Happy Birthday to Nelson

Today is Nelson’s birthday. Well, it was.

Being in Paradise as he is, he’s been given the supernatural gift of agelessness. No matter how old the rest of us get, Nelson will never age past 49. But each year when his birthday came around, planning a party was always last choice on his list. He believed what his grandpa had told him long ago, that birthdays shouldn’t be a big deal, because everyone had one every year.

But as the years passed, Nelson touched lightly on growing older in his journal entries. He also used these diaries to puzzle through problems by way of written words. Each page, then, was a mix of thinking and praying “out loud.”  

 

These journals now belong to Ann Sophie, and though she wouldn’t have looked into them while Nelson was still with us, now she’s free to read . As she and Astrid, little Will and I have commemorated Nelson’s birthday here in Minnesota today, we’ve enjoyed reading aloud from his writings, sometimes laughing through our tears, and sometimes finding surprises. Here’s an entry from the day before his birthday, written one year ago, shortly before cancer invaded his world:

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Thursday 1/25/2022 7:08 PM

I turn 49 tomorrow. We’re having a baby boy in March, which is about to be next month. New things are happening, and yesterday a possible door opened for a career change I sort of looked for, but didn’t do more than talk about.

Tim, our electrical on campus has been working for us a lot. I’ve seen him, talked to him, and fantasized about getting a trade I could use anywhere to work and supply for my family, and have fun doing it.

I’ve been in “ministry” for a long time and You have supplied for me there without question, Lord. We have always more freedom and more than enough money. We have connections in YWAM all over the place, and it’s our home for now.

The apartment we have is great and the campus seems happy to have us. However, I have been praying and fasting about how to handle having a baby and if anything should change. 

Yesterday, I saw Tim walking by building D and asked him for a job, essentially, and he said he’s short guys and would work out a deal with me for between $18-25 hr. It would take me 3 years to get my journeyman’s license to go out on my own, if I wanted to. Really, that’s my goal.

I have thought about what it would be like to pastor the church and work a normal job, sort of a bi-vocational existence. You don’t know until you try. Annso says she has to be forced into her blessings, or something like that, and she trusts me to make the right choice. 

But it doesn’t seem possible to staff the Kokua Crew and work 7-3, M-F for another outfit.

I pray, Lord, that you would make it clear what I should do with this opportunity. Should I take it? Would that mean leaving YWAM altogether? Could Annso stay on staff technically and I be off? Could that work having a new baby? Didn’t we want her to be totally off staff? Would that mean we are done with BBC [Brentwood Baptist Church]?

I pray, Lord, you would expose any ulterior motive, but be merciful. We are all motivated selfishly and out of pride when it comes down to it. I have been given these premonitions before and you have led me when I didn’t know where I was going and it didn’t make sense.

Friday, 1/26/2022, Nelson’s birthday

Today is my 49th birthday. I lost track a little in there and thought maybe I was turning fifty. I am becoming a father at 49. How about that. Might even do a career change this year too. How crazy would that be?

Annso and I prayed about the offer with Tim to work and start becoming an electrician, and seemed to get a yes. She is reluctant because it’s a change, and I have to make it attractive to her, too. For me it helps us in lots of ways and gives us a break from YWAM, which we both need. Allows us to continue to pastor the Little Red Church, which I have always wanted to do. 

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Nelson recorded these notes/prayers one year ago today. He had no idea it would be his last birthday. But for him, the clocking of time has ended, and eternity has begun. Actually, eternity has begun for the rest of us, too. But with our feet still firmly planted in this world, we can’t yet see it as clearly as he does.

“This is eternal life, that they know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.” (John 17:3)

The Best Christmas Gift

On December 25th, our Nelson received the best Christmas gift anyone could ever get, from the best Giver there could ever be. He was lifted out of his pain-riddled, weakened, cancerous body and given a new life of comfort, strength and perfect health.

Here’s the story of his last 10 days:

Thursday, Dec. 15: Nelson experienced severe hip pain. Oncology doctors examined him and found he’d broken a low vertebrae but considered the sharp pain to be from nerves. Eventually the orthopedic oncologist recognized his pain wasn’t nerves at all but bone pain. He had another scan in which they found that his femur, experiencing heavy damage from the cancer, which was paper thin in some places. Immediate surgery to secure the hip and femur was recommended.

Friday, Dec. 16: This morning Nelson underwent a pinning of sorts, when doctors put a long rod/nail from his hip to his knee that would allow Nelson to keep on walking. They also secured the hip. Recovery went well and he was able to surrender his cane, putting weight on his leg normally.

Saturday, Dec. 17: Still in the hospital, Nelson and Ann Sophie were able to share dinner together in his room and had some good conversation. For the first time Ann Sophie asked, “What will we do if you don’t get better?” Nelson said, “Let’s table that until I get home again.” But it was a special evening with a special openness in their conversation. They were able to make peace with their situation, and while praying together, both of them accepted their lot. They also decided they wouldn’t ask “why.”

