Say Hi to Jesus For Me, children with cancer, chemotherapy

"Say Hi to Jesus For Me": Chapter 6
Todd decided he wanted to learn to run again. I pleaded with him to practice on the grass so he wouldn’t hurt himself when he fell. He wobbled down our small stretch of grass faster and faster each day until his wobble almost resembled a run. We watched with joy at his determination, but with sadness at seeing him so disabled.
He began pitching baseball. Someone had given him a "pitchback" as a gift. He was good. I laughed at the funny faces he made during the windup, but he assured me that was all part of it. I wanted to protect Todd and wrap him in cotton so he wouldn’t hurt himself. But praise God, he gave us the sense to let Todd be as normal a boy as he could be.
Sunday was going to be a picture-taking day at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. The thought of having his picture taken with Ron Cey made Todd’s head swim. We borrowed a camera we thought would work better than our own to be sure we would get good pictures. I even planned to go, though I’ve never been a baseball fan. But when Sunday came, Todd was sick. He had a temperature, and he was so weak he could hardly stand. He pleaded with us to take him anyway. He was determined we would not keep him home.
We carried our little bundle of skin and bones and supported him between us. He was so weak. A woman next to us asked me why Todd looked so ill. She bought him a flag and prayed for him. Later she wrote to him and sent him get-well cards from children in her neighborhood, along with gifts of money and many more prayers. Todd did have his picture taken with several of his favorite players. He watched several innings before he admitted that he was too sick to stay any longer.
His temperature was high and his breathing heavy by the time we got home. We put him to bed, and in his sleep he almost seemed unconscious. We wrung our hands and wondered what to do. Clearly we should take him to the hospital, but he was so sick, we feared we would never bring him home again. We didn’t want to take that final step yet.
But we had to do something. Dutch decided to go to the home of friends and ask them to pray with him. Maybe they would know what we should do.
I sat next to Todd, holding his hand and crying. His fever was high, and he seemed delirious. He was talking in his sleep. Fear gripped me. I had never met death in any form. What if Todd died now while I was alone with him?
Then I remembered someone telling me that the Bible says God will wipe away all our tears in heaven. My tears stopped. I couldn’t think of any reason to be crying. And suddenly Todd opened his eyes, looked around, smiled, and said: "Has anyone been praying for me?"
"Oh yes, son, yes!" I rushed to the phone to tell Dutch. He had been praying for Todd with our friends. He said the Lord seemed to be directing them to go to a worship service that same night at the Church on the Way in Van Nuys.
We dressed Todd and Dutch carried him into the church just as the service began. We sat in the very last row in an overflow crowd. Then Todd got a nosebleed, the worst he had ever had. Three elders invited us to a basement room, where they worked with Todd, trying to stop the bleeding. At one point, when they removed the tissue from Todd’s nose, they pulled out a blood clot several inches long. No matter what they did, the bleeding did not stop.
The elders asked permission to anoint Todd with oil. We gave it gladly as we huddled on the floor around him. As they prayed, I thought that if Todd had to die this would be a perfect time. Peace came over me.
As soon as they had prayed, the bleeding stopped. I remembered the Bible story of Peter walking on the water to meet his Lord. "When he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, ‘Lord, save me’. Jesus immediately reached out His hand and caught him, saying to him, ‘O man of little faith, why did you doubt?’ "
I drew strength from that lesson many times. When the storm; howled against us and we feared we would sink into the waves, we cried, "Lord, save me!" And He did.
The next day Todd had improved so much, it was hard to believe he had been so sick. But he had low-grade pneumonia and was admitted to the hospital. Again I moved in with him.
I almost enjoyed the hospital stays. They offered us time to pray both for ourselves and for others. Todd and I would walk the halls, wondering whom God wanted us to pray for this time.
Todd always wondered who his intern would be. By now he knew who was gentle and who wasn’t. Some were so careful in starting an IV, even offering to use a smaller needle. Others were not so gentle. It was hard to find one small vein in an arm that had been stuck so many times before.
Once Todd was assigned a doctor who was obviously not feeling well himself. Todd’s veins were hard to find, and the doctor had to try four times before the IV was in.
Todd had given up fighting the needle and just lay there whimpering. "Man, doctor, you better go to school and learn how to do this," he said.
"I’ve been to school already," the doctor mumbled.
"Well, you better go back some more!" They never did become friends.
At first I would stay with Todd when he needed an injection, hoping I would calm him down and persuade him to hold still. Or I would help the nurse hold him down. Sometimes he screamed so much that his face became red and he was wet from perspiration. Then all I could do was leave the room and promise to return as soon as he calmed down.
Dutch tried to help too. He spent much time trying to give Todd courage, explaining the treatments, offering Todd rewards if he would hold still, wiping Todd’s tears as Todd clenched his teeth, trying to obey. Todd knew the procedure was easier when he held still, but his fear of the needle was usually stronger than that knowledge. My heart ached for him, and I felt like screaming and crying myself.
