#my mom started medical treatment which side effects include memory loss and she just became like me. ;((( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spartanchick6 · 4 years

Text

Testimony

Ever since I was a little girl, I had a deep desire to know God. At first, I had to be convinced that there was a God and that He cared about me. I wanted to know that when I talked to God, I wasn’t just talking to the air. I needed to know that God really did hear me and love me.

My story begins from a point in time when I was carefree, curious, and wondering how God fit into my life. It began for me when I was about five years old. Each night as I would lie in bed and say my prayers, I asked God to come down and touch me so that I would be assured that He really was there and could actually hear me. I also wanted to know that He cared enough to not only listen, but also answer me. I would end my prayers each night with a similar request for God to touch me, indicating His presence. I repeated this prayer night after night with the determined persistence of a young child. I never felt defeated or ignoredto the point of quitting. Instead, I kept praying the same prayer night after night as I patiently waited for God to respond. I never gave up asking God, as children seldom do when wanting something bad enough for a genuine answer to my prayer. I seemed to have an endless supply of patience and trust that my prayer would be answered. I’m not sure exactly how long I continued with my persistent prayer, but I am convinced that it was over a year.

Suddenly, one night after repeating this prayer and while drifting off to sleep, I was awoken by a sweet, gentle, calming touch on my back. The touch was applied with just enough pressure to awaken me, yet not alarm me. I immediately thought of my prayer to God and knew it was Him. To reinforce my belief that it was His touch, I looked at my sister, who shared the bedroom and saw that she was sound asleep. I then went to my parent’s bedroom door and opened it quietly and saw that they were both asleep too. As I climbed back into my bed, I was elated with the warmest feeling knowing that God had finally answered my prayer. I now knew that He really was there and He really heard everything I said. My faith had begun, and my love for God could now blossom.

My family consisted of my Dad, Mom, and older sister. When going into second grade, we moved to Chicago, Illinois. My Dad had just graduated from medical school and was selected to complete his residency in a large hospital situated right in the downtown area of Chicago. We lived in a high-rise apartment right across the street from “my dad’s” hospital. It seemed everything in our apartment was white, including the tile on the floor, the cupboards, and the walls. It was not homey but had a rather sterile feeling to it. I attended a little two-room schoolhouse. Second grade was in one room, and third grade was in the other. My sister, who was in the fourth grade, and I would ice skate every day after school. We skated on a basketball court that was flooded during the winter and would freeze solid. I remember us walking home from school with our ice skates slung over our shoulders. These were good memories, but at this period, I distinctly realized that something in my family started to change.

My Dad was gone a lot of the time, because he was very busy with his residency. It was during this year that my sister and I started noticing some very strange things. My Mom would periodically “blackout” and faint for no apparent reason. My Mom became very critical of my sister and me and would incessantly yell at us. It reached a point where she seemed to be yelling at us all the time. Sometimes my Mom would hit my sister and cause her to cry. When my Dad would come home, I would “tattle” to him and tell how mean Mom was to us. I especially emphasized her actions following the times that she struck my sister. My Dad would get very upset over these reports and have what seemed like serious talks with our mother. Sometimes, when I tried to tell my Dad what Momhad done, she would stand behind him, so he wouldn’t know she was there and shake her fist at me, indicating that I had better not tell. On those occasions, I would tell Dad that we had a good day, thus being too afraid of what Mom would do to us if I spoke the truth. It took my Dad a while, but he finally discovered that her excessive drinking of vodka caused my Mom’s bad temper and blackouts.

When my Dad’s residency was over, we moved back to our original home. My mother continued her excessive drinking. Her problems were inflamed by the fact that my Dad was now a fulltime doctor and working extremely long hours. In fact, he was one of only a very few doctors that still did house calls. He would come home from a 14-hour day only to be called out again, leaving us alone with our mother. It seems that the long hours of separation within the family took its toll. We would find indications of our mother’s loneliness in her empty Vodka bottles, which she had hidden throughout the house. My sister and me were left unsupervised most of the time.

One night, I remember hearing my Dad crying. He had received a call that his father died from a gunshot wound to the head. My Dad had previously lost his mother to a long, drawn-out battle with breast cancer. His father had helplessly watched as she agonized through the pain and side effects from treatment therapies. Recently, my Grandfather was diagnosed with cancer and chose to commit suicide as opposed to what he believed would be a long, drawn-out battle.

