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Treatment is no walk in the park. First thing they prescribed was having my teeth removed. Bone loss in my jaw could cause infections they wouldn’t be able to treat if the chemo was going to do its’ job. I wasn’t going to let a mouth full of molars and incisors stand in the way of beating the odds. So off I went to the dentist and damn if he didn’t pull them one right after the other. I’d always been a little afraid of the dentist but at this maddening juncture I had no time for fear. Fear alone can overtake your mind, just like the cancer was taking over my throat. At least now I knew why I’d been spitting blood before the dentist did his work giving me another reason I’d be spitting blood. The teeth part would stop but the cancer part??? No time for pity. No time for fear. But was there enough time for reversing the fast growing group of cells that would, left unchecked, be my farewell to life?

Next up was a visit to a surgeon who would install a port inside my chest. When I woke up I had a new opening to my bloodstream. A device to stream the metals in the chemo part of therapy directly into me, infused by a pump held in a “fanny bag” that I’d wear for a week at a time. Constant dosing to thwart the intruding cancer cells. Morphine patches on my arm and Vicadin, a hundred per script for munching during the day.

Didn’t take long for the medicine to show it was doing something. Vomit should be a four letter word. They kept telling me I had to eat but try my best it wasn’t easy knowing anything that what went in was quickly going to be coming back out. I’m sure the pain killers were doing something too because, when I wasn’t throwing up, I didn’t hurt in my throat like I did before. The regimen of eat/puke repeated itself over and over. I’d been a six-four hundred ninety-five pound man losing weight faster than butter melts in the oven. When I got down to a hundred thirty eight I was just three pounds away from having another hole poked into my insides. “We’ll have to put in a feeding tube if you drop to 135 lbs. Otherwise your body will start eating itself.” That’s a real attention getter. So I poured my attention into pouring Ensure and Boost and milk shakes (chewing was still a new unpleasant experience with my new false teeth) and bananas down the same throat that held the growth trying to undo me. Drink/Puke/Repeat became my new mantra. Somehow I managed to keep from losing those last three pounds and avoided the stomach tube. I didn’t like wearing the chemo bag, much less the idea of a mush bag too. But that was only half the treatment.

Then began the radiation. They make a mold of your face and create a white mask that covers your face like you see in horror movies on the scary guys. That way they can lock your head in place with the mask on a table and aim this big radiation machine right at the spot they target. Hello, Hiroshima. I think I recall being told it was like getting a thousand x-rays at once. Reminds me of the Beatle lyrics… “I’m looking thru you, where did you go? I thought I knew you, what did I know?” Well, I knew this was going to kill me or save me. I also knew, no matter how hard the doctors tried, they could only apply science. It was up to me to save myself. If I let depression, doubt and fear control me the cancer would win. “I wasn’t going to die this way. I wasn’t going to die this way. I wasn’t going to die.” Why, because I refused to give in, to give up. I didn’t want to let the family, my friends, the doctors down. I sure didn’t want to leave my son alone in this world at the threshold of turning into a man. So I turned inward and told the little voice we all have inside that questions us at every turn to just shut up. At least for now. Let me beat this thing and then you can come back and beat me up with self doubt. Just not now. NOW I had to be strong. Stronger than I’d ever been because the therapy was designed to make me weaker than I could ever have imagined. I had to have that Never Give Up attitude or else. The else being all too obvious for contemplations. No, I had to focus on the immediate. Eat/puke/eat…go to the doctor, start the next round, keep up the fight so I didn’t have to miss a treatment. If your blood work comes back with too low a count for some things and too high for others they’d have to stop and wait. I couldn’t risk that. I persevered and made every deadline so I wouldn’t be dead. Was I lucky? Was it mind over matter or mind over what really matters? The tumor shrunk. It would be five years later that the cancer doc told me it was all gone and I didn’t need to see him again. But I knew before then. I wasn’t going to let a bunch of mutant cells sap my whole life force. I truly believe that I never thought I was going to die because of cancer and because I thought that way I didn’t. I will die someday. We all do but if we want to live now we still can. After all, now is all we have. Make the most of it.

George Knaak
p.s. I wrote this for my good friend Pete because he asked.

Our dear brother James fought on for 5 months longer. during this time he wanted to say sorry to his family members If he ever did wrong to them in life… To please forgive him. He made peace with each and everyone of his family and friends. He was a beautiful brother.

He had 6 sisters who really loved him and also a beautiful wife, son and daughter. As it is nearing Christmas and I look back at last Christmas when James was alive, it is nearly the time when he wanted so much to have a Christmas party with his family friends and loved ones.

He put on the biggest Christmas dinner ever. Sadly that was to be his last.. James was a people person. He loved everyone and just seeing people happy was his joy.

I miss you Dear James. I know you are in heaven. …I thank God for the wonderful brother you were. God Bless to each reader

….Martha James, Sister

“Once you choose hope, anything’s possible.” — Christopher Reeve

When we first talked in 2007 about getting cancer patients and their families to tell the world their stories, we had no idea what kind of response we would get. We guessed maybe a handful of people would be willing to write so that The Independent could run a story every three weeks during that summer.

