Where the Wind Comes Sweepin’ Down the Plain – Part I

https://youtu.be/ZbrnXl2gO_k

As I entered the reception area of OU Medical Center on 25 February, 2021, around 8:45 in the morning, I was struck by how much it resembled the lobby of an upscale hotel. There was a wide, semi-circular reception desk with only a few people seated behind it and no patients lined up, so it didn’t appear to be a busy day, at least not yet. Embedded in the angled top of the desk were computer screens where the individuals who were greeting patients as they entered could tap in their information to know where to guide them. At that moment, I was their only patient.

I gave my name to a young man seated there who provided me with a wristband and directed me to another individual standing near the end of the semi-circular desk. He reminded me of a concierge. The large room had all the elements of a hotel, and I thought it was an ingenious design to offset the usual sterile medical atmosphere of most health facilities.

I mean, it’s certainly not like I’m on vacation, but it helps make it seem less intimidating and more relaxing, I thought.

The second young man escorted me around a curve to a series of partitioned registration desks, each manned by a representative seated behind a computer. A young woman named Amy greeted me pleasantly and invited me to sit down. She tapped away at her keyboard as I gave her the information she requested, replaced the first wristband with another, and told me how to get to the outpatient procedure area on the second floor via the bank of elevators just across the wide, carpeted hallway. She smiled warmly as she shared good wishes for my procedure to go smoothly.

I was seated for a matter of a few minutes, just long enough to admire the contemporary artwork that decorated the walls in the second floor waiting area, when a nurse called my name and directed me through a set of double doors to Room No. 2 to begin prepping for my second bone marrow biopsy. Already it struck me that the biggest difference this time was that, except for the registration personnel, the nurses and doctors, I was alone. When I had my first biopsy back on 10 November, 2020, John was with me. Since that time, perhaps the rules at Baptist Hospital in Pensacola have changed to match those at OU Medical Center, but as far as I know, Oklahoma’s rules are stricter, and it’s not a good difference. Everyone should have the benefit of someone familiar being with them at a time like that, pandemic notwithstanding.

This time, I wasn’t as nervous as the first, since I knew what to expect, but as with any medical procedure, there is always some risk.

One after another, the medical team that would be involved in my biopsy came into the room to introduce themselves and explain their role. The first was a nurse who placed my IV. I have good veins, so this is generally not a difficult process. She also took two or three vials of blood. The doctor was a woman who I saw only in Room 2 where I was prepped. By the time she came into the treatment room later, I was already in la-la land. The one I remember the most – perhaps because she was the most important one, at least to me – was the anesthesiologist, although I can’t recall her name. She was very young –nowadays they all seem to be – and she was very pleasant, basically explaining that I shouldn’t feel anything unpleasant at all.

“If at any time you do feel something, please just say something, and I will adjust your medication,” she said. I was fascinated as she described how some patients remain in a wakeful state throughout the procedure, chatting with her as though they’re sipping coffee together at a café but feeling nothing from the biopsy. Others, she told me, are out like lights and have absolutely no recollection of anything. The latter suited me, I told her.

Eventually, all of the pre-work was done, and the last person to leave the room told me, “We’re waiting for your blood work to come back, and as soon as we have it, we’ll take you to the treatment room.”

I’m glad she told me that, because once the door closed behind her, I was alone for what seemed like 30 or 40 minutes. It was probably only a fraction of that, but it was long enough that the thought drifted into my brain that they may have forgotten about me. It was during that time that I took the picture of myself that I shared in a previous post, and I thought about how much I wished John or my sister or someone else I loved was sitting with me, chatting about the winter storm that had blown through just days before or how much Oklahoma City had changed since I lived there some 20-plus years ago. Instead, my thoughts were filled with images of five- to six-inch needles being inserted into my lower back.

Have you ever googled “How long is the needle used in a bone marrow biopsy”? As far as my search efforts were concerned, it was an exercise in futility. The first answer that popped up was, “The biopsy is usually performed using a Jamshidi size 8–11 needle.” What the heck does that mean?! In reference after reference, I could find no simple description. I appreciate transparency, and when I feel like something may be purposely hidden from me, it makes me very uneasy.

Soon enough, a nurse came to fetch me. I’ll tell you what, that ride to the treatment room was the most exciting part of the entire process. She wheeled me through those hallways like we were on the track at Daytona.

Once we arrived, there were two male medical technicians present. The bigger, burlier one introduced both himself and the other young man and explained what they would be doing. Wish I could remember it all, but suffice it to say he was very warm, professional, and courteous. I could see the X-ray machine above the narrow table where I would lie on my stomach for the biopsy. I tried to imagine it was like a spa – albeit a very sterile, austere spa – and I was about to be pampered. Hah.

I noticed the anesthesiologist was there as well, as the husky young man said, “You’re going to feel something cold on your back,” and he rubbed a wide swath of something across my lower back. Everything is a bit of a blur after that, but unlike the first time when the last memory I had was of one of the nurses near the head of the table on which I was lying taking my hand and squeezing it reassuringly, my conscious recollections of this one are a tad different.