The pressures on my Dad compounded with the loss of both of his parents, long hours from a rapidly growing medical practice, and the hardships of an alcoholic wife. This led to him having excruciating migraine headaches, which would not abate with simple aspirin. He medically diagnosed himself and treated his migraines with prescription painkillers. These medicines worked for a time, but the migraines continued. He increased the strength of the painkillers until he was using the very addictive narcotics. The narcotics made him very tired and started him on the use of amphetamines to keep him awake. At night he used barbiturates to counter the effect of the amphetamines.

My sister and I noticed that our Dad began to sleep late in the mornings, which was very unusual. His medical answering service would call urgently requesting to speak with our Dad. We would attempt to wake our Dad to answer these calls, but he would tell us to say that he was not home. I hated lying to the people at the answering service and could tell by the tone of their voice that they suspected I was not telling the truth.

My sister and I had the nicknames of “Toothpick” and “Stringbean” because we were exceptionally skinny. I remember havin such bad hunger pains. There were a lot of nights that we spent eating frozen dinners in front of the television. We were very fortunate that our mother’s parents lived close enough to take my sister and me for the weekends. They helped in our care as much as they could. My grandparents were the ones who took us to amusement parks and fishing. They are a big part of my good memories.

Each morning, my sister and I would get up by ourselves and leave for school. Our hygiene was a problem without assistance from our mother. In addition to being skinny, we had long blond hair with huge snarls from neglect. Each weekend our grandmother would wash our hair and, demonstrating exceptional patience, spend hours combing out the tangles. To this point, I was never instructed on the necessity of washing my face and brushing my teeth. It was not until an extremely embarrassing Moment when, in fourth grade, a teacher pulled me aside and explained the reasons why I would want to wash and brush. Once the alcohol took hold of our mother, our existence and necessities became irrelevant.

Initially, the night was an escape from the realities of the day, although as time progressed, the nights grew worse. Often our mother would roam the house in a drunken stupor. Other times she would lie in bed moaning so loud that sleep was impossible. I can remember getting so frustrated after being kept up for hours that I would initially plead and then scream at her to “shut up”, yet even my actions were no avail. Numerous times our parents would call, waking my sister and I, for us to come and lead them to the bathroom. My Dad was so numb with narcotics that he couldn’t even walk to the bathroom. He would lean on my sister and I as we guided him down the hallway. Also, my mother was routinely so drunk that she also had to be led to the toilet. Sometimes we would even have to take them to the bathroom at the same time. We would wait outside of the bathroom door while they used the toilet. Sometimes they even passed out in the bathroom and we would have to rouse them from their daze and guide them back to their bed. The stress of these escalating situations came out in me in the form of nervous ticks. I was known for unconsciously twitching my eyes and making noises in my throat. Also, I sucked my thumb long beyond what is considered normal for a child.

The tribulations at home were making my life at school exceptionally difficult. I experienced continual fatigue and reoccurring headaches. Unfortunately, no one knew of our plight and we didn’t feel we could confide in anyone without risking our Dad’s reputation. We didn’t want to destroy our Dad’s career as a doctor.