That was more than 18 months ago.

Now, 32 stories later, we are putting to bed the newspaper version of “Cancer Stories: A Chronicle of Personal Journeys.” Writers will still be able to tell their stories at our Web site.

Our aim was to look at cancer outside statistics and science, to consider its personal impacts. Who better to tell those stories than people who have lived with the disease?

Not surprisingly, the 32 stories were laced with courage and anguish, life – and death, joy and grief – all connected by some form of cancer. Among the thousands of words were real people, real families, real life.
The photos, too, told the stories: Cody Boltz’s scar, a constant reminder of his cancer; Kathleen Andersen’s stethoscope, symbolic of her nursing career and care of her late husband, Gary, who died of leukemia; Wilma Luther’s gaze into the light of a Relay for Life candle, a symbol of the power of the survivors lap she walked.
For us as journalists, each story, each family, each journey was a discovery, too.

We found unending eloquence in the writers’ simple truths. We found steely resolve, every stage of grief and, in the face of a cancer diagnosis, a realignment of what is important in life. We found families — dignified, solid and functional, despite the enormous upheaval and stress cancer can bring.

We found humor in the face of sadness.

We found, in every story, a deep, clean well of hope.

Journalists are taught to keep an objective distance. When life and death lingered around every conversation, every anecdote, every memory, every story, however, we found ourselves well outside our safe professional space.

We are grateful for that.

— George Ayoub and Scott Kingsley

By God’s grace

Like most women, I have a mammogram every year. When the nurse called me
in for a second test, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Through years of Bible study and prayer groups, I had learned one thing, and
that is to give all your problems to God. The important two things are not to take the
problems back and to believe and know He has received them.

So, when the nurses called me back in, I just looked up and said, “OK, God, it’s
yours.” That’s all. A great sense of relief filled my being.

Yes, I had a lump in my right breast; it was cancer, and the doctors couldn’t
guarantee it hadn’t metastasized. After a discussion with the radiologist and the cancer
doctor, we decided on a mastectomy.

I felt very comfortable with the discussion, as did my husband. I thought very
positive thoughts and kept a good attitude about all this. I did not need radiation, just
chemotherapy. I got tired easily, but I knew God was with me. I did not get sick or
nauseated until the last treatments and then only a little nauseated.

It’s been 12 years now, and I thank God for His grace and presence during this
time in my life. We have six children, 14 grandchildren and two more on the way. By
God’s grace, I would like to be able to hold these two new ones. And, by the way, I just
turned a beautiful 81 years old.

UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:

Years of Bible study gave Helen a good foundation to face breast cancer.

Helen has battled an infection since July. “I haven’t had any return of the cancer. I believe I gave it to God. He has it, and it’s his.”

Counting on angels

I’m 70 years old.

I lost my husband, Earl Mohr, to cancer March 7, 2006. His funeral was March
11.

On June 7, 2006, I fell eight feet from a roof and broke my back. I was
hospitalized for a week. In October they removed my body cast.

I had some frailness in my body. I thought it was from my back injury, so I started
to exercise some.

On Dec. 6, I went to Des Moines to spend Christmas with my sister, Ann Leeves.
I didn’t think I could spend it at home without my husband and with painful memories.

The next day, I woke up at 3 a.m. with terrible abdominal pain. I called my sister
at her job, telling her I was awful sick with pain. She came right home. The swelling
increased in my stomach, so she took me to the emergency room in Ankeny, Iowa. The
doctors ran some tests. They thought I had a hernia. They wanted a surgeon to
examine me at Mercy Medical Center. I was beginning to really worry.

I had more tests. They said my blood wasn’t normal, so after the pancreas, liver
and gall bladder tests were normal, they did a dye test to check for tumors.

I had Stage 2 ovarian cancer with three tumors: one tumor on the left ovary,
another large one in the fallopian tube, one on the uterus. There wasn’t any history of
cancer in my family as far back as I can remember. I only had my sister with me when I
was told the diagnosis. I had lost a classmate with the same cancer.

They called in a specialist, Dr. Turner. She gave me hope, and then my sister
told my family the bad news.

There wasn’t time to be scared, I guess, no time to think or worry. I was
scheduled for surgery on Dec. 11. My family drove from Grand Island to be with me.

My surgery was minor compared to what some went through. I was dismissed
from the hospital on Dec. 17 but did not come home to Cairo until Jan. 7, 2007.

God chooses what we go through. We choose how we go through it. I was put on
four prayer chains: at the Ericson Methodist Church, a Lutheran church in North Platte,
the Cairo Methodist Church and a Lutheran church in Burwell. Rev. Lambert’s visits and
phone calls were also so helpful.

My son Lee Mohr and his wife, Robin, were with me through chemo after the
surgery. I had six treatments in three weeks. I lost my hair and had vomiting.

April 30, 2007, was my last chemo treatment, and so far I’m cancer free.

When I hear the word “cancer,” I shudder, remembering the pain, the nausea.
You want to help others in their fight for a cure.

I did it with friends, family, doctors, prayers and not ever giving up.

