It started the Tuesday after Memorial Day weekend. Amy and a friend sat at Amy’s kitchen table after school with our CaringBridge page up on her laptop. Mary walked in as the girls spoke to each other in hushed tones as they read the words on the screen before them.
“Hi, girls. What’s going on?” Mary asked as she observed the forlorn looks on their faces.
“We’re waiting to hear how Zach’s scans turned out,” Amy replied as Mary stepped behind her and read the post over Amy’s shoulder.
The CaringBridge post I wrote explained that Zach was experiencing intense pain in his hip and we hoped the PET scan would reveal that there was simply a problem with his prosthesis and not that the cancer had come back in his bones. We were also waiting to hear if the CT scan had revealed any new lesions on Zach’s lungs since he hadn’t had any new ones in over a year.
Mary had met Zach. She was aware of his battle with cancer and impressed by his ability to stay upbeat and positive through it all. She didn’t think much of Amy’s interest in Zach other than caring and concern for a friend. Their whole family had followed Zach’s story over the past few months and were all interested in keeping up with the latest news. But later that night Amy revealed a little more. “Mom, there’s something else,” she said as she settled on the couch next to her mom. “I found out this morning that Zach likes me as more than a friend.”
A mixture of emotions flooded Mary. She was excited for Amy and had looked forward to sharing these kinds of moments with her daughter. But her enthusiasm was tempered by the reality of what her daughter might be opening herself up to if she chose to move forward with the relationship. Every mother wants to protect her child from heartache, and if this relationship was allowed to blossom, heartache was a likely ending.
“How do you feel about that?” Mary asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m flattered that he likes me. We have a great time together, and I feel good when I’m around him,” Amy replied. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“What would you do under normal circumstances?”
“I guess I would just take things as they came and see where they led.”
“Then why don’t you do that?” Mary asked. “Just take things as they come.”
Amy laid her head on the back of the couch and cried. “I just don’t know if I could handle having my boyfriend die. It would be so hard.”
Mary sent up a silent prayer for wisdom as she considered how to guide her daughter. She knew Amy was a strong and levelheaded girl who wasn’t prone to drama like so many teenage girls. Had God placed Amy in Zach’s life for a reason? Or had maybe God placed Zach in hers?
“Honey, this is going to be hard no matter what happens. You and all your friends have a tough road ahead of you. It seems to me God put you in this place for a reason and that you and Zach could be a real gift to each other.”
IT WAS MAY 31, 2012. ROB, ZACH, AND I SAT IN THE EXAM ROOM AT the pediatric oncology clinic as the doctors delivered the news: Zach had new lesions on his lungs. I was ready to hear that news; I had expected it. But they also found the left side of his pelvis was riddled with cancer.
I felt like I’d been shoved into a pool of ice water and was trying to catch my breath as the doctor began to explain to us that in order to surgically remove the cancer from his pelvis, they would have to remove Zach’s left leg and half of his pelvis. He would not be able to sit up for several months, and it wouldn’t guarantee the cancer wouldn’t come back.
I looked at Zach, and he silently shook his head no. The ugly truth was that we’d used up all known effective treatment options. There was nothing left, no weapons left in our arsenal to win the war.
Zach was terminal.
We sat in silence for a moment as we processed the news. None of us betrayed the devastation, sadness, and fear that stormed inside of us; we’d had lots of practice by this point.
Rob had suspected for months that the cancer had been harboring at the primary site and had flown under the radar of the limited sights of X-rays and scans. He’d done his research and knew that if the cancer continued to show up in the lungs, it was likely there was residual cancer hiding out near the primary tumor site or in other places. It was why he insisted on the PET scan.
Rob diligently took notes as his questions were answered about our options and how we should proceed. There were some experimental studies that Zach might qualify for, but there was the more urgent problem of pain that needed to be dealt with, and we needed a plan of action.
Zach kept his emotions tucked away pretty tight. He never seemed caught off guard by the bad news, but I was never really sure if it was because he had planned for it or if he was just skilled at rolling with the punches. He was stoic as the news was delivered and was pragmatic as treatment options for pain management were discussed. He behaved as though we were at a routine appointment and the world wasn’t crashing down around him.
I was blindsided. I’d been so sure there was no way the cancer could be at the primary site—the tumor had been removed with clear margins. How could this happen? The lungs I was prepared for, but not the pelvis. It was like expecting a punch in the face and getting socked in the gut as well. There was the part of my brain that tumbled around with emotion, and there was the side that was ready to move forward with the next practical step. Okay, Zach is dying. Now what?
We had to make some tough decisions. None of them led to the future we had fought so hard to gain for Zach. They all ended with him dying; it was just a matter of how soon and in what shape. Did we continue to hack at his body and remove the cancer, leaving him with more hospital time and weeks, maybe months, of recovery? Did we hunt for experimental treatments across the globe, taking Zach from home for weeks or months and possibly gaining nothing? Or did we simply declare “enough is enough” and walk away from the fight?