The problems at home were directly affecting my relationships at school. I never felt like I fit in or was a part of the group. I was continually thinking about what was happening at my home. I wondered what my mother was doing at home, instead of paying attention in the classroom. I never invited friends home after school or on weekends for fear of what I would find when we walked into the house. Each day I shuttered to think what was going on beyond the front door when I returned home after school. Some days my Mom would be more or lesssober and at other times it was like walking into a nightmare. My own personal struggles compounded when I began to be drawn to the “cool” kids in order to fit in and have friends. I was drawn to the “cool” kids who applied subtle pressure to mimic their actions. I spiraled into a world of drinking, smoking and experimentation with drugs. I did not even notice my own slide into a mental and emotional hell. I continued to experiment with marijuana and hashish. I remember several times when I stayed “stoned” for several days at a time. Surprising as it may sound, I was only twelve years old when I was hopelessly harming my physical, mental and spiritual body with alcohol, cigarettes and drugs. Around this time, when looking back, I must have been the kind of unlovable and hardened child that others wanted their own children to avoid. One day, a very wonderful woman who lived next door, reached out and invited my sister and me to accompany her to a place called the “Gospel House”. That night I heard some pretty awesome stuff. They told me that I could know God as I had never known him before. They said that I could be a part of God’s very own family and when I died I could be sure I was going to heaven. They showed me where in the Bible it states that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. No matter how hard we try to be good, it’s not enough. We all have sin. It says that the penalty for sin is death. But it also says that God loves us so much that He gave His only begotten Son to die on the cross for our sins that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but will have eternal life. By repenting of our sins and asking Jesus into our hearts, we could know for sure that we are a part of God’s family and that we would go to heaven. I went back for a number of weeks, because I had finally found the answer in my quest to know God more. It wasn’t something that you just said or did. It was the beginning of a life long commitment to love God. I would become totally dependent on God and trust Him with all aspects of my life. I could begin a relationship with God where I could grow closer and closer to Him the more I began to know Him. I remember praying and asking Jesus to forgive me for my sins and to come into my heart and life. I thought I should feel a little “saintly” or experience some great revelation, but in truth I didn’t feel any different. I did feel confident, though because now I knew that God had a purpose for everything I was going through and that He was going through it with me. My Dad tried to break the chains of addition by enrolling in several rehabilitation programs but his attempts to quit his addiction always failed. There were numerous occasions when one of our parents would overdose and fall into a coma. Mom had begun supplementing her drinking with amphetamines to wake her up and barbiturates to allow her to sleep like my Dad. One time my Dad fell into a deep coma that lasted for over a day. My mother and grandparents were very worried and argued over calling taking him to the hospital. The argument revolved between saving his life and whether he would lose his medical license if drugs were discovered in his blood. They couldn’t agree so they pulled my sister and I into the bedroom and told us to decide what to do. Rarely is a child left with making so traumatic a decision for adults. My sister and I were crying and didn’t know what to do. After about another half-hour of not knowing what to advise, my Dad awoke from the coma and appeared all right. Thus, we didn’t have to inform anyone about his condition and jeopardize his career, although our family’s personal hell would continue.My mother’s alcohol addiction and drug abuse caused numerous psychological and physiological neuroses to take hold and come out in unexpected forms. She appeared to have episodes resembling full-blown paranoid schizophrenia. She would tell us elaborate stories of how she was being watched by people who wanted to get her and destroy our Dad. Also, she believed that our house was bugged with listening devices. She drew arrows in blue chalk on the walls of the basement indicating where she had found wiretaps into our phone lines. The blue arrows were all over the walls. One night my Dad verified our mother’s claim that a car actually attempted to run them off of the road. My sisterand I lived in constant fear of our mother and the supposed “people” who were after us. At the time, we didn’t fully realize that our mother was no longer rational and was totally controlled by alcohol and drugs. The terrible downward spiral of life continued when on one night in particular my mother became mad at my sister and started burning all of her clothes in the basement incinerator. My Dad slapped my mother on the side of her head with such force, that it burst her eardrum. On another occasion, my mother was so mad at my sister and me that she beat us on our bare bottoms with the bristled side of a hairbrush. Our baby-sitter neighbor told us that she heard us screaming but for some reason, no one came to our assistance or attempted to intervene. As such young girls, my sister and I were helpless to change our situation. Sometime later, when my sister was fourteen and I was twelve, we were thankful because our Dad told us that he had finally overcome his addictions. One evening, a short while later, our Dad said he was going out to the garage and my sister and me became suspicious from something in his voice and followed him. We found out that he had hidden some drugs in the garage and he was planning on taking them. My sister and I threatened that if he took any of the drugs that we were leaving for good and going to live at my grandparent’s house. Dad went ahead and took the drugs, which caused my sister and me to pack our bags and walk to our grandparent’s home.We decided to stay at our grandparents for a few days to see how things progressed at home. The next evening, my sister and I attended a service at the Gospel House. Suddenly, our grandparents rushed into the service and asked us to leave. They said that our Dad had a terrible accident and hit his head by slipping in the bathtub. We rushed home only to find that our Dad wasn’t in the bathroom, but that he was laying face down halfway out the back door. My Mom was standing over him screaming that he was dead and that we had done this to him. Again came the argument between our grandparents and mother as to whether to call the ambulance. I looked at my Dad and knew something was terribly wrong. I went into the house and called an ambulance, while my grandparents and mother continued to argue. The ambulance came and took not only took my Dad, but also my Grandfather. It was all too much for my grandpa and he had started having chest pains. He had had previous heart attacks. Mom ran and locked herself in the bedroom and kept screaming that it was our fault dad was hurt. My grandmother called a mental institution where my Mom had spent some time earlier in the year. The institution people came and handcuffed my Mom and dragged her screaming out of the house and into a waiting car. I didn’t like the way they were dragging my mother and I remember feeling bad for Mom, but due to her continual screaming at us, was also glad to have her taken away. Sometime later that evening, my sister and me learned our Dad had died. We spent the rest of that night at our grandparent’s house. Grandpa spent the night in the hospital and came home the next day. My sister and me assisted our grandparents in arranging for the funeral. Grandma called the mental institute and they allowed our mother to attend the funeral, but she had to return for additional observation and treatment. I was too numb with shock and grief to even cry at my Dad’s funeral. It took a long before I could openly cry from the grief. My sister was very angry with God for taking her beloved Dad. I personally told God how bad I hurt inside, but also thanked Him for being with me. I was comforted by the fact that I believed that He had a purpose for everything. I was 12 years old at the time and felt as if I had lived a lifetime of tribulations. Mom finally came home from the institute and my sister and I moved back home. Life went on, but slowly began to change for the better. I wanted to quit smoking and lost the desire for drinking. In addition, I totally stopped smoking marijuana and hashish. The need to fit in with the “cool” crowd evaporated and I decided to find real friends. I began going to the Gospel House on a regular basis and even joined the choir. I felt very loved and accepted by my Christian brothers and sisters. Our choir traveled to other churches and I loved going on those excursions with them. The time spent with the choir was a saving grace to me, as I loved to sing. I spent two additional years trying to quit my pack a day habit of smoking cigarettes, but to no avail. Finally, in desperation, I confessed to God that I just couldn’t quit on my own and that if He wanted me to, He would have to quit for me. From the point of that prayer request, I have never picked up another cigarette. The total desire and urge to smoke was gone.Time progressed and my sister left for college. It was now just my mother and me at home. I told