We have angels. They are all around us. You can feel them in your strength and
courage.

UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:

After surviving ovarian cancer, Donna said God chooses what we go through; we choose how we go through it.

“I use a stair stepper. I get blood work every four months, a body scan once a year. Life is great. It is so great.” Donna has been cancer-free since April 2007.

Long journey with love

In October 1973, I was operated on for uterine cancer. It was confined, and no
treatment was required.

My husband, George, died of lung cancer Oct. 5, 1996, a year and a half after
being diagnosed. He was a heavy smoker.

In my dad’s family, three of his six siblings had cancer. On my mother’s side,
there has been no cancer, so I didn’t think that would be my trouble since I had cancer
once.

On the evening of March 4, 2004, I found a lump in the inside of my breast. Was
it a lump or not? After getting a mammogram – my last one had been 16 months earlier – I was told it was cancer.

On March 17, I had a mastectomy. It was very invasive, and the lymph nodes
under my arm were taken. I had eight rounds of chemo and 33 radiation treatments,
which I weathered quite well. My blood counts dropped, so had to have shots to build
the blood up. I was finished with treatments in November, and my hair starting growing.
Yes, I had lost it all. Hair loss is a small matter, but when it grows and no more wigs, it’s
a good feeling.

The year of 2005 went extremely well. I took a couple trips, and life was good
until Christmas, when I started having flu-like symptoms. After many tests, the breast
cancer had metastasized, going to the bones and between linings of my stomach; it was
hard to diagnose.

On my 70th birthday, Feb. 20, 2006, I had half my stomach removed. I was back
on chemo for a year with hair loss and many trips for treatments, checkups and shots to
keep my blood count up. I was then given a two-months break from chemo to heal, but
my cancer counts came up (which is not good), so back I went on chemo.

I know that my faith in God has strengthened me for the fight. Also with the help
of the community, family and friends, the cancer journey has been easier. One hard
problem is asking for help from the many willing people. My oncology doctor and nurses
have been a godsend with their encouraging words and help. The journey has been
long, but with the love and concern of others, life goes on.

As of this writing, the bones are in check if I don’t abuse them – such as too
much walking or standing.

My advice is to get early detection. Get your doctor’s advice and follow it.

UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:

Betty, who has had ovarian, breast and bone cancer, said get early detection and doctor’s advice — then follow it.

“I’m doing pretty well. I have some backaches, a little pain. I take a bone builder and a hormone blocker.”

A ‘miracle’ Journey

In 1986, I was fortunate to attend a seminar where a portion of the program was
conducted by a local radiologist who suggested that women over the age of 50 should
get a baseline mammogram so that subsequent mammograms could be compared to
that first one.

On my visit to my primary care physician, I commented that possibly I should
obtain my baseline mammogram. Fortunately, a small lesion was detected on the X-ray.
Why I would use the word “fortunately” is because the outcome could have been life-
threatening if action had not been taken at that particular time.

The choices then were to have a lumpectomy, which entails removing the cancer
and surrounding tissue, followed by radiation. At that time, radiation would be conducted
in Hastings five times a week for approximately six weeks. The other option was a
mastectomy, removal of the breast. I joked that probably I wouldn’t be able to wear a
double-breasted suit anymore. Currently, a mastectomy is followed by chemotherapy
and/or radiation. Thank goodness, Grand Island now has an excellent medical and
radiation oncology treatment center.

After eight years of being cancer free, I noticed that my flat stomach now had a
bulge, which was out of the ordinary. The next morning after a telephone call to my
surgeon, who was still following my medical condition semi-annually and then annually,
I was able to get into his schedule that same day. After an examination, I was
scheduled for an ultrasound, which revealed a large mass in my pelvic area.

The surgeon said the nurse was able to get me scheduled for surgery the
following morning. I said fine except that my husband was golfing in an out-of-state
tournament and wouldn’t return for three days but added that I would like to have the
surgery the next day and get it over. He advised me that he wouldn’t like that decision if
his wife did that.

My surgery was then rescheduled for the following Monday. Of course, over the
weekend, I could visualize the tumor growing or increasing in size by the minute. The
doctor assured me that was not the case. Again I use the term “fortunately.” Although
the tumor was very large, it was encapsulated, and evidently the cancer had not spread
(metastasized).

My ovarian cancer surgery was followed by approximately six months of
chemotherapy, which was administered locally by four different medical oncologists who
came from Omaha on a regular basis. Grand Island is now blessed with having two
resident medical oncologists and a radiation oncologist at the Cancer Treatment Center.

Yes, some of my hair fell out because of the chemo, so I wore a wig for about six
months. Then I blamed any poor decision or goof while playing cards on that tight wig.

I am so grateful not only for the outstanding medical care but also for all the love,
concern and prayers from my family and friends during my two serious cancer
experiences. I’m sure all that combined with a positive attitude has aided me in being a
cancer survivor.

God has been the guiding force in my cancer journey; that is why my favorite
fragrance is “Miracle” by Lancome. Having had cancer has changed my whole
perspective on life and given me a greater appreciation for each new day.