Sunday, Dec. 18: Though Nelson couldn’t wait to get home, they wouldn’t discharge him unless arrangements had been made to send him home with 4 liter oxygen. Although he was disappointed and hated being in the hospital, he was afraid to go home without the oxygen, worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Monday, Dec. 19: He was discharged with a powerful oxygen machine and was oh-so-glad to be home again. Since he was cold all the time, he put his jacket on, wrapped himself in an electric blanket and settled into his comfortable laz-y-boy chair, concentrating on recovering from the operation.

Tuesday, Dec. 20: Nelson began changing, becoming confused, unable to connect emotionally with anyone. He slept deeply in his chair but panicked when he thought the oxygen might run out or not be powerful enough to help him. Things were changing quickly, and Ann Sophie felt she would soon be unable to care for him. She called her mom, Astrid, and pleaded with her to come, saying she could no longer be left alone with Nelson.

She decided to give him his Christmas gift early, a poster he loved that she had saved from their Hawaii apartment after they’d left in such a rush last May. Moving slowly, he had trouble unwrapping the gift. When he saw the poster, which normally would have thrilled him, he showed no emotion at all. Later he told Ann Sophie he felt like he was trying to breathe through a tiny straw and could never get enough air.

Wednesday, Dec. 21: Nelson became fidgety and restless after a sleepless night, trying always to stay awake. He wobbled when walking and became more confused. His speech was slurred and soft, and he could no longer swallow food without choking on it. A full blown panic attack was just beneath the surface, and Ann Sophie knew it. By mid-afternoon, it was evident he needed to go to the ER. Though Nelson knew this might lead to the hospital, this time he didn’t object. Ann Sophie called 911, and they whisked him away, with Ann Sophie riding along at his side. The driver remembered Nelson from his former ride in an ambulance. But this was different. As much as he wanted to stay home, this time he sensed he couldn’t go on there any longer.

Wednesday, continued: That evening I arrived from Michigan and went straight to the ER, swapping places with Ann Sophie, who had spent a long day with Nelson. Within the hour, the transport paramedics arrived to move Nelson into the hospital. He was uncharacteristically compliant about being admitted. I stayed with him overnight as staff members worked to make him comfortable. But it wasn’t to be.

Thursday, Dec. 22: As Nelson’s breathing became more labored, they decided to put a new drain tube into his left side, hoping to drain the gelatin-like substance from the lung. They were unsure if the shadows on the x-rays were cancer clinging to the lung walls or a lung infection. He began taking antibiotics. At 8:30 PM they did the catheter surgery in the room under local anesthetic, but the hardest part for Nelson was holding perfectly still for—40 long minutes. A nurse and I were both holding him steady, as he rounded his back and leaned on the side table. It was torture for him, but he did get a bit more breathing space after they began draining the globby material from his lung. Ann Sophie came and went all day, running home to feed Will and put him to bed as needed. Most of the time she walked the 2 blocks…in sub-zero weather. I stayed in Nelson’s room overnight.

Friday, Dec. 23: Doctors had lined up a brain scan, a brand new chemotherapy cocktail, a swallowing test, a lung wash, endless blood draws and the establishing of a feeding tube. The steady parade of doctors and nurses was unnerving to Nelson who mumbled, “They’ve taken everything away from me.” He struggled with an extremely dry mouth and failed his swallowing test, resulting in them taking away both food and water. And since he could no longer swallow, his meds were set aside while the nurses scrambled to find alternatives that could be given intravenously and be just as effective. Once Nelson began drifting into sleep, Ann Sophie and I sat in the twilight of his hospital room and began talking about end-of life issues. We talked about the worst case scenario and how in the world Nelson’s frail body was possibly going to withstand another, more severe chemotherapy regime. It seemed like continuing treatment simply agreeing to subject Nelson to more torture. He would never stop fighting to live, because of Ann Sophie and Will, but the decision was in her hands instead. Both of us cried as we finally admitted that Nelson’s life on earth might soon be over.

Friday, continued: And then Nelson had a panic attack, again feeling like he was suffocating. The nurses worked hard to quiet him, as did we, and a dose of Ativan helped. But shortly thereafter, his panic level rose again, this time to new heights. He forced himself off the bed and went to his knees on the floor. I thought he’d fallen. But he pressed his head against the edge of the mattress and though he couldn’t talk above a whisper, this time he cried out loudly, “God help me!” The room quickly filled with eight medical experts who all agreed he needed the ICU. Once there, this new staff settled him quickly with IV meds. And the head doctor asked for a conference with Ann Sophie and me. His question was, did we want to sustain Nelson’s life with artificial means, if it became necessary?

Friday, continued: Because of our discussion a short time beforehand, she was ready with her answer, given in tears. It was a no. The doctor told her that her decision was the best gift she could ever give her husband. It had been extremely difficult to come to it, but it was the right thing. I was so proud of her. After we decided on “comfort measures” for Nelson, Ann Sophie and I headed to Nelson’s room.

The minute he saw her, he once again threw his legs over the edge of the bed and this time, he threw off his hospital gown and reached for her. She kneeled down in front of him and he wrapped her in his arms, casually saying, “Hi!” The busy staff all giggled at his changed demeanor, so happy to see him happy at last. This was his last spoken word.