my Mom about my relationship with Jesus and she surprised me by showing up at a gospel house meeting. She was drunk at the time and I was very embarrassed of her, but she prayed at that meeting and no one seemed to care that she was intoxicated. I prayed with her at home too and she prayed asking to accept Christ into her life. I sincerely believe that she tried to quit drinking on her own, but the claws of alcoholism were set too deep. Her drinking slowed down substantially, but there were still times of significant drinking binges. Mom and I spent our summers in Canada on an island in Georgian Bay that my Grandfather had purchased in 1948. It’s a remote place in the wilderness about a twenty-minute boat ride from the marina in town. There was no electricity, running water or means of communication. We had a two-seat outhouse some distance behind the main cabin, which was creepy to use at night. You had to avoid all the huge hanging spiders. We used kerosene and Coleman lanterns for light and our only transportation was our 19-foot aluminum starcraft powerboat. .Mom continued to drink and would tell me stories of how she would see and talk to my Dad. My Dad had been dead for over four years. These stories caused me to lay awake at nights so afraid that I would see my Dad, a walking corpse, peeking in the windows. Each night I would ensure that the curtains were tightly closed after dark. During the school year life continued to be tough for me. Mom would go on drinking binges and keep me up with her moaning and ramblings. I had to get up for school on many mornings after little or no sleep. I went through a daily ritual of continual headaches and fatigue. Fortunately, I started dating my future husbandin the eleventh grade. He was a saving grace for me and seemed to always be there when I needed him most. He picked me up from home each morning and drove me to school so I didn’t have to trudge through the snow, rain and cold. Time passed and I entered my senior year in high school. I applied to attend college the following fall. Mom’s drinking became less frequent through my senior year and she continued to invite my boyfriend over for dinner. The two of them would spend the evening debating politics and discussing current events. This was a very pleasurable time for me and I enjoyed that my mother got along so well with my boyfriend. My mother hosted an exceptionally nice party following my graduation from high school. Three weeks later she hosted another major event, which was my sister’s marriage. At this point I believed that the future was bright and nothing could go wrong, unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Mom and I planned to spend the summer together in Canada before I left for college. My mother invited my boyfriend up to Canada and he arranged a week off of work to accompany us and help open the cottage. Unfortunately, Mom had binged the weekend before we left in memory of her and my Dad’s June anniversary date. This time though, she became very sick and we thought that she had the flu. She stated that she felt good enough to make the 10-hour drive to Canada and said it would be good to recuperate out on the island. After the long drive, and once out on the island, she took a downturn and became even sicker. She threw up multiple times and would then drink huge amounts of water. Just as we thought she was getting better she started acting peculiar. It was 3:00 AM when I awakened to her screams that Dad was dead. I went to her room and tried to tell her that Dad had died five years before. Then she insisted that our dog had died. I brought our dog to her and showed her that he was all right. She settled back into bed and quieted down. After I went back to my room I heard her rattling a pill bottle. I didn’t think much of this because I was so used to her taking a lot of pills. In the morning, Mom seemed much worse. She was incoherent, physically weak and unable to walk. I told her that we were taking her off of the island and into the hospital. On the drive, my mother’s eyes kept rolling back in her head. My heart was pounding as I continued to ask her if she was all right. She answered but continued to go in and out of consciousness. We arrived at the hospital and rushed her into the emergency room. After speaking with the Doctors, they commenced an examination of my mother. The doctors started the examination by asking my mother questions. When they asked her what the date was she said, “page number 238”. When asked what time it was, she smiled at the doctor and told him that he was asking too hard of questions. I told the doctor that I had heard my Mom taking medicine the night before, but that it was a normal occurrence. I also mentioned that she was an alcoholic. The emergency room doctors spoke with me and stated that my mother was either going through alcohol withdrawal or that she was going insane. Either way, he said that she would need to stay hospitalized for a couple of days, but that she would be all right. While I was talking to the doctor, my Mom came out of her dementia long enough to ask my boyfriend to take care of me. The nurses told us that we should get a hotel room and get some sleep. My own personal struggles compounded when I began to be drawn to the “cool” kids in order to fit in and have friends. I was drawn to the “cool” kids who applied subtle pressure to mimic their actions. I spiraled into a world of drinking, smoking and experimentation with drugs. I did not even notice my own slide into a mental and emotional hell. I continued to experiment with marijuana and hashish. I remember several times when I stayed “stoned” for several days at a time. Surprising as it may sound, I was only twelve years old when I was hopelessly harming my physical, mental and spiritual body with alcohol, cigarettes and drugs. Around this time, when looking back, I must have been the kind of unlovable and hardened child that others wanted their own children to avoid. One day, a very wonderful woman who lived next door, reached out and invited my sister and me to accompany her to a place called the “Gospel House”. That night I heard some pretty awesome stuff. They told me that I could know God as I had never known him before. They said that I could be a part of God’s very own family and when I died I could be sure I was going to heaven. They showed me where in the Bible it states that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. No matter how hard we try to be good, it’s not enough. We all have sin. It says that the penalty for sin is death. But it also says that God loves us so much that He gave His only begotten Son to die on the cross for our sins that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but will have eternal life. By repenting of our sins and asking Jesus into our hearts, we could know for sure that we are a part of God’s family and that we would go to heaven. I went back for a number of weeks, because I had finally found the answer in my quest to know God more. It wasn’t something that you just said or did. It was the beginning of a life long commitment to love God. I would become totally dependent on God and trust Him with all aspects of my life. I could begin a relationship with God where I could grow closer and closer to Him the more I began to know Him. I remember praying and asking Jesus to forgive me for my sins and to come into my heart and life. I thought I should feel a little “saintly” or experience some great revelation, but in truth I didn’t feel any different. I did feel confident, though because now I knew that God had a purpose for everything I was going through and that He was going through it with me. My Dad tried to break the chains of addition by enrolling in several rehabilitation programs but his attempts to quit his addiction always failed. There were numerous occasions when one of our parents would overdose and fall into a coma. Mom had begun supplementing her drinking with amphetamines to wake her up and barbiturates to allow her to sleep like my Dad. One time my Dad fell into a deep coma that lasted for over a day. My mother and grandparents were very worried and argued over calling taking him to the hospital. The argument revolved between saving his life and whether he would lose his medical license if drugs were discovered in his blood. They couldn’t agree so they pulled my sister and I into the bedroom and told us to decide what to do. Rarely is a child left with making so traumatic a decision for adults. My sister and I were crying and didn’t know what to do. After about another half-hour of not knowing what to advise, my Dad awoke from the coma and appeared all right. Thus, we didn’t have to inform anyone about his condition and jeopardize his career, although our family’s personal hell would continue.My mother’s alcohol addiction and drug abuse caused numerous psychological and physiological neuroses to take hold and come out in unexpected forms. She appeared to have episodes resembling full-blown paranoid schizophrenia. She would tell us elaborate stories of how she was being watched by people who wanted to get her and destroy our Dad. Also, she believed that our house was bugged with listening devices. She drew arrows in blue chalk on the walls of the basement indicating where she had found wiretaps into our phone lines. The blue arrows were all over the walls. One night my Dad verified our mother’s claim that a car actually attempted to run them off of the road. My sisterand I lived in constant fear of our mother and the supposed “people” who were after us. At the time, we didn’t fully realize that our mother was no longer rational and was totally controlled by alcohol and drugs. The terrible downward spiral of life continued when on one night in particular my mother became mad