The Best Christmas Gift

Posted on December 27, 2022 by Margaret

On December 25^th, 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

Moving Forward

Posted on August 5, 2022 by Margaret

It’s been a busy medical week for Nelson and Ann Sophie with multiple appointments at the Mayo Clinic. Today is day #10 of Nelson’s targeted immunotherapy treatment, and like everything else, there’s an upside and a downside.

The upside is that it’s (hopefully) targeting the cancer cells in Nelson’s body, teaching his own immune system to fight back. The downside is that in these last days, after having had only mild nausea on the immunotherapy, now he’s vomiting again with greater intensity. Though Nelson had been off of all nausea medicine, not needing it, now the strongest of three med choices still isn’t helping.

In addition, his legs have become more swollen than ever (he called them tree trunks), so one appointment this week was to alleviate that. He received an IV combination of albumin (protein) and a diuretic to drain some of the fluid, which is leeching out of his veins and settling in the tissues—thanks to the cancer. The IV infusion lasted about an hour.

Since the IV, Nelson has lost eight pounds of fluid, which helped his swollen legs some. He’ll receive a second IV diuretic along with more albumin on Monday. If fluid continues to drain from his legs, bringing them closer to normal size, Mayo’s will custom-make compression stockings for him, which should help in the future.

Nelson’s left arm is also swollen, but for a different reason. A sizable blood clot is inhibiting the circulation in his arm by clogging three veins near the shoulder. (See picture.) But we learned something phenomenal about the human body today.

The doctor said that in two-thirds of people who have blood clots, the clots never resolve, even with blood thinners. In those cases, then, the body gradually begins to reroute the blood to nearby veins, expanding their use enough to move blood around the clotted area. (See the doctor’s pencil lines on picture.)

Nelson and Ann Sophie actually got to see these new veins in imaging tests today. To prevent additional clots, Nelson has learned that he’ll be on blood thinners for the rest of his life.

His medical team began the immunotherapy with a half-dose ten days ago, waiting to see if his system could tolerate it. The plan was to move to a full-dose regimen this week, but because of all the vomiting, that strategy is on hold for now. He takes one pill every morning exactly two hours after eating, and another every evening in the same way, putting the pills 12 hours apart. Ann Sophie has become a clock-watching cook and follows medical instructions perfectly.

Nelson says Ann Sophie could be an official member of the palliative care team with her expertise in administering meds and caring for Nelson’s every need, making him as comfortable as possible. She is still expertly draining his left lung daily, as well as managing their extensive home pharmacy of pill bottles. And she’s his strongest cheerleader throughout every day, without fail. We are all deeply gratef for her.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” (Romans 15:13)

We’re covered.

Posted on July 14, 2022 by Margaret

Love comes down.

When Nelson was hospitalized, Ann Sophie sat nearby and sketched what she was thinking and seeing. Here’s the result.

There’s Nelson, tucked into his bed (with the plastic mattress) in a sitting position, as always. And there she is, close by with baby Will on her lap. The most fascinating part of the sketch, though, is that God is there too. His hand is covering all three of them, as well as the IV pole and the nurses’ computer, two important items. And his hand is delivering multiple gifts of love.

I think the key word might be “covering.”

I (Nelson’s mom) am back in southwest Michigan right now, since 15 of my 16 grandchildren have come to town. Meanwhile, in Minnesota, Ann Sophie’s mom is providing a third pair of hands.

But no matter where we are or what the schedule dictates on any given day, we all know we have God’s covering of love. And thanks to you, Reader, we also have your covering of prayer.

In the last two days, the Mayo doctors have been trying to figure out a wise approach for the next phase of Nelson’s care. Though they’re excited about finding the mutation that will allow immunotherapy, they can’t go blindly into that next treatment without letting his current treatment (i.e. chemotherapy) work its way out of his system.

If they move too soon, the treatment Nelson might overwhelm him. The old expression “hold your horses” seems to apply. We want immunotherapy treatment asap, but their wisdom says, “Hold on a minute.”

Complicating everything is the blood thinner Nelson’s taking to work steadily on the large blood clot beneath his collar bone. It usually takes months to dissolve a clot like that, so he won’t be off blood thinners any time soon. In the mean time, when Nelson asks, ”What can I do to help?”, he gets this answer:

“Just don’t go anywhere, don’t get sick, don’t cut yourself, and watch for anything abnormal. The second anything happens, go right to the ER.”

Though this sounds threatening, Nelson is taking it in stride, because as he often says, “It’s always too soon to panic.” He’s simply living out his own advice. And he fully believes God is, indeed, covering him, pouring love into his life steadily as Ann Sophie’s sketch shows, no matter what’s happening around him.

A college friend of mine, Pam, has been sending us pictures, laminated cards, a beautiful necklace, an umbrella coloring book, and many other umbrella-related items in an effort to say the same thing: we are covered—both by God’s love and by the prayers of many. We are thankful!