Zach joined in the conversation. He wasn’t too worried about surgeries. “Thoracotomies, no big deal,” he said.
But the idea of being cut in half and unable to sit up and still having no guarantee that it would buy him much more time wasn’t worth the sacrifice.
Months earlier, we had taken Zach to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, and then to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas, to seek second and third opinions from doctors. He hated being away from home for treatment and was not about to spend weeks away from his family and friends for treatment that may only give him the same amount of time back.
The doctor at the U of M offered an experimental option: radiation therapy to kill the cancer and reduce the tumor so the pain would stop. It was something to throw at the cancer and slow it down. But that was it. We were buying little pieces of precious time.
Zach made the decision. He would start radiation the following week and start on the experimental chemotherapy that could be taken at home. He wanted to spend his time living as normally as possible. He wasn’t giving up, but he was tired of cancer elbowing its way into the foreground. Cancer would have to take a backseat.
As we walked out of the clinic, Rob stayed behind to talk with one of the doctors. I knew what he needed to ask. It was the question that had hung in the room but couldn’t be uttered. How much time?
I walked ahead with Zach, my calendar in hand as I filled the space between us with mindless chatter about our next step and about how we would tackle the next couple weeks. As we waited for the elevator, Zach stood, legs crossed, his chin resting on the crutch tucked under his arm, and turned to me.
“When the time comes, I want to have another party,” he said with resolve. I looked up at him. He looked back with a steady gaze. He knew what was coming, and he knew how he wanted to deal with it.
“Okay. We’ll do it.”
He was ready to take the lead and show us the way.
“HOW LONG?” I ASKED ROB WHEN WE GOT HOME.
“Six months to a year,” he answered. I held his gaze as the news sank in.
It was what we expected to hear, b
ut there was something about it being stated, out loud, that was so jarring. It wasn’t some far-off possibility anymore. The meandering road of treatments and surgeries had become much straighter, and the end was coming sooner than we’d hoped.
Zach never asked how much time, but he had an idea. He had wanted a new phone and spent several days after the news of the reoccurrence in his pelvis distracting himself by researching phones and data plans. He had some money burning a hole in his pocket and intended to use it to pay for the plan and the new phone.
Infomercials had been a pastime for Zach from the time when he was little. He loved shopping online for quirky things like night-lights that could change color with the push of a button on a remote, or a flashy multicolored light that could be hooked up to speakers and would pulse to the music that was being played. Once, when he was four years old, he came to me while I was making dinner. In his little green bib overalls, wide-eyed with excitement, he exclaimed, “Mom! You need to buy Zoom 2000! It cleans everything!” Shopping was in his blood.
Once he’d decided on the best option, he came to me for permission to buy the phone. I was concerned about how he would pay for the phone. After years of medical bills and all the other expenses that came with cancer, I knew we couldn’t afford it.
“Mom, can I buy this phone?” he asked, showing me a picture of the phone on his computer. “I found a pay-as-you-go plan that’s a good deal too.”
“That’s fine, you can buy the phone. But how much money do you have left in your account for the data plan? The phone isn’t any good if you don’t have a decent plan.”
He locked his eyes on mine. “I have enough money to cover ten months,” he said with a knowing look that pleaded for understanding.
“Okay.” I held his gaze and nodded my head. Message received.
He’d set his goal.
AROUND THIS TIME, I NOTICED ZACH HAD STARTED SPENDING MORE time with Amy, whom I’d only met on a few occasions when the whole group was over. She came by herself a couple of times to hang out with Zach and watch a movie or talk. I wasn’t sure what was up, so I called Anne, Sammy’s mother, to see if Sammy had told her anything.
“Zach told Amy that he likes her,” Anne said. “I wondered if you knew about it.”
“No. Well, not until recently. I’ve noticed the two of them are spending quite a bit of time together. Does Amy know how sick Zach is? Does she understand that he is going to die?” I asked.
“Yes. She knows. All the kids know,” Anne answered. “She and Sammy have had many all-night talks about Zach. Amy is well informed.”
“Do her parents know about Zach? I’m wondering if I should talk to her mom and make sure she understands Zach’s condition and what her daughter is getting into. This is a tall order for a teenage girl, and she’s going to need a lot of support.”
I was concerned. Amy was entering Zach’s life at such a complex juncture. Did she understand what was happening with him medically? And would she be able to handle the emotional turmoil that he was bound to go through in the coming months? I was concerned about Zach too. Was he in an emotional place where a girlfriend was a good idea? Teen love could be fickle, and I was afraid of the heartbreak that might come—for both of them.
“I know Mary pretty well. Amy and Sammy have been close friends for a few years, and I know she is aware of Zach’s prognosis, but if you want I can talk to her and let her know that you’re concerned,” Anne offered.
“Yes! Please. I would feel so much better if I knew there was full disclosure.”