at my sister and started burning all of her clothes in the basement incinerator. My Dad slapped my mother on the side of her head with such force, that it burst her eardrum. On another occasion, my mother was so mad at my sister and me that she beat us on our bare bottoms with the bristled side of a hairbrush. Our baby-sitter neighbor told us that she heard us screaming but for some reason, no one came to our assistance or attempted to intervene. As such young girls, my sister and I were helpless to change our situation. Sometime later, when my sister was fourteen and I was twelve, we were thankful because our Dad told us that he had finally overcome his addictions. One evening, a short while later, our Dad said he was going out to the garage and my sister and me became suspicious from something in his voice and followed him. We found out that he had hidden some drugs in the garage and he was planning on taking them. My sister and I threatened that if he took any of the drugs that we were leaving for good and going to live at my grandparent’s house. Dad went ahead and took the drugs, which caused my sister and me to pack our bags and walk to our grandparent’s home.We decided to stay at our grandparents for a few days to see how things progressed at home. The next evening, my sister and I attended a service at the Gospel House. Suddenly, our grandparents rushed into the service and asked us to leave. They said that our Dad had a terrible accident and hit his head by slipping in the bathtub. We rushed home only to find that our Dad wasn’t in the bathroom, but that he was laying face down halfway out the back door. My Mom was standing over him screaming that he was dead and that we had done this to him. Again came the argument between our grandparents and mother as to whether to call the ambulance. I looked at my Dad and knew something was terribly wrong. I went into the house and called an ambulance, while my grandparents and mother continued to argue. The ambulance came and took not only took my Dad, but also my Grandfather. It was all too much for my grandpa and he had started having chest pains. He had had previous heart attacks. Mom ran and locked herself in the bedroom and kept screaming that it was our fault dad was hurt. My grandmother called a mental institution where my Mom had spent some time earlier in the year. The institution people came and handcuffed my Mom and dragged her screaming out of the house and into a waiting car. I didn’t like the way they were dragging my mother and I remember feeling bad for Mom, but due to her continual screaming at us, was also glad to have her taken away. Sometime later that evening, my sister and me learned our Dad had died. We spent the rest of that night at our grandparent’s house. Grandpa spent the night in the hospital and came home the next day. My sister and me assisted our grandparents in arranging for the funeral. Grandma called the mental institute and they allowed our mother to attend the funeral, but she had to return for additional observation and treatment. I was too numb with shock and grief to even cry at my Dad’s funeral. It took a long before I could openly cry from the grief. My sister was very angry with God for taking her beloved Dad. I personally told God how bad I hurt inside, but also thanked Him for being with me. I was comforted by the fact that I believed that He had a purpose for everything. I was 12 years old at the time and felt as if I had lived a lifetime of tribulations. Mom finally came home from the institute and my sister and I moved back home. Life went on, but slowly began to change for the better. I wanted to quit smoking and lost the desire for drinking. In addition, I totally stopped smoking marijuana and hashish. The need to fit in with the “cool” crowd evaporated and I decided to find real friends. I began going to the Gospel House on a regular basis and even joined the choir. I felt very loved and accepted by my Christian brothers and sisters. Our choir traveled to other churches and I loved going on those excursions with them. The time spent with the choir was a saving grace to me, as I loved to sing. I spent two additional years trying to quit my pack a day habit of smoking cigarettes, but to no avail. Finally, in desperation, I confessed to God that I just couldn’t quit on my own and that if He wanted me to, He would have to quit for me. From the point of that prayer request, I have never picked up another cigarette. The total desire and urge to smoke was gone.Time progressed and my sister left for college. It was now just my mother and me at home. I told my Mom about my relationship with Jesus and she surprised me by showing up at a gospel house meeting. She was drunk at the time and I was very embarrassed of her, but she prayed at that meeting and no one seemed to care that she was intoxicated. I prayed with her at home too and she prayed asking to accept Christ into her life. I sincerely believe that she tried to quit drinking on her own, but the claws of alcoholism were set too deep. Her drinking slowed down substantially, but there were still times of significant drinking binges. Mom and I spent our summers in Canada on an island in Georgian Bay that my Grandfather had purchased in 1948. It’s a remote place in the wilderness about a twenty-minute boat ride from the marina in town. There was no electricity, running water or means of communication. We had a two-seat outhouse some distance behind the main cabin, which was creepy to use at night. You had to avoid all the huge hanging spiders. We used kerosene and Coleman lanterns for light and our only transportation was our 19-foot aluminum starcraft powerboat. .Mom continued to drink and would tell me stories of how she would see and talk to my Dad. My Dad had been dead for over four years. These stories caused me to lay awake at nights so afraid that I would see my Dad, a walking corpse, peeking in the windows. Each night I would ensure that the curtains were tightly closed after dark. During the school year life continued to be tough for me. Mom would go on drinking binges and keep me up with her moaning and ramblings. I had to get up for school on many mornings after little or no sleep. I went through a daily ritual of continual headaches and fatigue. Fortunately, I started dating my future husbandin the eleventh grade. He was a saving grace for me and seemed to always be there when I needed him most. He picked me up from home each morning and drove me to school so I didn’t have to trudge through the snow, rain and cold. Time passed and I entered my senior year in high school. I applied to attend college the following fall. Mom’s drinking became less frequent through my senior year and she continued to invite my boyfriend over for dinner. The two of them would spend the evening debating politics and discussing current events. This was a very pleasurable time for me and I enjoyed that my mother got along so well with my boyfriend. My mother hosted an exceptionally nice party following my graduation from high school. Three weeks later she hosted another major event, which was my sister’s marriage. At this point I believed that the future was bright and nothing could go wrong, unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Mom and I planned to spend the summer together in Canada before I left for college. My mother invited my boyfriend up to Canada and he arranged a week off of work to accompany us and help open the cottage. Unfortunately, Mom had binged the weekend before we left in memory of her and my Dad’s June anniversary date. This time though, she became very sick and we thought that she had the flu. She stated that she felt good enough to make the 10-hour drive to Canada and said it would be good to recuperate out on the island. After the long drive, and once out on the island, she took a downturn and became even sicker. She threw up multiple times and would then drink huge amounts of water. Just as we thought she was getting better she started acting peculiar. It was 3:00 AM when I awakened to her screams that Dad was dead. I went to her room and tried to tell her that Dad had died five years before. Then she insisted that our dog had died. I brought our dog to her and showed her that he was all right. She settled back into bed and quieted down. After I went back to my room I heard her rattling a pill bottle. I didn’t think much of this because I was so used to her taking a lot of pills. In the morning, Mom seemed much worse. She was incoherent, physically weak and unable to walk. I told her that we were taking her off of the island and into the hospital. On the drive, my mother’s eyes kept rolling back in her head. My heart was pounding as I continued to ask her if she was all right. She answered but continued to go in and out of consciousness. We arrived at the hospital and rushed her into the emergency room. After speaking with the Doctors, they commenced an examination of my mother. The doctors started the examination by asking my mother questions. When they asked her what the date was she said, “page number 238”. When asked what time it was, she smiled at the doctor and told him that he was asking too hard of questions. I told the doctor that I had heard my Mom taking medicine the night before, but that it was a normal occurrence. I also mentioned that she was an alcoholic. The emergency room doctors spoke with me and stated that my mother was either going through alcohol withdrawal or that she was going insane. Either way, he said that she would need to stay hospitalized for a couple of days, but that she would be all right. While I was talking to the doctor, my Mom came out of her dementia long enough to ask my boyfriend to take care of me. The nurses told us that we should get a hotel room and get some sleep.

