“How are you feeling and is there anything I can do for you?”  seemed to be the first words spoken by Mayo medical professionals in the patient rooms. Our initial days at the Mayo Clinic introduced us to an entirely new medical experience.  All of the team members were pleasant, caring and kind.  We never felt rushed.  During consultations, they would consistently make eye contact and ask about my day, my symptoms and each time my confidence grew to a belief that they were there for me and cared about my welfare.  This brought me peace of mind, but at the start it was a very unexpected and an unusual experience.  Jim and I often would share a glance into each other's eyes that acknowledged our surprise at the care we were receiving.

I was still angry about this condition that appeared to be forced on me like a new bully on the street as I walked to school.  It didn't seem fair.  I didn't seem like it was an outcome my healthy efforts had produced.  I wanted to know what I did wrong. 

At our first consultation with Dr. Truty post review of my latest blood tests, PET and CT scans, he laid out his strategy to kill the cancer.  While it sounded like a great plan, I still wasn’t emotionally at a place where I could embrace it. I was hearing the best that I could hope for was a two-year extension of my life, which added to the anger I was still experiencing and hadn't laid down.

Maybe if I wasn’t still in my cycle of grief due to this newly discovered loss in my life, I may have said something like, “Thank you Dr. Truty for your insightful analysis, expert opinion and plan. We are so grateful to be able to work with you.” I instead spoke to no one in the room by asking, “Why didn’t I just get hit by a bus?” and then saying, “It would have been so much easier.”  At that moment, I said that I would welcome a quick death over a huge battle full of trials and suffering, but in all honesty that was the anger talking. Of course, I was still angry. However, I was slowly accepting that I had to fight this battle with God and Jim, my primary care giver by my side.  I was grateful that God opened the door for Dr. Truty to be my doctor. I still wanted to cry. This was all so overwhelming.  It seemed like my body wanted to run out of the room and away from reality, while a nagging question in my mind was, “Why won’t someone just remove this ticking time bomb within me?”.  

Dr. Truty awoke me to the conversation in the room when he asked me if I liked baseball.  I said, “No, not really.”  Remember that I am still angry, but on a whole I really think baseball is kind of boring to watch with the exception of watching the MN Twins win the World Series. That was fun.  I was happy playing fast pitch softball in high school. Watching is entirely another thing.  I told him, “I am a hockey fan.”  He went on to compare my health circumstances in life to a baseball game.  “We are just in the beginning innings of the game”, he says.  “You are up to bat.  We hope to hit a home run at the end of this and win the game.”  What can I say?  I want to hit a home run.  I want to win the game.  I can’t argue with that logic.  I am surprised this man even wants to talk to me when I am so angry.

 The first part of the plan is to have a port surgically inserted in my upper chest area.  It is used to deliver chemo, take blood samples and reduces strain on my arms where I would otherwise have chemo delivered via an IV. It also speeds up the delivery of the chemo and shortens the time spent in that process.  The procedure is set to happen in 5 days at St. Mary’s Hospital in Rochester.  While this hospital is now part of the Mayo Clinic organization, Franciscan Sisters originally founded Saint Mary's Hospital.  They have been partners in healing with the Mayo brothers since 1883. St. Mary’s is named after Sister Mary Brigh Cassidy who was Administrator of Saint Mary's Hospital from 1949 to 1971.  She is quoted saying: 

 "May you always see in your patient not an interesting or uninteresting ‘case,’ but a human being, a Child of God, whom you are privileged to serve and through whom you may serve the Divine Physician who is also the Prince of Peace."

"It is often almost, but it never really is tomorrow. It is always only today. We have only today in which to work, to pray, to dream, to plan and to help build a better world."

Jim and I discovered that day during our conversations that the surgeon drives all the therapies and my care throughout this process.  That further cemented our confirmation that we needed this doctor.  I had no real confidence in doctors until Dr. Truty.  We all sat in this room together and agreed to form this relationship of trust to do all we could to slay this cancer. It was a covenant between Jim, me, The Dragon Slayer of Pancreas Cancer, his team and God.

I can only think: This is my place. God sent me here. It’s going to be okay. Breathe…