Sue's Story

　
　


A slight wind blew newly fallen leaves around the parking lot of the local coffee shop. The air was crisp and the sun, although bright in the sky, didn’t seem to have the strength it had only a couple of weeks before. Fall was here and the days of shorts and T-shirts were a slowing fading memory.  The flow of people came and went as I absent-mindedly sipped my second cup of coffee.  Who were all these people? Living in a small rural town, I usually knew most everybody that came in, but today it seemed like everyone were strangers that didn't seem to even have the time or energy to smile or acknowledge the presence of their fellow customers. The staff even seemed distracted; routinely going about their duties like robots.

People have always fascinated me. I love to study their faces, trying to decipher what was going on in their minds and in their hearts. Like for instance the young couple at the next table. They sat holding hands across the table; looking adoringly into each others eyes. Young love, so new and innocent. I caught myself smiling and remembering how it felt to have no cares, worries or responsibilities; just pure carefree abandon . Oh, how I missed that feeling. The past few weeks had been especially stressful, with caring for my friend’s 6 year old son, Bradley, spending as much time as possible at the hospital, on top of running my own Office Supply business at the other end of town and raising my own two teenagers, and I was exhausted.

A voice speaking my name brought me slowly back to reality. I turned to see my friend’s husband, David. I could tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t good. I had been sitting here, waiting for some news. My friend Sue had been undergoing tests most of the week at the hospital and today they were to receive the reports. All spring and summer she had been taking antihistamines for allergies, and then as summer faded to fall, her doctor and prescribed three different antibiotics but couldn’t seem to clear the pneumonia in her lungs. Finally, he had ordered a series of tests and x-rays hoping he was wrong about the diagnosis he suspected. Now, as Susan lie in a hospital bed, I had been awaiting my best friend’s husband to hear the results. I feared that their suspicions had been confirmed, but tried to look positive and encouraging as David pulled out a chair and sat down.

Before he could utter another word, tears sprung to his eyes and he sat there just shaking his head. I reached out and took his hand willing him the strength to tell me the news I had been dreading. After a couple of deep breaths, he managed to pull himself together. “Its non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma”, he said.

All I heard after that was a series of words that all blended together like a sickening concoction that made me feel physically ill: antibodies; advanced; aggressive; chemotherapy; bone marrow. My God, I thought. Poor Susan; and how would Dave cope through these next few months of treatment trying to comfort and support Sue, all the while working at his job at the mine and caring for Brad. All I knew at that minute was that anything else I had going on in my life would be put on hold. This was more important. Susan would need all my strength and encouragement to conquer this terrible disease and I would be there to offer any assistance I could. I made a mental note to be checked to see if my bone marrow would be a match. I had to do anything in my power to make sure Sue beat this.

All of a sudden the commotion going on around us seemed to get louder and the walls felt like they were closing in on us. How could these people just carry on with their routines, with their lives, when one of the people I loved most in the world was facing such a struggle? In my head I knew they had no way of knowing, but in my heart I felt like the world had turned cold and grey.

We left the coffee shop and headed directly to the hospital. Sue was sitting up on her bed, her golden blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail. Her baby blue eyes were damp and a tear ran down her flushed cheek when she saw us walk into her room. "Hey, Sher," she said as David gave her a kiss and sat on the edge of her bed. "Where's my boy?" I told her Bradley was at home with my daughter. At 13 Eileen loved the idea of making a few dollars babysitting. Besides, having Bradley around kept her brother, Kirk, out of her hair. Even though there was 5 years difference in age, the two boys loved playing video games together.

We sat talking for the next couple of hours discussing the treatment options the doctors had given her. Since hers was a very aggressive form, they strongly recommended that she begin chemotherapy right away. If that was successful, they would do a bone marrow transplant and then another series of chemotherapy treatments. She was young, strong and otherwise healthy and the doctors believed she could beat this. I knew that we all would need to keep a positive attitude and lean on our faith for strength. I assured her that Brad was welcome to stay whenever, and for as long as, she needed. Her and David's parents lived more than 3 hours away and we all felt it was important for Bradley to stay in school and assume as normal a routine as possible. Dave was sure that, under the circumstances, he would be able to get a leave from work so he could concentrate on Susan's treatment and recovery.

Even though it had been a trying day, somehow we all felt quite optimistic about the future as we left the hospital. They came and picked up Brad and the three of them went home to rest. They were to meet with the doctor the next day to confirm their treatment schedule.

The first step of treatment was to surgically implant a portacath under the skin in her upper chest. A tube ran over her collar bone and entered the large vein in her lower neck. There was a "portal", made of a self-sealing silicone rubber, just under the surface which could be punctured to administer the chemotherapy. The portacath would stay there for the duration of her treatments. After a couple weeks of healing, Sue went for her first chemo treatment. Prepared for the worst, we were all pleasantly surprised when she didn't seem to show any adverse reaction to the first. treatment. The doctor had told her that the treatments would be administered in sets: two treatments a week for 3 weeks; then a break of three weeks; then another set of twice a week for 3 weeks. At that time, she would be reassessed for further treatment. I went to her house to visit after the first treatment and took her some flowers. They were daisies, her favorite. She said she felt so lucky to have a friend like me. If she only realized that I was the lucky one.

The second treatment left her quite weak and nauseous. She was just starting to regain her strength the following week, when it was time for another treatment. By the fourth, she started to lose her hair. I remember that it was just around that time when Randy Travis had a hit with the song “Forever and Ever, Amen”. We would laugh until we cried when we sang the line, “I’m not in love with your hair, and if it all fell out, I’d love you anyway”.