The next morning, my boyfriend and me were going to go back to the island to get a nightgown, books and some things for my Mom to do but we decided to go and check on her first. One of the nurses came running up to us and asked us where we had been. I was told that my mother’s heart had arrested 8 times during the night, yet the doctors had been able to revive her each time. When we rushed into my Mom’s room we found her lying naked on the bed with wires and electrodes attached to her chest. I covered her bare breasts with a sheet. Her eyelids were taped shut and she was on a ventilator machine. The doctor had assured me that she would be all right the night before and now I had such a growing fear inside of me. To loose my mother would be the worst possible thing that could happen to me, as I would be an orphan. At that moment, I felt so alone and very scared. Even though my mother was an alcoholic, I still loved her with a deep affection that only a child can know. I wondered who would take care of me and where would I go? Just three weeks prior, we were celebrating at my sister’s wedding. I thought aloud, “No God, not my Mom!” The yellow light on the oxygen machine shut off right in front of our eyes indicating that my mother had stopped breathing on her own. I told the nurse that the yellow flashing light had gone out and she then explained the machine’s operation. I exclaimed that the yellow light in fact was now off and that my Mom had stopped breathing! The nurse turned, and with a shocked look, asked my boyfriend and me to immediately leave the room. Doctors came rushing to my mother’s room and many hospital personnel entered and left the room in rapid succession. After what seemed like an eternity, I was told that the doctor wanted to see me down in his office. My heart sank, as I knew what this meant. Indeed, I was told that my Mom had died. My world was utterly toppled. After breaking the news to my sister, she immediately got in the car with her husband and started the 12-hour drive to Canada.