“Yesterday is past, tomorrow is the future, and today is a gift… that is why it is
called the present.”

My advice for women is to get their annual mammograms, men to get their PSA
tests and everyone to be alert to any subtle changes in their bodies.

UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:

Elizabeth said that, after surviving breast cancer, she has a new perspective on life and a greater appreciation for each and every day.

Elizabeth is leading an actively life, volunteering at church and St. Francis Medical Center and playing bridge. “I am feeling good, great, glad to be alive.”

Three Love Stories

Troy Schultz was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia on March 28,
2007. He bravely battled the disease for the next seven months, undergoing treatments
and getting a bone marrow transplant. Troy passed away on Oct. 22, 2007. He was 33.

With him every step of the way, as caregivers, as prayer partners, as vessels of
comfort, were his loving family: his wife, Melissa, and two children, Mallery, who was
then 6, and Trevor, who was then 10; his mother, Mary Sahling, and her husband,
Scott; his father, Terry Schultz, and his wife, Holly; his brother, Travis Schultz; his sister,
Tracy Gardner; and an extended group of family and friends whose lives he had
touched. You can see more of this extension of love at www.battleoftroy.net.

What follows here is the story of Troy Schultz’s journey, told through the eyes and hearts of his wife, Melissa, his mother, Mary, and his sister, Tracy, three stories, their stories, woven together as one.

A TERRIBLE DIAGNOSIS

MELISSA: Troy had not felt well for a long time but just assumed it was from
working long hours on the ranch we lived on with calving and everything else going on. I
believed he knew for a while that something was seriously wrong, but his mind put him
in denial.

MELISSA: Troy’s symptoms finally got so bad, he actually kept an appointment I
made for him. We waited in the waiting room for a very long time and then waited in the
exam room for about another hour. I thought for sure he would get up and leave like he
usually did. I knew this time had to be different. He lay on the exam table as we
waited patiently for the doctor to come in. He had a huge bruise on his leg, small sores
on his hands that would not heal, sore gums as well as other numerous symptoms. The
doctor took some blood samples and said it was likely staph infection on his leg and
possibly a throat infection.

That night, he called back and asked if Troy was in the house. My heart felt like it
was going to stop beating because I just knew something was very wrong. I told him he
was out tagging calves and asked him why. He told me that his platelet count was
severely low and thought maybe it was a possible problem with his machine, but he
wanted to test it again. He said to have Troy come into the house because, if his
platelets were really that low, it could be fatal.

We decided to have him go to Grand Island immediately the next morning to see
his regular doctor. After more blood tests and a full body CAT scan, we waited for an
oncologist to see the results. The next few hours were terrible. Troy started to have
horrific bone pain, and my mother-in-law and I drove him to the emergency room. I will
never forget the call to Dr. Crouch to ask him what to do and what he thought was going
on. He mentioned some conditions it could be, and all were cancer-related for the most
part.

Then, when he was admitted to the hospital, I glanced at the diagnosis, and it
said acute myelogenous leukemia. I didn’t want Troy to see it, but he knew when I
started to cry. Dr. Copur knew immediately what was going to happen and explained
that it was a fast-moving cancer and told us his length of survival. I think we were all in
shock and just thought it really couldn’t be that. Just when you think you’ve had the
worst day of your life, one more would come along. And then another and another.

MARY: When we found out he had this terrible disease, we as a family stood by
Troy. We heard the bad news from the doctors, but Troy and all of us were positive that
he would be a survivor and beat this. Troy did everything the doctors told him he
needed to do. We watched as he did all the chemo and the radiation and stood by him
while he was so sick from it all. He had gone through so much; we almost lost him
several times. He had MRSA and staph infection; he went through so much pain. I
remember when he got a high fever and the chills, we would all get around him and rub
him and try to make him warm. The things he endured during the short time he found
out he had this, no one should ever have to go through in a lifetime.

TRACY: Letting go is never easy. Love is never having to say goodbye. That
spring day in March 2007, when my brother was diagnosed with cancer, is a day that
forever changed our lives. I have never been so devastated and felt so helpless. For
seven months, I watched my baby brother cope with the most horrible journey of his life.

The day Troy was diagnosed with cancer, I didn’t believe it. It had to be a
mistake. Was I in a bad dream? No way, this was not possible. My brother was the
picture of health and five years my junior. Being the older sibling, I kept thinking, “Why
him and not me? Why? Why? Why?”

In the very beginning, we were told he could possibly survive five to 10 years.
Initially, that was devastating news, but during his battle, it became something we held
on to. Our outlook changed as Troy’s prognosis worsened. So our dreams of having
Troy another 10 years changed to five years. OK, well, maybe three years, but we’d
take two more years with Troy. Come on… one more year?

MARY: This should never happen to a parent. Our children are not supposed to go before us. Losing a child is the most painful experience in life.