I remember someone telling me I might feel some pressure. Seconds later I was saying to the anesthesiologist, “I can feel tha—,” and I was out. The next memory I have was hearing a male voice saying something about having to “go deep,” and the image of the 6-inch needle going into my back flashed through my brain again.

The next thing I know, I was back in a room, not Room 2 but one similar to it, for recovery. I became alert fairly quickly. After I was given my post-procedure instructions, I got dressed and phoned my nephew, Luke, to let him know I was ready to be picked up. A nurse rolled me in a wheelchair to the front entrance, and we chatted about how wonderful the sunshine felt and what a beautiful day it was. And in spite of the biopsy, it really was.

I expect to get a call any time now from Nancy, the nurse who is also the Transplant & Cellular Therapy Coordinator at OU Medical, with the results of the biopsy. I will certainly update everyone once I hear.

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Part II

John arrived at my dad’s house sometime around 5:30 that evening in my car, which he had driven from Navarre, Florida starting around 3 a.m. that day. He brought with him the things I had carefully set aside in a separate suitcase some six or seven days earlier for my nephew’s wedding. You see, this visit accomplished several goals: my initial evaluation at the Stephenson Cancer Center with Dr. Selby; seeing my dad’s new house for the first time and spending some time with him; catching up with some very special friends, Lee Ann, Amy, and Myra from grade school, junior high and high school; spending time with my sister and her family; and attending my nephew, Kyle’s, beautiful wedding ceremony at Spain Ranch in Jenks, Oklahoma, among other things. The bone marrow biopsy was an unexpected event, but tolerable. Oh! And I can’t forget the brownie fudge sundae from my favorite ice cream and dairy store, Braum’s; and the wonderful surprise of being invited to my brother- and sister-in-law's house for coffee and a chat that could never be long enough. I hadn't seen them in years. There were others I wish I could have seen as well, and I am hopeful I might arrange it on a future visit.

If you’ve never been to Oklahoma, you’re missing a unique experience. It’s a sprawling city, one of the largest area-wise in the United States. It has a rich Native American heritage and a classic hospitality to rival the friendliest southern charm anywhere in the South, even though Southerners don’t consider it Southern, and Oklahomans would recoil at being considered Northerners or Midwesterners. They are neither of those, which is why they are such a unique populace, in my opinion. In any case, for such a large metropolitan area, with few exceptions, it is a very friendly place. “Heartland,” or “Bible Belt,” are just as apt descriptions.

For me, it was just good to be home, if only for a little while.

On Friday, John, my dad, and I drove to Tulsa where we had rooms in one of the hotels Kyle and his fiancée, Brooke, had selected to accommodate their out-of-town guests. Once we settled in, we had time to relax a little before my sister phoned me in a near panic asking if John and I could come help with the rehearsal dinner preparations at The Lark Venue nearby. Of course, I told her we would be right there. When we arrived, my niece, Ashley, put us to work folding the napkins for the table settings. I also tried my hand at a little floral arranging, which I really enjoy but have no real conception of whether I’m good at or not. Ashley and her mother, my sister Shelly, were pleased with the results, so I guess I did okay. The room looked warm and festive when we finished and headed back to the hotel to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

It’s always interesting to observe the dynamics of the relationships of the people you don’t know well or don’t know at all on occasions such as these, and I could probably write a book about the impressions and the interesting personalities John and I encountered. Of course, his perceptions were very different than mine, in some cases, because he didn’t know anyone there except me. He had only spent a few hours with my dad but told me he really liked him and could sit and talk with him for hours, which Dad would love to do. After our meal, my brother-in-law, Keith, invited anyone who wanted to share a special message with the bride and groom to come to the microphone and share it with the other 84 attendees. Many did, and their messages were sometimes funny, sometimes sentimental, and always from the heart. My dad had asked me to help him write something that he could read to Kyle and Brooke, and earlier that morning, I had put together a message for him that he felt captured his feelings, and I think it brought some tears to the eyes of some as he read it. I’ve included a link to it here, if you’d care to read it.

Aubry's Message for Kyle.pdf

.pdf

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The wedding was in a beautiful and rustic, wooded venue called Spain Ranch. There are two barns that are primarily used for weddings, the White Barn and the Black Barn. Brooke and Kyle had chosen the White Barn for their ceremony and the reception afterwards. Needless to say, it was an elegant and charming affair to attend, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. John took it all in with a mild fascination and insight that he shared with me later and I may write more about someday. For now, I will simply share a few pictures from the wedding at the end of this post.

There is more to tell – about the biopsy, about the tentative plans for the transplant, about the information and reading material Dr. Selby gave me that I have read and want to share with you. And I shall do so very soon.

Thanks again for reading my blog, and most of all, for your continued thoughts and prayers for me.

~ Kelly