Posted: July 19, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized


Today  was my first trip to the infusion room.

I’m a total Sci-Fi nerd, so the words “infusion room” invoke a strangely romantic image in my mind. The infusion room sounds like it could be the place where you gather for a briefing or a report on the mission. It’s the place where you are becoming a part of the fight.
And maybe that’s exactly what it is.
Infusion is defined as the introduction of a new element or quality into something.
This is all brand new to me.
The nurse, who I will refer to as “The Infuser”, only because that sounds pretty badass, is about two and a half feet taller than me, and he has kind eyes.
The Infuser would be a pretty cool name for a science fiction movie,
I asked him if I should wear special clothes on treatment days to provide easy access to the port. I suggested that I could wear a variety of stretchy tube tops.
He said a t- shirt would be totally fine.
He put a needle into my chest.
The clear liquid starts.
I’m sitting here in a brand new room with my amazing wife by my side.
She is such an incredible source of strength and support. That doesn’t surprise me. She is a very good woman, I’m so very glad that I was infused into her life twenty seven years ago…
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…
The freshly painted walls are a soothing shade of blue and there are beautiful paintings of waves hanging all around.
We got here early and we were the only ones in the room at first.
But the chairs are slowly filling up.
There is community here.
We share a common challenge.
We look at each other with kind eyes that know and recognize.
We are all at different places on the same hard road.
The Infuser checks on me and adds new bags of clear liquid as needed. I get a little drowsy and hungry.
It’s like an awkward dance with my rolling IV machine every time I’ve had to go to the bathroom (and that’s been a lot!)
At one time a bunch of us were trying to go to the bathroom at the same time, it looked like a overmedicated middle school dance floor.
Other patients come and go.
The clear liquid flows.
After about five and a half hours, I’m unplugged and released. Everything seemed to go good.
I’m pretty tired.
As we travel home, I can’t help but feel that my life has been infused with prayer while I travel this road.
The blood of Jesus has infused with mine.
There is power and life there.

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