My sister reached the hospital in Canada eight hours after our mother had died. We both looked at each other in a state of shock. We returned to the Island, closed the cottage and began the long drive home. My sister, who was only 19 at the time, and I struggled through the funeral preparations like zombies. They had me view my mother’s body before anyone else and I was outraged to see that they had bright red lipstick on her with bright red nail polish. We buried her in the same dress she had worn only three weeks previously to my sister’s wedding. For three long days we endured the funeral process. So many people expressed their condolences, but nothing helped the ache I felt inside. I knew that I would never see either of my parents again. They would not be here to see me start college, get married or know my children. I felt so devastated and cheated. My boyfriend was by my side throughout the entire time. I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for him. I cried my heart out to God and couldn’t understand why He had allowed this to happen. It was a strange feeling, but I truly felt His presence with me and I could feel His tears alongside of mine. I knew there was some purpose in all this, but I was too numb to ponder it very much. I had never felt such sorrow in my whole life.

Two days later, my boyfriend’s Dad died from cirrhosis of the liver. I assisted his family with all of the funeral preparations. My boyfriend’s family was overcome with grief, as was I. Life seemed unbearable as my boyfriend and I trudged on side by side. God had given us each other for support, comfort and friendship. My boyfriend was only 18 and I was only 17 at that time. My Dad was 39, my Mom was 44 and my boyfriend’s Dad had been 43 when they all died. Everyone was so young and experienced such needless and avoidable suffering.