As fall turned to winter, just as the cold took its toll on nature, the cancer and chemotherapy took their toll on Sue. As the chemo drained her of energy, she began to wilt; the color was sapped from her cheeks like the red from a maple tree leaf. Her eyes iced over like the pond in our backyard. It took all her strength and faith to go on. I remember Bradley asking me one day, “Why does something that’s supposed to make Mommy better, make her so sick?” What do you say to that? How do you explain it to a 6 year old child when you don’t understand it yourself? The second set of treatments never happened. The doctors determined that the cancer was too aggressive and spreading faster than the chemotherapy could kill it. They basically told her to enjoy what time she had left, if only a matter of weeks.

Early December, she called one day and asked if I could go and help her do some Christmas decorating. We put on some Christmas carols, heated up some apple cider and went around the house trimming every nook and cranny. It seemed like she wanted this Christmas to be one that Brad and Dave would remember, but neither of us spoke of it. I came from the kitchen with a hot cup of cider just in time to see her place an envelope in the box the tree angel had been in. She saw me then, and we shared a moment, neither of us saying a word, but our eyes saying it all. She knew she would not be here next Christmas.

Early into the new year she and Dave stopped in to visit. She seemed to be having a particularly good day. Some of that old sparkle was in her eyes, and, with the help of some strong medication, she seemed to be in very little pain. She proceeded to tell me about a place in Mexico she had heard of. They apparently used all natural methods of purifying your system and curing diseases. I was skeptical, but Sue was so excited, more full of life than I had seen in a long time. She felt she had to give it a try, if not for herself, for David and Bradley. The only holdback was the financing. It would cost thousands of dollars. Although part of me felt she was grasping at straws, I knew I had to do what I could to help. I put myself in her shoes and knew that I would do the same. I arranged fund raisers and contributed what I could. David sold his new snowmobile and took a second mortgage on their house. By early February, Susan was on her way to Mexico.

She wrote every week, each letter sounding very optimistic. She described their methods of treatment which sounded quite crude to me, for example, they boiled cabbage leaves and placed them over her naked body. She wrote of the stories of other patients there, all hoping and praying, like her, for health and life. I, too, prayed that this could be the miracle we all had been looking for, that my doubts had been unfounded and that her faith had been strong enough to see her through.

I missed our days of shopping, going for coffee or just spending hours talking and sharing. I wanted those days back. I wanted my friend Sue back. On my birthday in mid March, I received a card from her. Even in her writing I could sense her excitement. It was working! They were detoxifying her system of all the chemicals used in the chemotherapy and she was feeling so much better. The cancer was on the run and she would soon be home. I couldn't believe it. I sat and cried. I could not have received a better birthday gift. I thanked God for His answer to our prayers.

The energy was high on that April afternoon as we waited for her flight to arrive. Bradley was looking so handsome all dressed up. He was a mirror image of his father. The same fair complexion, hair and smile. They made a beautiful family. And now that family would be together again. The first person off the plane was Susan. She was in a wheelchair looking very tired, but happy. She had on a wig that looked exactly like her own hair. As soon as she saw us her smile lit up the airport like the lights on the runway. She made David stop pushing her and, slowly, she stood up and walked over to where we were. She had lost weight. I couldn’t tell if her trembling was from excitement, exhaustion, or the cool spring air, but she looked good.

It didn’t take us long to figure out that she should just go home and rest and we would catch up later. After one more long hug and a promise to see each other the next day, we all went home. I called around noon the next day and David said she was still sleeping. She called later that afternoon sounding drained. I told her to get some more rest, we had all the time in the world. It was so good just knowing she was back home with her family where she belonged. She had been through a horrific ordeal; it would take a while for her to bounce back.

After about week, she still wasn’t feeling much better and David took her to the hospital. She felt cold all the time and he was afraid that, with her low immune system, that she was getting the flu. She seemed to have trouble breathing and couldn’t shake her cough. They did tests, x-rays and bloodwork. The lymphoma had spread to her lungs and she had a fever. They immediately admitted her and put her on oxygen and an IV drip.

On April 26th, her birthday, I went into her room and just stood there looking at her. She was asleep, looking so peaceful. Her face had a beautiful glow and I thought that this is what an angel must look like. Her room was silent and decorated with banners and balloons. Cards of Birthday Greetings and Get Well Wishes lined the window ledge. I don’t know how long I sat there watching her, but finally she woke and took my hand. It was so frail. I couldn’t help the tears that ran down my face. She said “Sher, don’t cry for me. I’m going to a better place.” Not knowing what to say, I just shook my head and, half crying and half laughing, said, “I’m not crying for you, I’m crying for me”. I stayed there all that day, just holding her hand. She spoke a couple of times, asking about the kids, or my work. I tried to answer her like there was nothing wrong. It seemed like she was going to be the strong one. Of course her main concern was David and Bradley. How could I assure her that we would make sure they were OK without admitting to her that we knew this was the end. But she knew; we all did, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The next few days seem a blur of taking turns at the hospital; looking after Brad and making phone calls. I stayed at the hospital most nights and took care of Bradley during the day. The people I had working for me had been pretty much running the business the past few weeks and had been a true blessing.

At 9 a.m. on May 3, I had just got home and was going to get some rest when the phone rang. It was David. It was over. Our angel had gone home. She was no longer in pain. She was free of disease and sickness. Heaven was a richer place having her; I was a better person having known her.

It doesn't seem possible that it's been 15 years; I still miss her every day.  Bradley has grown into a handsome young man and was married this summer (2009).




post script: Many of these Mexican clinics have since been closed down. For more information, go to:
cancure.org/directory_mexican_clinics.htm