But once the needle was in, Todd was usually free to chase the nurse or go to the playroom and participate in one of the many planned activities. There was even a teacher on the floor. She had a little room filled with school materials, and she came and taught each child individually.
The doctors tried various drugs to combat Todd’s cancer. One would show results for a time. Then his natural antibodies would combat the drug and it would lose its effectiveness, so a new one would have to be tried. One doctor gave up some of his weekends to evaluate Todd’s X rays, trying to determine the failure or success of the chemicals.
Many times we hoped a certain combination would hold the cancer cells back. Whenever Todd started losing ground, the doctors switched to a new combination. With each drug that failed, there were fewer left to try.
Dr. Nelson asked if we might give permission for an experiment. It involved adding a certain amount of radium to a drug and then taking a series of blood tests to determine the effectiveness. The tests probably would not help Todd because the results would take time to evaluate, and the procedure called for two IVs, one in each arm. But Todd agreed to give it a try, since it might help someone else sometime.
The day before the test we were told that Dutch had a spot on his lung. That news loomed as another threat, since it, too, could mean cancer. But we were still trusting God.
Billy Graham was in town for a crusade and we were looking forward to joining others from our church to hear him at the Hollywood Bowl.
About noon, some lab technicians came to Todd’s room for a blood sample. They took us completely by surprise. Todd had already had his routine blood test early in the morning. We were usually informed ahead of time when a test was ordered, but we didn’t know anything about this one. The technician was inexperienced, and I could feel my blood pressure rising.
I ran out of the room and into the doctor’s office where our intern was eating lunch. "Who ordered a blood test on Todd?" I demanded. The intern said that she had. They needed it to be able to evaluate the results of the test the next day. She had assumed it had been explained to me.
"Well, they’re in there now and Todd is fighting them and I think I’m getting hysterical. You better get in there and help!"
The intern dropped her french-fries and ran to Todd’s room. The commotion attracted other nurses, and soon the room was full of people, all trying to get blood from Todd. I started to cry and couldn’t stop.
A nurse took me to a conference room to try to calm me down. I withdrew permission for the test the next day. I told her I did not want anyone touching Todd anymore until my husband got there. I called Dutch and asked him to come right away.
Between sobs, I tried to explain to the nurse that I had helped hold Todd down for many procedures when I knew they were necessary, but this time the test was voluntary, and I could stand seeing Todd screaming and crying no more! The nurse promised that Todd would be left alone until Dutch came.
My nerves had given way and all my pain came out in a flood of sobbing. I lay on the couch in Todd’s room and cried. Doctors and nurses came to try to console me. They offered to bring me aspirin and to rub my neck, for by now I had a splitting headache.
Finally Todd said, "Mom, would you like me to pray for you?" He took hold of my hand, bowed his little bald head, and said, "Dear Jesus, please help my mom".
Dutch came and we met with Dr. Nelson. Again I explained how I could stand almost anything if it had to be, but I could not stand this. He was so understanding. We could tell that he sympathized with us.
We agreed to give it one more try the next day. If a vein could not be found on the first try, the whole test would be called off, and should the IV infiltrate or clog, the test would be discontinued.
I was physically and emotionally drained, and the prospect of leaving Todd to go to the crusade wasn’t inviting anymore. Dutch insisted that I go with him: "You need to get out of here for a while". The intern promised to do paperwork in Todd’s room to keep him company.
Seeing all our friends and our pastor was comforting, but I still couldn’t hold back the tears. I was sobbing again before we left for the Hollywood Bowl. One friend tried to console me as I told her what had happened that day. Others just wondered and prayed for us.
The crusade choir sang, "Because He lives I can face tomorrow", and my pain was soothed. I knew Jesus was there, enfolding me with His love. He would not leave us. God had promised that He would not allow us to be tempted beyond that which we could endure. He would provide a way of escape.
It was late when Dutch brought me back to the hospital. He understood that I wanted to be with Todd. I found him sound asleep, with the radio softly playing hymns. The nurses told me my sister had been with him and kept him company until he went to sleep.
I was exhausted, but I felt the urge to go and have a cup of coffee. In the waiting room I found a woman sitting stiffly on the couch. I went over to her and asked if there was anything I could do for her. She looked at me and burst out, "What can you do for me when my son is dying?"
Oh, I knew how she felt. I tried to point her to Jesus, whom I knew would help her as He helped me. We talked and talked, yet she was bitter. "How could God allow this? You sound just like that chaplain at the last hospital we were at." But at least she did lie down on the couch in their room for a while. She hadn’t slept for days.
About 3:00 in the morning, I finally went to sleep. Yes, because He lives, I could face tomorrow.
The woman whose son was dying continued in her pain. She bore the burden of all the decisions and all the sorrow herself. She fought with the doctors. "Dammit, doctor, I hate your guts, but you’re the only chance my son has got." She had put her trust in medicine, and it failed her.
Todd’s test the next day went fine, and the spot on Dutch’s lung proved to be harmless.