I recently read a book that took me back to the the time when my son fought valiantly against a terrible disease. He was seventeen when he was diagnosed with an acute and aggressive version of leukemia. His odds, at best, of recovering from it were only one in ten.
He went into remission following a terrible and debilitating form of chemotherapy. He spent six months doing everything he wanted to do. He started classes at our local community college. He went on a few dates. He was 18.
At the end of six months, the disease was back and the only treatment available was a bone marrow transplant. None of the family matched his DNA.
He was blessed that a donor was found and he was given the transplant. It took. His new marrow was that of the donor.
Sadly, just as we left the hospital after four months, his doctors gave him oral magnesium and potassium without checking to see how he tolerated them.
He did not tolerate them and the ensuing reaction caused him to go into graft versus host disease. That is when the transplanted marrow and the body of the transplant patient go into battle. In his case, it lowered his resistance to both bacteria and fungus.
He ended up contracted a fungal infection in his brain. It took two weeks to receive the diagnosis during which time he went downhill and started having seizures.
Then he died. He had not made it to age 19.
I stayed with him throughout and bullied him to do what he needed to do to get better. I fought for him. I also laughed and spent time with him and prayed constantly for him. I tried to force the disease out of his body by the strength of my will
It doesn’t work that way but, believe me, that is how a parent reacts when their child is desperately ill.
To have to talk to your child about the type of funeral he would like and which of his sisters would get his belongings was something I can never wish on my worst enemy. We did it in a joking manner just before his transplant.
We also talked about how far he wanted to go with his fight. He spoke the words that allowed me to know when to stop fighting and to let him go.
I probably would have still had problem doing so but just before he was diagnosed with the brain infection, I asked him if there was anything that he wanted. I meant that moment. But his answer was more than that.
He said, I just want for this all to be over.
It broke my heart to hear those words. Through my tears, I responded, Then that is what I want as well.
It really wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted him to fight but he was telling me that it was time. He had fought so hard and for so long and he was tired of fighting.
Those were the last words he ever spoke to me. He immediately went into a semi-comatose condition where he could not see or speak but could hear and feel pain.
I had to explain to my daughters, my husband and David’s father what his wishes were. David’s dad wanted to continue fighting but the doctors told us that it would only delay the inevitable.
I didn’t want to prolong his pain. He had given me the power of attorney and I made the decision to keep him hydrated and on pain medications but to withdraw all other forms of treatment.
It took three days for him to pass away. We had been warned that it would take weeks and he would progressively grow weaker and colder.
I was so thankful that God didn’t prolong his suffering. He lasted long enough for his sisters, friends and family to say good-bye. I suddenly realized he was waiting for his grandmother but that she was ill and could not travel to his bedside.
After I told him what was going on, I believe he stopped trying to wait. He passed away hours later without ever having the progressive symptoms the doctors warned us about.
Throughout his illness, I prayed for God to heal him. About three months into his transplant, I could no longer pray for healing. I would try and my prayer would change to asking God to use David for his glory.
I was so angry with myself because I could not pray as I wanted to. Then I thought that God had changed my prayer because David was well and needed a different prayer. With that thought in mind, I relaxed and allowed God to direct my prayers his way.
After David died, I realized that God had answered my prayers for healing up to the point when my prayers had to change. He answered those final prayers as well. David’s death was something that I ended up writing about and people came to Christ because of what had worked in his life and in his death.
At one point during David’s illness, when the chemotherapy had laid him very low, I asked him if he ever asked God why he had allowed him to get leukemia?
David said No. He told me that God was using his life as He needed to do and that David had dedicated his life to God and had asked him to use him. He accepted that this was what God had planned for his life.
That experience taught me so much about God. It taught me what true dedication really looked like. It taught me that God answers prayers even if the answers don’t look like what we want them to be.
1 John 5:14-15
And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him.