Beyond Angeles

Chapter 5

Friends visit

After Dr. Walton left, Jefren told us he felt lousy. He did all day, through several tests and doctors visits, until about 3:30 that afternoon. That’s when company came: his brother, Randy, and Freddy arrived with Sandy. They cheered him up, and Jefren got to give them the grand tour. They spent a lot of the time at the hallway computer.

When they left, I rode home with them. Janet kept her car with her in case she needed it, and stayed at the hospital with Jefren.

We go through chemo together

That night, Eli wanted to sleep in the waterbed with me, instead of in his room. I said okay. Whenever Janet and Jefren were at the hospital, Eli wanted to sleep in the waterbed with me. I usually let him.

After we went to bed, I fell asleep pretty quickly. But about 11:30 I woke up with a start: Death—a blackness that destroyed whatever it touched was creeping across my chest from my right side toward my heart.

It was the most horrid experience I’d ever had. Blackness, no living vibrations at all, was killing everything in its path. And its path was through me.

I knew right away what it was: Jefren’s chemotherapy had begun.

But I didn’t know how to deal with it. I was an hour and a half away from Jefren, who was actually going through this. What was he experiencing? It must have been excruciating.

For years, I’d spent most of my time increasing energy/life in my body, through diet, exercise, and meditation. Now, Black Death was pouring along my chest, a mass of huge, dark, ugly things that killed everything they touched. Starting on my right and flowing over to my heart, black holes swept through me, stopping all life wherever they touched. If Life is vibration, these things were the opposite: no vibration at all—just emptiness, a terrible void of nothing.*

It was absolutely dreadful. By now I was completely awake. All I wanted was to get away from it, to run from it, but there was no where to go. I tried directing golden light at the blackness, but nothing happened. It just kept coming. I tried white light, and again, like a black hole, it absorbed the light and killed it—turned it into nothing. Didn’t assimilate it, didn’t grow with it or change it to something else. Just killed it.

Nothing I could do would stop it. I tried the God-self exercise, asking God how to serve Her, how to end this, then listened. But all I heard was this Dead Silence, this non-life, overwhelming everything inside me.

I couldn’t think of anything else to do. After forty-five minutes, I got up and went to bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I tried directing light of different colors to my chest, but it didn’t help. I stood there, praying, trying lights, putting protective shields around me, anything I could think of. Nothing helped.

I thought of Jefren, how helpless he would be against this onslaught. He didn’t even know about using prayer, or love, or light—and none of those even worked. I hoped he was asleep and missing it all, or only feeling physically uncomfortable and not aware of this horror. I prayed that he was.

Standing in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, I pushed light out from my heart for almost two more hours while this Death continued to flow through and around me non-stop.

At 2:10 a.m. it stopped. A few minutes later, a cool wave, like clear water, flowed across my chest. It was quite refreshing compared to the ordeal now over. I breathed a sigh of relief, then thought: if I go through this every time Jefren has chemo, I’ll never survive.

After regaining my composure, and thanking God it was over, I called the hospital. I wanted to document this, verify what I knew was going on. I didn’t want to disturb Janet and Jefren, in case they were asleep, so I asked for the nurses’ station. I told them who I was.

“Do you want to speak with your wife?” the woman asked.

“No, I don’t want to disturb her, if she’s asleep,” I said. “I just wanted to find out how everything was going.”

“Everything’s fine. The chemo just ended about ten minutes ago,” I was told.

“Okay, thanks,” I said.

“Any messages?”

“Just tell Janet that I called—and when.”

Getting Grounded

Next morning I was a wreck. Two nights of almost no sleep alone would have done me in. With the after-effects of the chemo, I was kuputnic. Staggering out of bed, I pulled on some clothes, got Eli breakfast and sent him off to school.

Then I wandered around in a daze till it was late enough to impose on people. I called Amy. “I’m a wreck,” I said. “I went through Jefren’s chemo last night.”

She sympathized with me, then said, “You’re both so empathic and so bonded. It’s a shame we didn’t have more time to strengthen you before chemo started. We’ll just have to make do.”

She told me to go outside and sit on the ground.

“It’s cool out there, so bring a blanket,” she said. “Then ask Mother to remove anything that is not yours. It should just take a few minutes,” she said.

So I went outside. Figuring it was closer to earth, I sat in the garden. Then I asked Mother to remove what was not mine.

Some time later, I did feel better. But it took me about forty-five minutes.

During that time, I did one more thing.

When I had been talking to Amy, I asked her if my going through the chemo with Jefren helped him, or if it was just two for the price of one.

“Two for the price of one.” she said. I didn’t mind if it helped him— but if it didn’t help him, why go through it?

Amy told me I could structure an agreement with God to send to me anything Jefren couldn’t handle and I could .

“That would help him,” she said.

So while I was out there, sitting on the ground, I prayed for that.

“Beloved,” I thought, “If there is some discomfort Jefren can’t handle but I can, please pass it on to me to help him.”

I got the feeling that it was okay— that it would happen, though maybe not much. Being as empathic as I am, it wouldn’t take much to overwhelm me.