MELISSA: Troy was transferred by ambulance to Omaha to the University of
Nebraska Medical Center, where he would be treated by a leukemia doctor. After a
bone marrow biopsy, his doctor called the family into a room where she explained what
we were looking at. It was devastating. I can still feel the pain of that day as I looked into
Troy’s eyes. I just never wanted him to be scared. Because of his genetics, they told
him his chances of survival were only 30 percent. He would need a bone marrow
transplant, and it was very difficult to find a match. We decided to make sure we were
doing everything possible and flew to Seattle, where we met with one of the top
leukemia doctors in the world. He explained everything in detail, as much as we could
understand, and his news seemed even more depressing. I think we went there thinking
we would hear more hope, but instead we heard more unfortunate facts.

MELISSA: Our children, Trevor, 10, and Mallery, 6, had to stay at home three
hours away and try to stay focused in school while they stayed with family and friends.
We told them small details and tried our best to keep them upbeat. I will never forget the
calls from Mallery as she cried at night for us, and I had to hold back the tears until we
hung up. There were times I could not hold it back, and it was so hard to be away from
them for that long.

MARY: I had everything, two wonderful children. I feel so fortunate to have Tracy
and Troy. The kids were normal children, and I feel so lucky that they really didn’t get
into much trouble as teens – oh, your usual things, but we had good kids. They both
blessed me with great spouses and five beautiful grandkids.

Troy was my youngest, and he had decided to go into farming with his father.
They only lived an hour from us, so we could see them a lot. He loved farming. They
were finally getting things the way they wanted and in a few years wanted to build their
dream home. Troy had so many dreams with his wife, Melissa, and their two children.
Everything came crashing down on us when the doctors told us the bad news. It
was like a bomb went off. No, not my son, not my child.

THE TRANSPLANT

MELISSA: Troy had a bone marrow transplant after a practical miracle arrived:
Our nurse coordinator told us one match had been found. Troy was instructed to have a
caretaker, and I stayed by his side and slept in his room. His parents and other family
stayed a lot as well and helped as much as they could. I will always cherish the time we
spent being confined to a tiny room most of the time. We grew even closer during that
time. We never really talked about what we would do if the transplant didn’t work; we
just focused on getting out of there. I tried everything in my power to keep his mind on
other things, to remain positive and make him comfortable.

MARY: During this whole time, I would pray like I have never prayed before to
please let Troy beat this. We hoped he would go into remission, maybe for a long time.
But no, that didn’t happen. He needed the bone marrow to live. They should have
found hundreds of matches on the world search but only found one. It was such a
blessing to have found the single bone marrow match. All along, Troy and all of us
would say, ‘We are going to beat this.’ Then came the day for the bone marrow
transplant. All of Troy’s immediate family were with him, and we celebrated, and they
brought Troy a cake. This was the new beginning.

MARY: Troy knew going into the transplant that he would have graft vs. host
disease, but he knew he could live with some of the bad side effects. He just wanted to
live and fight, and that he did. One side effect he got was neuropathy in his feet. They
burned, and he said it was like needles and pins in the bottom of his feet, so we would
rub them and rub them and try to help him with that pain. I am so grateful that I was able
to be there for Troy and to help him. The entire family pulled together, and I was also a
caregiver for Troy, along with Melissa. Some days went so slow, and as a mother to see
your child suffer and not to be able to take away the pain was just so hard on me.

MELISSA: Troy fought like no one else, and I believe he thought he would be
cured. His white blood count finally started to come up after he went through full body
radiation and several rounds of intense chemo to pretty much kill off all of the cells in his
body. It wasn’t long and his white count started to drop. We were reassured that it can
happen and not to be worried, that the counts fluctuated. Then we had an appointment
with his head leukemia doctor. She wanted to do a biopsy, so deep down we were
thinking something was not right once again. They did another bone marrow biopsy to
see if his new bone marrow was growing. We got a call to come in a day early to get the
results. We had to see one of the other doctors that day, and we had all of Troy’s
immediate family packed in a small room. It was the worst day of my life. The doctor
said that Troy was 97 percent full of leukemia again and there was nothing more to be
done. I wanted to scream and just be taken away from all the emotional pain. Then I
heard Troy, and he was the one who went through all of this hell and for what? To be
told he only had two weeks to two months to live. We all didn’t know what to do. Where
do we go? What do we do? What do we say to our children?

We packed our belongings and tried to wait until our children got home from
school, but instead Troy wanted to pick up Trevor and try to tell him things would be OK.
I will remember every footstep into the school as we waited by his classroom door for
the teacher to get him. Our son had a concerned look on his face as both Troy’s and my
eyes welled up with tears. I felt so bad; we tried to be so strong and wait till the time was
right. We got into the vehicle, and Trevor knew something was very wrong. I drove as
Troy cradled his 10-year-old son and said he would have to leave him.

TRACY: Those thoughts and prayers kept us going every day. Anything we could
do to keep Troy around as long as we could get got us through our days. Troy held onto
this and fought so hard to make it a reality. He was fighting to be the father to his two
children and the husband to his beautiful wife. Whatever time he could give them was
all he asked for. This was all destroyed the day we were told the cancer was back, the
bone marrow transplant didn’t take and they couldn’t do anything more. That very
moment the doctor told us the news we all broke down. Although I was not in denial, I
didn’t believe anything could have prepared you for such a moment.

