Say Hi to Jesus For Me, children with cancer, Christian faith

"Say Hi to Jesus For Me": Chapter 3
That night my mother came to the hospital straight from the airport. Her presence gave me strength. We went home together to get a few hours sleep while Dutch stayed with Todd. But sleep wouldn’t come. We had so much to catch up on and so much to cry over.
Finally, late that night, I was able to pray, "Yes Lord, Thy will be done, no matter what." I realize now that I automatically associated God’s will with a negative answer to my prayers.
At the hospital in the morning we found that Todd had been assigned a physical therapist who was to turn him frequently and get him to sit up in bed. Todd was so pale as he lay sleeping. Since I had given him to the Lord, all I wanted was for him to die peacefully, drifting off in his sleep. And now this nurse wanted to get him up! We argued with her and tried to get her to leave him alone. "Can’t you see he’s sick? Come back some other day."
The head nurse came and explained to us that the longer Todd waited to get up, the harder it would be for him. Besides, the risk of his getting pneumonia was greater if he wasn’t active.
Mother and I realized we weren’t helping Todd by hovering over him. We went to the cafeteria to unwind and talked for quite a while, leaving the tension of the hospital room behind.
When we got back, the therapist had succeeded in getting Todd to sit at the edge of his bed, dangling his feet for a short while. Todd was tired, but proud. She continued to work with Todd all day, getting him up at regular intervals, taking him a little further each time.
When it was time for him to get out of bed completely, he asked us all to leave. He was going to do it alone.
Anxiously we stood in front of the door to his room, knowing he couldn’t. But then the door opened, and out came Todd. We cheered and applauded.
One arm was immobilized by a board to keep the IV needle in his vein, so he had trouble deciding how he could both push his IV pole and hold up his pants (which were forever falling down). But he was walking!
"Thank you, Lord!" I felt as if Todd had been given back to us. When I gave him to the Lord, I had been sure he was going to die, and here he was, walking down the hall, all the way to the phone booth to call Grandma and Grandpa in Iowa. Praise the Lord!
During the long nights and days at the hospital, I started work on a blanket to help pass the time. I learned to carry my yarn and crochet hook with me at all times. Often I would even crochet in the dark, so Todd and his roommate wouldn’t be disturbed by the light. I call that blanket the product of my sleepless nights.
The Bible tells us to keep our minds on things above. I kept a tape of church music playing softly in Todd’s room. Even though we weren’t always conscious of the music, our minds absorbed it, helping us focus our thoughts on Jesus. When the atmosphere in other rooms was tense, ours was usually calm and filled with the presence of God.
Later I prayed about having a radio to replace the tape recorder. A friend soon supplied one, and it went with us from then on. I was a babe in Christ, but we came to find out that Todd was not. He had gone to church school for two and a half years, and he’d had a devout and devoted teacher who transmitted her love for the Lord to the children. This along with Sunday school gave Todd a faith from which he was drawing
Often as Todd had left for school, I had told him, "Take Jesus with you. Jesus is with you wherever you go. He will never leave you." He knew this when he went for surgery. He knew it all through his illness.
Always at night before Todd went to sleep, I would say to him, "Goodnight, son. See you in the morning Say hi to Jesus for me in your dreams."
Todd’s principal and his teacher came to see him at different times during his recovery. They brought cards, pictures and greetings from the children at school. I punched a hole in each card and picture, threaded a length of yarn through them, and hung them on the walls. Soon the room looked bright and cheerful.
Todd was so proud that the principal would take time to play a spelling game with him. They had quite a contest. The principal even promised to take him to McDonald’s for lunch as soon as Todd was back in school. McDonald’s! With the principal!
Todd loved to play a game that had a bubble in the middle with dice inside. Players have to press the bubble down to get the dice to jump. First we had to press the bubble for Todd; then we helped him press it. How proud he was when he had the strength to press it all by himself.
Soon it was time to make more decisions. We were asked to join the nurse coordinator and the hematologist, whom I’ll call Dr. Nelson, in the conference room.
All visible cancer had been removed surgically. Now the invisible cells had to be attacked. We were asked to decide if we wanted chemotherapy only, or with cobalt treatments. The doctors knew of no advantage either way. Since there was no obvious advantage to be gained from cobalt in Todd’s case, we decided against it, but we had no choice but to go along with chemotherapy. I was startled when they said they should start treatments the very next day.
The therapy was to be given by intravenous injection. But they couldn’t do that! Todd was so afraid of shots that he had refused them, even in pain. How could we possibly get him to hold still for these?
We asked the doctor to send someone, a psychiatrist, if necessary, to talk with Todd and explain to him exactly why the injections had to be given. Perhaps if he knew more about what was going on it would be easier for him to take.
We all walked back to Todd’s room, and Dr. Nelson sat on Todd’s bed. He took great care to explain to Todd as best he could the injection he would have to have. He won Todd’s trust and they were good friends from then on. Todd still did not like the thought of the injections, but he no longer believed they would kill him.
The faces in the sixth-floor waiting room changed every day, but the scene was largely the same. Besides serving sixth-floor patients, it was also the place where parents waited for word on their children in surgery and in intensive care. Every night people lay sleeping on couches and even on the floor. I brought some air mattresses from home, and they were put to good use.
Once as I was talking to a couple I discovered that we not only had a sick child in common, but also our love for God. I got my tape recorder and played a Kathryn Kuhlman tape for them. The waiting room was full and people were watching TV, so I kept the volume very low. I was self conscious and timid about playing religious music in a public place. But people started singing along with the music and turned the volume up. For a moment the waiting from became a sanctuary. Then my new friends were called away and didn’t return.
It was sad to see children face surgery all alone. In many cases, parents lived too far away or could not take time off from work to be with their children. Some little guys and gals tried to be brave; others screamed in fear.
A boy in the neighboring room rarely had visitors. He was lonesome and often cried. He was thin and seemed quite ill. Mother or I would go over ands sit with him and hold his hand, which lay limp. What a joy it was when he at last responded with a slight squeeze of his hand. It was as if strength was flowing from our bodies to his.
We heard rumors about the fourth floor where the children went to die. I’m sure everyone pictured it as a dark, gloomy hall, with death looming everywhere.
The sixth floor was the "surgical" floor, so many children were there for simple corrective surgery. It seemed strange to hear mothers worry about "little" things like tonsils or appendixes. What did they know about problems? Our son had CANCER.
The Lord showed me later that He is just as concerned about a runny nose or a broken arm as He is abut major illness. He reminded me of how worried I was when our daughter Niqua was hospitalized with a bladder infection.
The day Todd was discharge, we ran about excitedly, getting our things together, signing discharge papers, and saying all our good-byes. We were going home!