Amy had also suggested getting some dirt and putting it in a plastic bag in my pocket to keep me connected to the earth, so I would be more present. I put some a paper towel, folded it up and put it in my left pant’s pocket. I kept it with me for over a year.

Learning about chemo

Thursday, Janet and I met with Gwen, the other oncology nurse. She was going to explain all about chemotherapy to us.

During the meeting, we learned how chemotherapy works: the only time they could kill the cells was when the cells were dividing. (Remember how cells multiply from school? A cell eats and grows and grows, then when it gets big enough, it divides in two. Then there are two cells instead of one. They each eat and grow for a while, then split again. Now there are there are four. And so on.) The chemo worked by killing the cells just as they divide.

But there is no way to know when they divide, so the doctors use a shotgun approach over time: they just keep giving the chemo, time and time again, hoping to catch as many cancer cells as possible while they are dividing. And their system works: more and more people are beating cancer.

In Jefren’s case, their method meant chemo three out of every five weeks. The first week was the “heavy” chemotherapy, followed by two weeks to recover (Jefren never made it the whole two weeks— side effects always had him back in the hospital before they were over). Then two weeks of chemo back-to-back, then the whole thing began all over again. After two of these five week cycles Jefren would have surgery to remove his tumor, then four more five-week cycles.

Gwen also gave us lists of symptoms to watch out for. Because the chemo destroys the immune system as a side effect, Jefren wouldn’t be able to fight off infections or even a cold.

The main thing, she told us, was never to panic. If we saw one of the symptoms, we should call the hospital— someone was always on call.

As it turned out, we did call the hospital frequently. Sometimes, they made Jefren come back as an emergency patient.

We also started learning a whole new medical vocabulary: the names of drugs, procedures, and side effects.

Central line care

During the week, Janet also learned how to take care of Jefren’s central line. I didn’t watch. Someone was going to have to do it every other day while Jefren was at home. Because I was so squeamish, it fell to Janet, who held up remarkably well.

Barbara taught people full time. So many people (in different parts of the hospital) had central lines, she just went from one department to another, showing people how to care for them.

Jefren did okay the first time she came. She did the dressing change, explaining each step to Janet as she went along. She told Janet to watch the nurses when they do it, and to practice. She gave Janet a folder with instructions and said she’d be back Saturday to show her one more time.

Saturday

The chemo started Tuesday night. By Saturday, Jefren had lost 10 lbs. of the 83 he started with. He slept most of the week— a side-effect from one of the anti-nausea drugs. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop him from vomiting, every hour at twenty after. You could almost set your watch to it. He didn’t eat, drink or talk. He barely got out of bed.

Jefren didn’t like that anti-nausea drug. It didn’t stop him from vomiting, just made him sleep. After that treatment, it was almost five months before he was willing to try that drug again.

His grandfather from Kentucky came for a visit, and bought him a large toy spider that dropped two feet whenever there was a loud noise. We hung it from the ceiling and Jefren startled his nurse with it, laughing at her reaction: she really jumped and squealed.

Sunday, Jefren was still lousy, unable to eat or drink. Monday, he came home.

Strengthening ourselves

The first week in the hospital gave us a taste of what was to come. Frankly, I couldn’t handle it— not without some help. I ordered several ayur-vedic herbs to balance me, which helped.

We also increased our nutritional supplements— during stressful times, your body can need more. And we tried to go to bed earlier. The first week, ten o’clock was a good night. We moved it up to 9:15 or earlier whenever possible. That also helped.

Janet was doing better. But we knew we had to watch her, or she’d burn out, too.

We worked out a routine of who would be at the hospital, who would be at home. Basically, it was a two-day on, two-day off kind of thing— but if one of us needed more time off, we were flexible. I usually did— after two days in the hospital, it usually took three to be functioning well again.

Spreading the news

Around this time, we started making our “Jefren is going to be fine” announcements. From the first day, we didn’t want people feeling badly about Jefren. We wanted them thinking of him positively, as getting better and doing well. We figured their prayers and their good thoughts would help more than just sympathy, so we always spoke in an uplifting, positive way.

Thoughts create. We wanted as many people as possible thinking of Jefren as healthy and whole, to create that.

Amy told us that a large number of people praying together with love has a very strong positive effect, almost as good as a yagya.

So when we met people— and we went out of our way to— we told them very positively what was going on.

“I just wanted you to know—everything’s going to be all right,—but Jefren has cancer. He’s going through chemotherapy. He’ll have surgery on his leg and be in a cast from hip to toe for a year. After that, everything will be fine again.”

Then we’d ask them to put us in their prayers.

Everyone we asked said they would.

Friends appear, helping us

Already, Sandy, Elizabeth Turner, and Amy had come forward to help. Right away, many others called to offer help.

Gail organized the synagogue Sisterhood to cook supper for us whenever Jefren was in the hospital. Gail also arranged for Donna, Leah, Meg and herself to clean our house several times while Janet was in the hospital with Jefren. Luana offered to help raise money for yagyas. Nicki Armstrong offered us legal advice to help our finances, and worked with the Synagogue Board. She wrote a letter about us to raise money for the Tzadakah fund* for our benefit.