MARY: They told us that his leukemia was back and the bone marrow transplant
didn’t work. I remember my son crying and saying he didn’t want to die, and we were all
crying. It was the worst day, to know that he had done so much, sometimes taking as
many as 40 pills a day and to find out it didn’t work.

The doctor told Troy and all of us that he had weeks to maybe two months to live.
We all stopped crying, and Troy said to us, “I want to go home to our farm.”
We packed up his things and basically all drove home following each other. I got
a phone call on my cell from Troy. He said, “Mom will you call Dan from All Faiths
Funeral Home and tell him that I would like him to come out this week so I can plan my
own funeral?”

Dan did come out and Troy did plan his own funeral. It was so hard for us just
listening and planning this. We just kept thinking we would have him for two months but
the day they planned his funeral was just four days before he died.

SAYING GOODBYE

MELISSA: The next few days, our home was completely filled with family and
friends. It was absolutely amazing. It was what Troy wanted, to be surrounded by those
who loved him. He was honored to be able to plan his own funeral, which was very
difficult on everyone. He was so courageous. I often ask myself what he had to be
thinking, not only dying physically but mentally. To have to look at his children and
know he would soon have to leave them forever. I know he was scared of dying, but he
never showed it. He will forever be the bravest person I will have ever known. I believe
in my heart he thought he would have more time with us, to talk about what he would
want us to do, to write letters to the kids, to take in every last moment he had. But he
only made it a few days.

MARY: That week was so good. Troy had us call all of our family and friends,
and he wanted to see everyone. People would come and see him and it was hard for
most people. Troy then told everyone that he had accepted God, and he would try to
make them feel better. He would say, ‘Look at all the car accidents and all the young
men dying for our war,’ so it would calm people down. People would bring food, and
Troy loved talking to everyone. Troy wanted to get in the combine and pick corn. He had
to have help, but he didn’t want to stop. He picked for about two hours and he loved it.
Farming was his life. I had stayed at their home that week and helped with whatever I
needed to do. I prayed for God to please take me and not Troy. I know it doesn’t work
that way.

TRACY: There were times when Troy was in such excruciating pain, a pain
beyond belief, but yet he rarely complained. He was brave beyond belief. The pain was
so severe, yet, whenever anyone asked him how he was doing, he answered with a
forced smile: “I’m doing all right.” Troy was always concerned with how his wife and
children were coping. He felt guilty that we all had to put our lives on hold to spend time
taking care of him.

Troy gave in but he never gave up. I watched him fight for his last breath, trying
to hold on to spare his wife the pain of losing a spouse, his children the pain of losing
their dad and our parents the pain of losing a child.

The cancer just wore out his body. Somehow I knew the time had come. We
prayed, we talked, we cried. Realizing how much pain and suffering he had endured, we
did what the nurse suggested: We gave Troy permission to leave us. My once vibrant,
strong and full-of-laughter brother was gone. I hugged him for a long time. As I kissed
him, I whispered in his ear how much I loved him.

MARY: No parent should have to go through this, but in life we don’t know from
one day to the next what will happen.

MELISSA: Troy was at peace at home when he would not awake because of a
hemorrhage in his brain. He was surrounded by family as he took his last breath in the
hospital. We always said if anyone could fight this terrible disease, it would be him. He
fought his hardest and did whatever the cancer team told him and even did more. But
the leukemia was just so powerful, it could not be beat.

We were married for almost 12 years. One day we seemed to have everything,
and the next day it seemed as though it was all taken away from us. We now are faced
with emptiness and a huge hole in our hearts that will never be replaced. It is as if
someone took everything away from us and it will never be given back. What were once
our hopes and dreams are lost, and we are forced to start a new life.

MARY: It was a week from the day they told us the bad news in Omaha that Troy
died. Troy’s funeral was what he had planned. My husband, Scott, was so very close to
Troy, and he sang for Troy’s funeral. Troy told Scott he didn’t have to sing if he didn’t
want to or if he thought he couldn’t, but Scott said he could.

TRACY: It has been over a year since Troy’s death, and it still does not seem like
reality.

There is coping: Denial is how many siblings cope with life after their loss. We
survivors go from thinking that it’s just a bad dream, to not believing it could possibly be
true, to making up fantasies and pretending for long lengths of time that our brother or
sister is just on a vacation or living in another city or state. Denial is a way to get
through, a way to block out the pain. Denial seems to lessen as we get more used to
living our lives apart from our siblings, and to finally go away after things get back to
“normal” (although it will never be the normal we once knew).

Usually, it takes longer, from a few months up to two years, to realize in our
hearts that we will never, ever see them again, that their lives are truly over. And even
after a good amount of time has passed, sometimes you’ll just suddenly hear a song or
think of something that reminds you of your loved one and it hits all over again.

MARY: It bothered me that life was still going on. I thought, “My son is dead, so
why are people mowing lawns and working and on and on?” But life does go on. That
was hard for me. I just thought it should stop. It did for me. They say everyone handles
death differently. Well, for a long time, I wanted to just hide and stay home. I lay in bed
a lot and just didn’t want to see anyone, but I am getting better now, and I know that
Troy wouldn’t want me to do that. He would tell me to get up and start living.

