home | contact
RN Sherri Beyer

Like Our Most Special Neighbor

We are Called

Part of a series of stories on St. Paul people taking their faith to work —

The letters above the canopy in Moline are stark and unwelcome: Cancer Center. No one wants to cross this threshold. But here — among the blood tests, caustic chemicals, and complex insurance forms — grace prospers.

Oncology and hematology treatment provide the framework for RN Sherri Beyer’s daily work. But generosity and compassion sustain her in this vocation that, hour by hour, keeps her poised between devastating grief and buoyant hope.

The days are often grueling. “Some weeks, if we lose quite a few patients or we’re giving a lot of bad news, it’s just too much to take in,” says Sherri. “Even if you see it coming, it still hurts.”

But common mission sustains this team of 10 oncology nurses. Reflects Sherri, marveling at the longevity of this dedicated staff, “Something keeps us together. Perhaps it’s God. All of us are very devout in our own faith. It informs how we treat and how we talk to people. Every time we walk in here, there’s this feeling, this presence. It’s how we act, how we deal with the tears, how we comfort. It’s there. You can feel it.”

This is a place oriented around communal support, rather than individual struggle. Sherri consistently uses “we” language. “We treat everyone like our neighbor, like our most special neighbor,” she says, speaking in the quick cadence of a woman who is passionate about her work. She is not a solo technician but part of a patient support system.

“I don’t know if I necessarily got called to this particular part of nursing,” ponders Sherri, an RN for 28 years, 10 in oncology. “But somehow I got here. And I knew that this was what I was supposed to do. It has changed my life.”

On this day, Sherri has treated a young man who has limited mental capabilities. She notices that he is suddenly not walking well. She has convinced him to use a wheelchair, which his elderly parents are maneuvering into the hallway.

“With cancer, you take care of not just the person but the entire family. You have to know so many dimensions. The person doesn’t feel good. Maybe they’re dealing with the weather. They need to ride the bus to get here. There is extended family all over the country, or maybe there’s no support system. The drugs are very expensive — $7,600 for one month’s supply of pills for kidney cancer. We deal with financial burdens, with insurance and pharmaceutical companies. All these issues. It’s not just getting treatments.”

Sherri’s team must be ever-vigilant. Chemo agents, each individualized for the severity and idiosyncrasies of the disease, must be administered with extreme precision. A rash or fever may signal serious side effects. “With cancer, we have to have a keen sense, to know what questions to ask each patient.” And accessibility accompanies care. “We give them our phone numbers and tell them, ‘You need to call us.’”

A “job description” can’t begin to contain the compassion and partnership that engage the cancer battle here. “This is not a patient or a number,” says Sherri. “This is a living, breathing person.”

Sherri’s professional confidence is born of knowledge and experience. Even so, “you carry a lot inside of you,” she says. Loss. Anxiety. Sadness. And extraordinary grace. “You learn something new from everyone you meet, and you carry that with you.”

At the end of each day, Sherri drives a 30-minute stretch of highway from Moline to her Park View home. She breathes deeply. “I go home. I entrench myself in my life away from here. By the time evening comes, I sit and reflect. I do my devotional time at night, and then I go to sleep so I can refresh myself to get up and do it again.”

“We all need faith,” says Sherri. Years of oncology work have cultivated in her a perspective of trust; she has learned to leave the mysteries of life and death in God’s hands. “Faith is like a weight lifted off of me, an inner peace. You know what you’re here for, what your purpose is.”

In worship at St. Paul, Sherri finds refreshment for the week. “It’s like resetting your clock,” she muses. “If you’ve carried anything with you, you can release it at church.”

She finds nourishment in family life with husband Roger and young-adult daughters Lindsay and Amanda. She volunteers at church and in the community. “If you can’t extend your life, you’re missing out on some of the greatest things you can do,” says Sherri. “We can get stuck in our own lives. We’re put on the planet to do something.”

“A lot of things used to be really important to me,” Sherri reflects. “Now the basic comforts of life are okay with me.” She marvels at “the grace and gratitude of just being here.”

Soon resurrection spring will come to the landscaped pond outside the Cancer Center’s bright infusion room. Arranged on shelves are gifts from patients, tokens of gratitude for comfort and care received here. A framed photo. An angel figurine. A handmade birdhouse.

“Even if there isn’t a cure, we may give a person three or four years of extra life — maybe enough for a son’s marriage or a grandchild’s birth,” says Sherri. “We’re seeing life carry on. A piece of a person always carries on.”

Here in this Moline treatment center, Sherri and her colleagues give honor to God by “treating everyone like our neighbor, like our most special neighbor.” It is holy work.

  ::  

"May God, who lightens our paths, accompany you on your journey this day and always." ~Worship blessing