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"Say Hi to Jesus For Me": Chapter 14 |
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Where would we put Todd’s bed? Where would he be most comfortable? Where would he die? The bedrooms were private, but they were down a narrow hall. The living room was large and we could put a bed in the middle, but it didn’t have a door for privacy and it was too close to the kitchen. Still, it was close to the front door. The thing that loomed so large in my mind was: How would we get his little body out of the house after…. The living room was closest to the front door, so I could disappear into one of the bedrooms while they took him. I asked a cousin who had lost a child how she could bear to watch them take the body from the house. The more I thought about it, the bigger the problem seemed. Dutch settled the matter. Todd would be in his own bedroom, surrounded by his favorite things, away from the noise of the telephone and the kitchen. Of course. |
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Then it was time for our appointment in clinic. Todd had not been out of the house for several days. When Dutch carried him to the car, he started to scream. We couldn’t understand why. "We’re just going for a talk with the doctor. What are you screaming about?" He was so busy trying to catch his breath that he couldn’t answer. We shook our heads. |
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X rays confirmed our suspicions that Todd was much worse. We tried to talk to the doctor without Todd. We suggested to Todd that he propel himself around in a wheelchair for a while. He kept bumping his wheelchair into our door, hoping it would ""accidentally" open so he could hear what we were discussing. He was still afraid we would plot further hospitalization. Dutch went out to be with him and kept him occupied while I continued to talk with the doctor. He had no new suggestions. On our way out I mentioned to the nurse how difficult it was to get Todd to swallow codeine pills. We felt that he was in more pain than need be simply because he was so reluctant to take those tablets. "If only they came in capsule form," I sighed. "He could swallow capsules." She looked astonished. "Don’t you know that you can buy empty gelatin capsules? All you have to do is crush the tablets between two spoons and then put the powder into the capsules." We got the capsules and Todd was able to swallow them without much trouble, even after he could swallow no more water. Now he could be relatively pain-free. Dutch went ahead to drive the car right up to the front of the hospital. As we got close to the automatic doors, Todd panicked again and screamed. "Don’t go out those doors!" "Why? Do you want to stay here?" "No! But don’t go out those doors." "Son, how are you going to get home if we don’t go out those doors?" He was red in the face, gasping for air and hurting. Dutch turned off the engine and came in to see what was holding us up. He figured out that the fresh air and slight breeze were too much for Todd’s diseased lungs to handle. "Hold both your hands over your mouth and nose, son, and I’ll carry you out to the car real quick. We’ll keep the windows closed. Maybe that will help. We got home without further delay. |
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Grandma and Grandpa Monson came to stay with us. My first selfish reaction was, "I don’t need company on top of everything else." But they weren’t company. They took charge of the kitchen. They cleaned house. They answered the telephone. They were there to offer strength and support. Grandma lost her brother several months earlier to cancer. She knew the pain of loss. She was resigned to loosing Todd and hoped for all our sakes that it would be over soon. But her resignation spurned me on. No! I was not ready for Todd to go! I cherished every moment. I wouldn't let him go until I absolutely had to. Besides, who said he was going anyway? It wasn't too late for the Lord to intervene in a miraculous way. My mother and sister took care of Niqua. She
spent most of her nights at their apartment a few blocks away. During the
day she was home, playing with Todd until he grew less and less tolerant
of her. We didn’t realize how much she was emotionally affected until we
found her several times hiding in corners or behind furniture, crying. Dutch and I were with Todd constantly now. We took turns sleeping on Niqua’s bed or one of us would sneak into the adjoining bedroom for a few hours of sleep. It was easiest for Todd to breathe sitting straight up. Many times I sat behind him in bed to support him, but then that became too uncomfortable for him. We gathered most of our pillows and were always busy rearranging them to keep him as comfortable as possible. They were piled high on either side of him to lift his arms and extend them out from his chest so they would not place additional pressure on his lungs. He was so thin. Often I forced back tears when I felt his shoulder, which was nothing but a small ball of bone by now. His rectum protruded; there was no flesh to hide it. Mother borrowed a portable TV set from a friend so Todd could watch from his bed. There was a record player to play his favorite records. I thought I would scream if I had to listen to "Little Toot" one more time. At 2:00 in the morning or 3:00 in the afternoon (he never slept, only dozed off and on): "Please, Mom, play ‘Little Toot.’" The radio was always playing softly, tuned to a local Christian