Donna, Jefren’s Bar Mitzvah teacher, offered to do Reike healing for him from a distance. People offered us information on different methods of healing. We welcomed them all for the good wishes they represented. We deferred suggestions that included taking pills, since Jefren couldn’t get them down; or that required getting any food, drink or item into Jefren, since he was already overwhelmed with all that he was taking. We also didn’t allow anything we felt conflicted with Jefren’s current treatment plan, but almost none did.

The principal at Jefren’s school arranged for a home-bound tutor for the days Jefren was home. She was wonderful, even reading his books to him when he was too out of it, as he often was. She moved away in the spring, so another caring woman took her place. Jefren graduated seventh grade through the compassion of those two.

People we didn’t know before came to help. Cassie, from the chaplain’s office at the hospital, helped. Teens volunteering at the hospital kept Jefren company, playing with him on treatment days.

Maggie, the head of Life Services, kept Jefren busy with afternoon and evening group activities for all the children in the oncology floor. Each Thursday there was a special weekly meeting just for teens with cancer.

And many people prayed for him. Others gave money to the Tzadakah fund on our behalf.

We are still grateful to all of them.

Jefren gets shots

Even with the central line, Jefren had to get special shots. The first medicine they had given him Tuesday — and at the beginning of every five-week cycle— had a serious kickback: it wiped out all his body’s defenses ten days or so after the treatment. His neutrophils* and white blood cells levels would drop, often to zero. If he got an infection then, his body would not be able to fight it off.

To re-build the supply of neutrophils and white blood cells, Jefren had to get G-CSF shots. Unfortunately, it couldn’t go through the central line because it could clog the tube. So starting when his levels went down— about ten days after the treatment— Jefren had to have a shot each morning until his levels were back up.

Sandy, who was helping in so many other ways, came through again. She was a nurse, and every day she would drive over just to give Jefren his shot.

I couldn’t believe how well Jefren took them. Coward that I am, I left the room, but ten seconds later, he was done and back playing without even a whimper. But the shots alone weren’t enough.

Jefren gets re-admitted

Twelve days after his chemo began —and less than six days after he’d come home— Jefren had a fever. Early Sunday morning, before most people were up, I called UIHC. The resident on call told me to take him to the emergency room, so he and I piled into the car, heading for the emergency room of Jefferson County Hospital across town.

Jefren wasn’t doing well. Right after we got there, he threw up. He was shivering, even in his coat, and had a fever. He was dragging and tired, and hurt all over.

The doctor there called the oncology department at UIHC. Then he told us we should just to go there.

“I could take some blood and run some tests,” he told us, “But he’s going to end up there no matter what. They’ll do the same tests first thing, and there’s no reason to put him through them twice.”

The emergency room visit took an hour and a half. Meanwhile, Janet had gotten washed, eaten breakfast, and packed her and Jefren’s overnight bags. Jefren and I drove home. I got out, Janet got in, and off they went to Iowa City.

Things get worse

Jefren’s health really took a nose dive. Right away, the doctors at the hospital put him on three different kinds of antibiotics “to cover all the bases,” and fluids, all through his central line. Jefren still was not eating well, and even after several days and many more of the shots he was doing badly.

I wasn’t prepared for this. For the first time, I was concerned about his health. “Concerned” as in “terrified.”

Janet had told me Luana had offered to raise money for yagyas for Jefren. Amy had said we didn’t need any, but “things could change— you need to keep monitoring the situation.”

I thought things had changed: we’d better do one right away.

Luana asked what yagyas he needed. I told her (we had gotten recommendations as soon as he had been diagnosed). She said she would start the ball rolling, but what could we do from our side? She said she would contact the synagogue but they would want to know what we were doing.

I explained our financial situation; since this started, we hadn’t had any income. There wasn’t much we could do.

Then I remembered Jefren had some money in the bank from his Bar Mitzvah. It was enough to cover at least one yagya. Even though five had been recommended, only the second one kept nagging at me. That was the one I felt we should do first.

Luana said she’d get back to me, but to assume we’d get the money.

She said Maharishi said it was better to do yagyas than to “save the money for some future that might not be.”

I called Janet and she agreed. We ran it by Jefren as something that could help him. He mumbled okay. Then I called the yagya office to make the arrangements.

People giving love

Amy said the important point about the yagya was that it gave other people a chance to help Jefren who might not have a way otherwise. She said that was true about all the people who gave money, helped us, or said prayers for him: it was their way of showing their love for him.

The yagya was scheduled right away— only a day or two later. And it did help. During it, Jefren’s health began to improve. He got better quickly after that.

A few days later, after almost a week in the hospital, he came home.

* This is nothing like the Absolute. The Absolute has nothing there, but it is vibrant, full of life and energy, a blissful field of all possibilities.

* In Jewish tradition, it is considered a great blessing to help others. Many synagogues have Tzadakah funds for members to give money to. The money is then used help those in need.

* A type of white blood cells in the bone marrow which help fight infections.