Most of Nelson’s lines/tubes were removed and all further testing and procedures halted. Ann Sophie, Astrid and I all stayed overnight in Nelson’s ICU room. He was receiving morphine and ativan through an IV port and began resting well for the first time in two weeks.

Saturday, Dec. 24: Since Nelson had no additional medical needs except to be comfortable, they moved him back to the oncology floor to free up the high-tech, in-demand ICU bed. It was a large room with two picture windows and many chairs. Pastor Kevin and his wife Heidi arrived and with Nelson’s guitar, they initiated a singing session of Christmas carols and hymns. We all hoped Nelson was enjoying the music as he slept peacefully. As we went into another long night, his appearance began changing dramatically. We spoke lovingly to him, offering comforting Scriptures and talk of heaven and what life there would be like for him. His nurse looked in every five minutes, offering pain meds as needed. The nurse made up the couch/bed for us and Nelson breathed shallow but regular breaths all the way till morning.

Sunday, Dec. 25: Christmas Day dawned icy cold with grey skies. Nelson was still breathing regularly, though not deeply when suddenly his breaths became like tiny wisps of air. Ann Sophie rushed to the hospital from home, and as we whispered loving words and our goodbyes, he slipped away peacefully.

The hospital let us stay with Nelson’s body as long as we wished, and we enjoyed three hours of talking and thinking together—Ann Sophie, her parents, little Will and me. It was obvious to all of us that Nelson was not there with us. Soon one of the hospital staff arrived and offered to make a print of Nelson’s hand for us. Ann Sophie and I had both had long stints of time sitting with him and holding his hand. Several times in recent days he had asked us to please hold his hand, which was our great pleasure. As the lady painted his hand with invisible ink and pressed it onto a paper, I thought of the hard working Nelson and all the good he’d done with his hands:

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” (Ecclesiastes 9:10)

                                                                                                                                                     Nelson’s funeral will be held on January 7 at 
Ranfranz & Vine Funeral Home, 5421 Royal NW, Rochester,
MN 55901
Visitation will be at 10:00 AM, Service at 11:00
In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to Northbridge Church
1925 48th St. NE, Rochester, MN 55906
or to the family

 

 

A Moment of Truth

As Nelson wrote in his last blog post, he’s looking forward to the scans that are scheduled to happen this Wednesday. It will have been six weeks since he started taking the immunotherapy pills (two each day), and the upcoming scans will be a moment of truth: Are the pills working or not?

In recent days Nelson has been feeling almost like his old self, breathing well without extra oxygen, cutting back on the pain pills, sleeping less, and dealing with only mild nausea. But as is true of this cancer, no matter how good he feels, there’s always a new crisis quietly brewing in the background.

On Friday, September 16, he, Ann Sophie, and Will drove the 80 miles to Luke’s house to spend a quiet weekend away from the apartment and from all things medical. But during the night, Nelson spiked a fever (102.7) accompanied by chills so powerful he shook all over. His oxygen slipped to 80 with a heartbeat of 160.

 On Saturday, the high fever and chills returned, prompting them to call back to Mayo’s for a doctor’s opinion. Their advice was for Nelson to head for the ER…again. So they left Luke’s in a rush, and he was checked into Emergency by late afternoon.

It was another nine hours before doctors finished all their tests and had the results in hand. Since his numbers seemed to be where they’ve been recently, many in the normal range, they weren’t sure what was causing the fevers, chills, fast heart, and low oxygen.

A thousand mg of Tylenol brought the fever down, but they hesitated to let him go without a reason for his symptoms. They did have a couple of ideas, though. The doctor told Nelson, “These pills you’re taking (immunotherapy) are hard core drugs.” In other words, it’s possible the weeks of taking them have accumulated somehow to now cause his body to react negatively.

Their other idea was that his cutting back on the opioids might be causing the same withdrawal symptoms as any addictive drug would cause.

Nelson hoped not to be admitted to the hospital again, and though the doctor suggested an overnight stay for monitoring, he chose instead to head home. But that wasn’t the end of it.

Today the fever and other symptoms have returned, and though Ann Sophie urged him to return to the ER, Nelson wanted to battle it out at home. They did call the doctor, who suggested they “pause” the immunotherapy pills for now. Nelson has four appointments at the Clinic this week, and as always, the medical staff will be current on all that’s occurred in these last couple of days.

While these new negative developments hang over Nelson and Ann Sophie, they did get some good news at the ER. A scan showed that the initial tumor, the one that has been causing Nelson to cough till he wretched, has shrunk by nearly half. We like to think that surely those powerful little pills are, indeed, beginning to overwhelm the cancer. His coughing has almost completely stopped.

Another plus is that his severe neck pain of a couple of weeks ago is gradually improving. They don’t know conclusively if it was a broken bone or cancer in the spine, but whatever it was, it’s been able to heal itself. This is refreshing news.

And so we await this week’s appointments, hoping for new hope—and a very positive moment of truth.

“Be strong in the Lord and in the power of his might.” (Ephesians 6:10)