I found myself in this strange position of needing to respect the boundaries of trust and privacy that Zach needed while also protecting both him and Amy from the harsh reality of what was to come. It was not something I wanted to manage; until then I had maintained a pretty hands-off approach when it came to the kids’ relationships. Unless I saw a glaring problem or they came to me, I tried to keep a watchful eye on things without opening my mouth too much. But this was different. I knew I had a responsibility to guide Zach, but I needed to make sure Amy had the same.
Anne got back to me the next day after she had talked to Mary. Mary assured her that she and Amy had talked at length about her dating Zach. She knew he only had months to live, but she also knew her daughter was a strong girl with a good head on her shoulders and she was stepping into this relationship for the right reasons. Amy cared deeply about Zach, and she simply liked being with him.
I was relieved. I wouldn’t have to burden Zach with more sadness by discouraging him from pursuing her. And it sounded like Amy was exactly the kind of girl Zach needed in his life.
Zach hadn’t said much to me about Amy other than a cursory, “She’s a friend,” when I would ask about her. One day, on our way home from the clinic, after I’d talked to Anne and knew they were more than just friends, I dragged it out of him.
“So, tell me what’s going on with Amy. Are you dating or are you just friends? ’Cause I’m hearin’ it’s more than just friends.” He looked at me for a moment, deciding how much to divulge, but he knew he didn’t have a chance at keeping this kind of news from me. I had too many sources.
“She’s more than a friend,” he finally offered.
“Okay. Well, what do you like about her?”
“She’s calm. No drama. And she doesn’t hide from the truth, but she doesn’t dwell on it either. I like being with her because she’s steady and strong and willing to keep up with me. I need that right now.”
I was thrown a little by his concise and immediate response. His mature approach to the relationship was a reminder that he wasn’t like other boys his age who had all the time in the world to find the right girl. He knew he didn’t have time to waste.
“Well, it certainly sounds like you’ve thought it through. I’m glad she’s in your life,” I said. “She’s welcome to come for dinner to meet the family. I think it would be nice if we had a chance to sit with her and get to know her a little.”
“She’ll be out of town for a while for a family reunion, then a dance competition,” he replied.
“A dancer, huh?”
“Yep. She’s been doing it since she was five. I’m hoping I can see her perform sometime. Her team name is Topaz. I guess they’re pretty good. Maybe in a couple weeks I’ll invite her to have dinner with us.”
“I look forward to it,” I said. I was grateful that he was going to have someone special in his life. But I wondered what would happen when reality started to bang on the door. Did Amy really understand what was coming? Did she have it in her to be there when he would need her more than ever?
June 2012
EVERY MORNING FOR THE FIRST THREE WEEKS OF JUNE, I DROVE Zach the forty minutes to the hospital for his two-minute radiation treatment. His appointments were scheduled early in the morning, which meant that we would run into heavy traffic and had to add several more minutes to the commute. As the week went by, Zach became increasingly sick. The pain in his hip intensified with each passing day, and he was nauseated and extremely tired.
By the third morning, it took every ounce of energy he had just to get from the house to the car. Along with the pain, he was so weak that he was unable to pull his legs up into the car without assistance. As we traveled down the highway, Zach’s condition worsened. His face turned white, and he thought he might pass out. A few miles from our exit, traffic came to a complete stop. Nothing was moving. We were stuck.
I didn’t know what to do. If I called 911, it would take them just as long to get to us as it would probably take to get to the hospital ourselves. But if he passed out, I wouldn’t be able to help him because I was in the middle of traffic. So I did the only thing I could do: I turned the air-conditioning on full blast and had it blow in his face, then turned the radio on his favorite station and told him to hang on. And I drove. Terrified and panicked, I inched along as Zach got worse and worse.
We finally reached our exit, and I pulled into the parking ramp where there was a special entr
ance for radiation patients. We had a handicap pass for parking, but all the spots were taken and they were too far for Zach to walk anyhow. I pulled the car right up to the door with absolutely no idea how I would get him from the car to the clinic and then get the car parked. There were no wheelchairs in sight, and my cell phone didn’t get reception in the parking garage, so I couldn’t call for help. And there was no way I could leave Zach.
It was the first time in two and a half years that I felt completely alone and utterly helpless. As I got out of the car to walk around to Zach’s side, I whispered a simple but desperate prayer: “I can’t do this alone.”
I opened Zach’s door, pulled his crutches out that were wedged between him and the door, and knelt down on the ground next to him.
“Can you walk?” I asked as I desperately tried to keep the panic at bay.
He did a slight shake of his head, almost imperceptible. His breathing was shallow and fast, and he was extremely pale. I hadn’t noticed a car had pulled up behind us until a gentleman in a valet service uniform was standing next to me.
“Ma’am? Do you need some help?”
I felt like I could dissolve into a puddle of tears on the floor, I was so relieved. Sometimes God sends angels to do His work, but most of the time it’s just ordinary, everyday people who are commissioned. And on this day, it was the valet guy.
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I need a wheelchair, and I need help getting him to radiation.”
Within minutes, this wonderful man had a team assembled. One brought a wheelchair, two helped get Zach into the chair, and one parked my car for me.
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