station. It was barely audible, but an air of worship filled the room. We played endless games. His mind was still sharp. He loved to beat us at Monopoly, and he won most of the hangman games. He painstakingly colored a picture of Easter Bunny surrounded by flowers and Easter eggs, to be submitted to a coloring contest. Mother and I took turns massaging his legs. At the hospital, we had turned the massage into a guessing game. I would write words or designs on his back with lotion, and he tried to "read" them by feeling. Now he just wanted his arms and legs massaged. We didn’t want him to get bedsores on his heels. He liked it best when we rubbed and pressed the bottom of his feet. Often I would curl up by his feet while I massaged them. If he dozed off, I would close my eyes for a few minutes of rest, only to have him awaken with a start and cry, "Push, Mom, push!" And again, I pressed on the soles of his feet. I developed the habit of rocking myself back and forth constantly in an effort to stay awake. Somehow it seemed to help my nerves, too. I retained that habit until much later when Dutch called by attention to it. Once as I sat behind Todd to support him, we were looking out his bedroom window. The day was windy and heavy storm clouds hung in the sky. I commented on how the birds had to struggle and fight to fly in such a wind. Todd thought for a while before he said: "I don’t think they’re fighting. I think they’re just sailing along with the wind." That truth applied to his illness. Todd wasn’t fighting the storm in his life. He, too, was sailing along with the wind. We called Todd’s brother in Iowa and told him that it was time for him to come if he wanted to see Todd again. I did so with reservation. Wouldn’t John’s arrival and all the extra attention demonstrate to Todd how little hope was held for his recovery? We still had not told him that he was dying. Yes, he knew, but we had not been able to talk about it. When we told Todd that John was coming, he smiled. He was glad. My fears were unfounded. Todd was very sensitive to smell by now. If we had brushed our teeth or washed our hands with soap, he would shout, "Get away from me! You smell!" We couldn’t eat in his room; it smelled too much. There was no food we could tempt him with. One of his last cravings was for pizza, but when we got it from his favorite pizza place, he never ate it. We had to refuse visitors. They caused too much excitement. And they, too, "smelled." We couldn’t open the window any further, or close it either. If he thought I was adjusting the heat vent, he screamed. Any change in the air current frightened him. His breathing had become so loud and labored, it could be heard halfway through the house. Each breath could be his last. Which one would it be? "O God, stop his suffering, but not with this breath. Just one more, please, just one more." |
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He did usually let Pastor Roufs in when he came because he knew he would pray for him. Pastor disconnected the doorbell for us when that, too, became disturbing. People found many ways to let us know they cared and were praying. They lent us equipment to help us keep Todd supplied with ice. Flowers from a wedding appeared at our doorstep. "We know you couldn’t be with us, so we wanted to share with you." My mother was forever thinking of new ways to keep Todd more comfortable- a sheepskin to make his bed softer, a roll for his head, a bedpan with a thick rubber cushion. Since he was just skin and bones, sitting on a bedpan would have been painful. A note touched my heart:
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The companionship and openness of a mother whose daughter had died of Leukemia a few months earlier were invaluable to me. I could ask her questions I could ask no one else. And she was willing to share. She was also living proof to me that life goes on after a child dies. Three elders from Church On The Way came to pray. "Son, there are three men here who want to pray for you. I can’t promise that they won’t smell. Can they come in?" They prayed over him, laid hands on him, and anointed him again with oil. They came from the room weeping for Todd. |
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Our doctor left word at the hospital switchboard to pass our calls through to him at home. Several times I called during the night in desperation, "Are you sure there is nothing else we can do?" Then came a letter addressed to Todd. The stationery had a picture of a frog on it. Todd asked me to read it for him. When I was halfway through, I realized the writer assumed that Todd knew he was on his way to Heaven. I wanted to stop! But there was no way out. I had to finish reading it:
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I could see Todd’s relief. This loving note answered his questions. Our friend had faced the issue squarely when we were still reluctant to do so. I knew time was running out. If God didn’t act soon…….. "O God! Is he really going to die? Are you really going to take him? I was hoping for a last-minute miracle, Lord. If you are really going to take him, send me The Lord’s Prayer again so I know. But I won’t accept it as being a message from you if I read it in my Bible or hear it on Christian radio. That could be coincidence. You’ll have to find some other way." One hour later, the mailman came with a letter from Nancy. She had simply copied The Lord’s Prayer word for word. |
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