Hugged by an angel ... sort of

I lay motionless on the radiation platform, my hands clasping the grip behind my head, one hand up one hand down as required, hoping that the two burly young men who were busy with their measurements wouldn't notice the tears which kept slipping out of my eyes and running down towards my ears. It wasn't like I was sad ... it was just such an anti-climax. And I was a bit emotional.

I'd just finished my LAST chemotherapy session. It had been a long and tiring day, the expected four hours stretching out to over seven due to trouble canulating me (again - this drug really messes up your veins, they tell me), needing an extra bag of magnesium again to try and counteract the way it is being bleached from my body (yet another side effect of the drug), as well as being on a slower drip due to the pump machines all being in use, not to mention my neighbours next to me and across the way both having reactions to their drugs and the one over having a cytotoxic spill as well when she knocked the drip out of her hand. After I finally finished, I still had to wait another half hour for the doctor to give me the all-clear to leave due to having retained more than the maximum two kilos of fluid. I finished about the same time as many of the staff were coming to the end of their shift and they were keen to get me out of there. As was I. But it wasn't a strong finish for she who likes 'closure'. Hence the leaky eyes in the radiation room once I finally got there.

Upon leaving the hospital building, I headed across the car park to the street beyond where I was parked. I spotted my favourite nurse, Shelly, also headed from a different exit to her car. We waved. She has been terrific to me, this lady, exuding care. She hadn't been my nurse this particular day but had smiled encouragingly each time she came anywhere near.  

Shelly jumped in her car and drove across to where I was walking through the car park. Putting down her window, she called out, "Come here, gorgeous. Give me a hug. It's your last day." Embracing awkwardly through the open car window, she continued. "May God bless you richly - really richly." 

It turns out that Shelly is an on-fire Christian woman.  It didn't surprise me to learn that, actually - her words and actions both spoke volumes. On reflection, it occurred to me that she was powerfully used by God to encourage me, as in 'give me courage', not just by some of her comments throughout my treatment (eg "Oh dear God, these things are sent to try us" during one particularly frustrating day), but by virtue of who she was. And that hug was exactly the 'closure' I needed.

You may remember from an earlier blog post how God used a broken shell at Brighton to encourage me. I took that shell home and continued to think about that special moment for a long time. And now, here was a flesh and blood 'Shell' helping me finish at least this part of the journey well. Like my shell from the beach, Shelly isn't perfect - and I'm sure she'd be quick to say that she is no angel. But she IS a messenger of God sent at just the right time and place to minister to another of God's people ... me.  May I have the privilege of doing likewise some day to another, not by doing anything in particular but just by 'being' God's in the right place at the right time.

But today, though, I just say 'thank you' and accept that special touch from an angel ... sort of. 

Chemotherapy is OVER! And soon the radiation therapy will be too! Then it is just a matter of letting the body heal without being bombarded by more treatments.