Sam is sleeping in a chemo treatment recliner at the moment. He twitches when he sleeps. It is how I know he has drifted away and is at peace in the middle of the yuck.

When he first sat down, he was dealing with the all-too-familiar chemo anxiety – the tastes and smells and dread of chemo before the chemo. The saline was injected into his port to flush the passageway, immediately going to his nose and mouth – it’s his least favorite part of it all – and he winced and groaned.

On this particular treatment #9, his port is once again clogged. That prompts tricks to try to get it open: breathe some deep breaths, cough cough, stand up and bend over, lay flat on your back. None of it was successful this time around, so his nurse had to put in an order for “cath flow,” another drug that is injected into the port and takes 30-60 minutes to dissolve the blockage. We’ve only experienced this one other time, and it’s not terrible, it just tacks on another hour or so to treatment time.

It is 87 degrees outside and only noon o’clock. The weatherman told us this morning to expect 95 by late afternoon. And Sam asked for a heated blanket.

There is something about a heated blanket when you face the yuck. It provides a protective cover from the scary. It provides the security of weight that cocoons from the instability all around. And it provides warmth when the chill of sanitary permeates.

This particular treatment cubicle has three large plate glass windows that offer a view of a nice rock garden with a statue and beautiful blooming purple salvia. Apparently, the hot winds of central Kansas are blowing outside, evidenced by trees swaying and drought resistant grasses bending to the south.

But if you didn’t have this vantage point and could only see Sam’s twitches underneath his heated blanket, you might think it was 40 degrees outside on a cool, sunny March afternoon.

A very nice lady just finished her last treatment. All of the nurses stopped what they were doing and accompanied her to the end of the hall where she rang the bell three times to signify her successful completion of treatment and graduation from heated blankets, no longer needed. They all clapped, and her personal nurse gave her a hug.

Today, I am grateful for the reminder that this too, shall pass. That bell will ring for Sam one of these days and these trips to Hays will be just memories.

I am grateful for a pretty view of a hot May day…from the inside.

I am grateful for peaceful twitches.

And I am grateful for heated blankets…whenever they are needed, as long as they are needed.