Heroes Who Battle on Behind the Scenes

In the early morning hours, my mind drifts into that space where I can see faces and hear stories. One story is of a farmer and family in North Georgia, a story of loss of eyesight, kidneys, and multiple hospitalizations. Another is the story of a farmer and his wife from West Texas, a story of hypertension, pulmonary problems, and heart attacks, and being brought back from the brink of death. Another story is of a farmer in NW Alabama, a story with surgeries, pain that comes and goes in intensity, and multiple hospitalizations.

There are more.  There are many more.

Somewhere in there I draw some comparisons between them and me.  Their challenges were part and parcel of the price of discrimination and its brutalities and facing down the Goliath, the USDA and the DOJ and many attorneys and complicated processes. The wheels of justice grind slowly, and sometimes along the way, the wheels grind people down.

My story is one of a medical procedure that demanded a CT scan. That scan revealed something I did not know about, a cancerous tumor growing on my right kidney. Multiple medical consults, multiple CT scans, two surgeries, and multiple blood draws by phlebotomists at TMC here in Denison, Baylor Scott and White in Sherman, and University of Texas Southwestern in Dallas.

Another thread is that posted by a longtime friend and former colleague of mine, Dionne. She honored her husband, Troy, recently in a Facebook post about those who serve behind the scenes. He is a clinical microbiologist who works in a hospital lab.

Another thread is one that I wrote about back in 2019. In August I wrote a post that included a phlebotomist whose name is Amira. She is from Ethiopia and has lived here for 18 years.  Another story from November is that of Achal who moved here from Southern Sudan. She has lived here for several years.

On one occasion, Amira did the blood draw on me, and then she walked the samples to the lab. As she walked out of her work space, I introduced her to Charla.  The lab must be on the same floor as the workspace for the phlebotomists. Generally speaking, I’ll have an appointment with the lab at one hour and then with my hematologist at the following hour.  I have been amazed that the test results were generated so quickly.

There must be a number of “Troys” in that space, and there surely are a lot of people who do work under the watchful eye of the “Troys” of UT Southwestern.

So, today I identify with my friends who have experienced much tragedy and procedures as a result of the trauma to their bodies and minds when dealing with the powerful USDA and DOJ. I resonate with them because I know that those good people had their own defined number of labs done.

In the spirit of gratitude, I am thankful for Troy and for what he brings to the people of West Texas. I am also grateful for those lab workers who very quickly provide test results to my physicians so that we can know which path to take.

And I am thankful for the spirit of service amongst the phlebotomists, especially those who immigrated from far away places.

My heroes these days are Black farmers who faced challenges to hold on to their land, physicians who oversaw their procedures, and those who worked on me, the lab personnel who drew sample after sample of blood from my veins, and the lab personnel who were unseen and provided accurate readings to my physicians.

So, as you meander along life’s paths today, as you do, offer up a word of thankfulness for those seen and unseen professionals who take care of you and me.

Needles, Phobias, and Stories

Long ago and far away I had a needle phobia, a serious needle phobia. It was real, complete with sweating, dreading, and pain far beyond what was really there in those nerve endings.  During my masters internships, I had the opportunity to sort through it. Apparently, there were some unconscious associations that were truly hidden deeply in my unconscious mind, and when those connections were made (that story is for another day), the phobia disappeared.

Now, after five months of two surgeries, multiple blood tests, a bone marrow aspiration, a partial nephrectomy, a gall bladder removal, and a diagnosis of small cell lymphacytic lymphoma, I feel all needled out, but tomorrow there will be at least one more, and there will be more down the road. 

Several people have made those penetrations and procedures bearable including, number one, hands down, is Charla.  She has been my number one supporter, cheerleader, and advocate. Of late we have discussed vicarious PTSD and the suffering of the caregiver. A distant second would be my medical team, those phlebotomists, technicians, nurses, nurse practitioners, and physicians, and the front line staff. 

Tomorrow I will show up for labs.  In that lab will be a large group of phlebotomists and some will recognize me and I will recognize them. I have my story of journeying to their place of work. They have their stories of journeying to their place of work from other countries. 

A goofy thing I do is to say to each person before she or he sticks the needle in my arm is the line, "I like to live in the pain-free zone. Can you help me live in that place?"  They usually say something after a chuckle like, "I don't know. You tell me." It lightens the moment and allows me to engage them and their stories. I will inevitably affirm their use of that needle. 

Tomorrow I hope to see Achal.  She is a very competent phlebotomist and is kind and gracious.  She immigrated to this country from South Sudan. She had wanted to go to college, if I remember her story correctly, and play volleyball. However, she chose to honor the request of her family, or the demands of her family, and thus she became a worker in the medical world.  She has lived in America several years.  When I asked her, "Has American been good to you," she replies with "there is no perfect place" and something about taking the good with the bad. 

I think America is not terribly welcoming these days to immigrants, especially those who are brown skinned. I do not know how much more difficult that it would be for people like her if they were trying to coming to American under the current administration. Check out a few things about the white nationalism that is lurking in the White House and is shaping policy.  It's all over the news these days.  

So, I'll be happy to see Achal or Amir or the guy from the Philippines whose name I cannot remember, the guy who put my blood in something like 17 vials a while back.

They have their stories of struggle and resilience.  Charla and I have our stories of struggle and resilience these last five months.  Our stories overlap and connect. That's what I like about hanging around with humans. We get to swap stories. 

Stories are our habituations.  We live in and through them. They give us meaning and purpose. 

As these good people do their jobs well, they are creating shalom, and some measure of justice, in making the world a better place, one procedure at a time.