding to the situation by quietly sitting off to the side and praying and meditating.
And then, once the immediate crisis had passed and the nurse came to get me, I felt blessed to be able to offer her even a little support and understanding. Also to observe the way they calmly went back to their usual tasks (after all, the Infusion Center was still full of other patients!), while checking in with one another and making sure each of them was okay.
All in all, a beautiful and deeply moving experience filled, I’m sure, with God’s grace and the presence of angels.