TRACY: Not many people realize how hard it is to lose a sibling. Anyone who
has not experienced losing a sibling has a hard time understanding how it changes your
life and how it really affects you. A sibling bond begins at birth and usually continues
throughout life. Siblings are friends, protectors and confidants who share the same
memories, connections and history. When a sibling dies, you lose not only your present
relationship with them but also a part of your past and the role that your sibling would
have played in your future.

MELISSA: The pain is not only mental but physical and even scary. It hurts to
even think about what happened. The stages of grief keep going around and around in
my head. Thoughts of the sights, smells and sounds throughout Troy’s fight seem
forever engraved in my mind and won’t leave.

MARY: Troy had a big family who loved him and so many friends, too. As a
mother, I keep asking “Why? Why? Why my son?” Sometimes I think it’s all a
nightmare; then I know it wasn’t. I go to see Troy at the cemetery, and I talk to him and
God a lot. I have been so angry that this happened to my son, and I know it’s not God’s
fault, but I’m getting better each day with this. We miss Troy’s phone calls, his
conversations, his loving ways he had. It’s just not fair. I would take his place in a
heartbeat. He had so much living to do, and it hurts me to have to see his family without
him. Ever since he had a son, all he talked about was Trevor playing football. And now
to go to Trevor’s games and Troy not being there with him just hurts so much.

TRACY: There is guilt: The guilt that comes hand in hand with losing a sibling is
overwhelming. Siblings have a very special relationship. Loving each other, not being
able to stand each other, competition, rivalry, growing up together, knowing each other
inside and out, teasing and defending each other are all just a tiny piece of this.
As surviving siblings, we dissect everything we can remember having said or
done and wonder how it could have been better. We feel guilty for living when our
siblings do not get to finish their lives, taking them for granted and assuming they’d
always be here.

MELISSA: The past two years I had gone back to school to get my nursing
degree. I was supposed to graduate in May, but with all that was going on, I felt it was
impossible to continue. I had great instructors who kept me going and wouldn’t let me
quit. I was waiting a long time for the day Troy would watch me graduate from nursing
school, which I did. He was able to see the pictures.

TRACY: There is grief: Grief is a funny thing, and we all approach it differently. In
grief textbooks, it’s almost as if, once the grieving person is through with each stage, the
grief is suddenly just over. Maybe that’s what they call “letting them go.”
It is, however, more of a lifelong process, a jumping back and forth between all
the “stages” and every place in between. People don’t understand that losing a sibling is
a lifetime journey, something that will never stop. They expect you just to be suddenly
over it and fine within a few months or even weeks. You can never know how much
your sibling means to you until they’re gone. You cannot possibly realize how much
influence your sibling has on your day-to-day life or how many small things you love
about your sibling until they are no longer in your life. You lose a part of your past and
your future as it “should have been” with your sibling, and there’s a hole there, an
emptiness that will never again be filled.

MARY: I know that I am not alone losing a child. I just know in my heart that we
should not have to go through this. On Sept. 3, 2008, we lost our 15-year-old niece,
Gena Sahling. She had fought osteosarcoma cancer for 3 1/2 years, and now her
parents and brothers are going through the same thing we did.

I know that Troy had his arms wrapped around Gena and welcomed her into
heaven.

TRACY: It wasn’t “just” a brother or sister; they were a part of us, that one person
whom we have known from birth until death, and we miss them and grieve for them
every day and always will. Siblings are the forgotten grievers, but our pain is very real
and intense. The pain is infinitely worse than anything imaginable, and the pain never
goes away. Your life is forever changed, the way you see everything in the world is
utterly and completely altered. Nothing is unaffected. And even though we know that
certain things such as looking through pictures, listening to songs or watching old home
videos are going to upset us, we’re going to do it anyway because they bring comfort
along with the tears. Appreciate and treasure your siblings. Never take them for granted
and live each day like it could be yours or their last.

MARY: I know that Troy is in heaven, where we all will go someday. I know it’s a
much better place so that does help some, but I just really want my son here now. I take
one day at a time, and I know that I will never be the same Mary again. My life has
changed. October 22, 2008, was one year that Troy has been gone. It seems like
yesterday that he died.

I do wish that we can do more for leukemia or any cancer or any of the terrible
diseases. I know in time scientists and doctors will be able to do more for people like
Troy. We all need to help.

MELISSA: I now struggle as a single parent. It is not easy and the kids have so
many questions that cannot be answered. Mallery asks if her daddy will come back if
she prays all day and all night. She asks if he has hair now, what he looks like, and
what he is doing. Trevor is lost inside and would do anything to be farming by his
father’s side. There is so much Troy had planned to do with them, and now it will never
happen. I hope what he had instilled in their minds will remain forever.

My family was very close to Troy as well and did everything they could to help.
I am thankful for Troy’s family for all their support. His parents were there for him
so much, and it meant everything to him to have them near him. And I am thankful for
the support they gave me and still keep giving. Trevor and Mallery need their family
more than ever, and I am so thankful for all the help that they offer.

UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:

Troy Schultz’s wife, mother and sister remember his incredible courage in the face of acute myelogenous leukemia.

“To be able to tell Troy’s story has been very therapeutic and nurturing. It also has touched the lives of so many people who knew Troy and also those who followed his battle. There are so many people who are affected by cancer. By telling our stories, we hope people do not have to feel alone and can feel the magnitude of how terrible cancer is and also how important it is to find a cure. We want to thank everyone for reading the story and for all the wonderful comments from everyone.”

Happy with heavenly family

My mom, Marie Kube of Crofton, died Sept. 7, 2004. Whenever The Grand Island
Independent ran a cancer story, the temptation to tell my story kept gnawing at me. I kept
pushing that nagging thought away. I would have to think about too many memories … memories
that I have tucked away. But the story writing kept taunting me. I must tell my story.

My mother was on 75 when she was diagnosed with cancer of the ampulla of vater, a
cancer of the head of the pancreas. There was longevity in her family. Her mother passed away
just shy of reaching 100. She was the youngest of 11 siblings. All but one sister are alive and well
and no history of cancer.

Mom was a young 75, healthy. She walked one to two miles daily. She was very active in
her church and community. She took care of my dad, who was showing signs of early dementia.
She had regular checkups. Her only medication was for osteoporosis. But in the spring of 2002,
she noticed a lack of appetite. Not worrying about it too much, she thought it nice to lose a little
weight. Not long after that, she noticed her skin yellowing. She had no pain. She had no other
symptoms.

After some exhausting tests and anxious days, the ampullary cancer diagnosis was made.
My family researched, consulted experts and educated ourselves as much as possible to try to
make the right decisions. After many prayers, rosaries and novenas, my mom and her seven kids
thought her best chance for a cure was to have this “big surgery,” known as the Whipple
operation. The head of the pancreas, a portion of the bile duct, gall bladder, duodenum and part
of the stomach are removed. We located a doctor at the Mayo Clinic who performs one of these
big surgeries almost daily, about three to four per week. So the Mayo Clinic was our choice
because of the doctor’s experience with this surgery.

She got through the sever-hour surgery without complications. But of the 30 or so
biopsied lymph nodes, three came back positive … which meant metastasis … which meant the
cancer had already spread … which meant chemotherapy and radiation.

So after the surgery, Mom prepared herself for the next phase of her cure. With more
research, consults with oncologists, further treatment was decided to be done at the University of
Nebraska Medical Center three months after her surgery. It was more foreign territory for Mom -
5FU, a chemotherapy drug; tumor markers; Infusaport; radiation tattoo markings. The words
“Boost” and “Ensure” (the high-caloric drink most chemo patients are familiar with) became like
cuss words for Mom. She hated it all so much, the drinks, the chemo side effects, the no energy.
But she did what she needed to do to stay strong and gain weight. With all of her family
supporting her and staying with her, she got through her six weeks of chemo and radiation.

She fought for 29 long months. Some good days. Some not-so-good days. She underwent
another round of chemotherapy in the spring of 2004. She had more knowledge of PET scans, CAT
scans, tumor markers and pancreatic enzymes than she ever wanted to know about. And when
she sensed she may be losing the battle to this hideous disease she continued to have her faith
and trust in the will of the Lord. She would say that this was her cross. Her courageous words,
“Why not me?” were always a part of her conversations.

Her final hours were spent with Dad, her kids and her grandkids at her bedside, praying
rosaries and the beautiful Chaplets of Divine Mercy. We were in our home, where Mom and Dad
raised seven kids and where she lived for 55 years with my father. A hospice nurse was in the
background, never interfering with the grieving family but so helpful, supportive and
compassionate. Our dog, Jake, who would always accompany Mom on her daily walks, became so
agitated the night she died that he tore the screen on out front porch door.

I believe Mom is in heaven now, watching and guiding her kids and grandkids. I still catch
myself trying to call her when I need to ask her why my peach jam didn’t set or why my apple pie
doesn’t taste like hers.

My 6-year-old niece, Abby drew a picture the day after her passing, and we used it on the
funeral card. The drawing had six images on it: Gandma’s guardian angel, Mary, Jesus, the hand of
God, a bird representing the Holy Spirit, and Grandma in the middle of all these figures. In Abby’s
picture, Grandma was happy and smiling. She was free of wrinkles, free of pain and full of joy. She
is now with her heavenly family and couldn’t be happier.

UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:

After fighting for 29 months, Patti’s mother, Marie Kube, died of pancreatic cancer. Marie’s courage was clear, as toward the end, she often said, “Why not me?”

“It was hard and sort of scary to write Mom’s story … sort of like baring my soul … knowing it would be published and so many people would read it. It did cause some anxiety that weekend when I knew it was going to be published.

“My main desire for writing the story was to pay my mom tribute. I felt a good way to honor her would be to bring back some of my memories of her cancer and how I perceived it … and share her journey with others. Maybe it would help someone going through something similar.”