I never got to sleep in my own bed again. I never got to live in my own house again. I stayed with my boyfriend’s family for about two weeks and then my grandparents took me in for the rest of the summer. We put our house up on the market and began the long task of going through everything in it. My grandpa was in the flea market business and loved selling things. It seems everything I cherished was sold, including most of our furniture and belongings. Even my own bed and childhood toys were sold.

I started college in the fall and cried throughout the whole first few months. I had an 8x10 photograph of my Mom, sister and I sitting on our couch just before my sister’s wedding. We were all dressed up and looked so happy. I shed many tears while looking at that picture and thinking that I would never get to see my Mom again; until heaven that is. The Bible was my lifeline. I had a little King James Version of the Bible that I had received when I attended the gospel house. The pages became well worn as I continually sought refuge in the pages of God’s word. God was always there with me, and as I poured my heart out to Him, I knew He cared and hurt right along side of me. I also knew that He would help me to persevere and keep on going.

My boyfriend and me were married after our second year in college. We graduated two years later. I was a nurse and my husband joined the army as a Second Lieutenant. We were stationed in Germany for the next three years. We lived among the German people and I took classes to learn how to speak with them.

I was at the Army post one day when I noticed a sign in English for a coffeehouse across the street. I had heard that coffeehouses were sometimes Christian places so I decided to continue with my adventurous spirit and check it out. I am sure that God planned that day, as I met my best friend. She took me under her wing and really taught and explained the Bible to me. Together, we spent hours in prayer and memorizing scripture.

My best friend assisted me in overcoming a serious burden that I carried. This burden was my fear that God would throw me out of His family because I still had sin in my life, regardless of how hard I tried. I struggled with a lot of anger as my husband was gone so much of the time and I was left home alone in a foreign country. I tried not to be angry with my husband over this, but sometimes I didn’t succeed. I had a constant battle going on inside of me. I battled with what I knew I should be like and what I was really like. It seemed my anger always won over faith and caused me significant depression and guilt. My friend was able to show me through scripture that God would never ”kick” me out of his family and that he had provision for sins. All I had to do was confess my sins to God and ask for His forgiveness. In turn, I could know for certain that I was forgiven. Once I asked forgiveness, I could then invite the Holy Spirit to control me and help me be the person He wanted me to be.

My friend showed me where in the Bible it said that I could know for sure that I was going to heaven and that I had eternal life starting way back on the very day I had asked Jesus into my heart. She showed me scriptures where it said that the Holy Spirit lives inside of me and is there to help, love and guide me. This helped tremendously as I was able to rid myself of the guilt that plagued me. Also, the fellowship with my friend was instrumental in my growing closer to God. I no longer had to fear His disapproval of me. I was free to learn, grow and even started sharing my testimony and teaching bible classes.

This testimony and life experiences is why I share my story with you. I want you to know God as you have never known Him before. You can know without a doubt that you have eternal life. You can know that you are a part of God’s family and that He will never leave you or forsake you. You can be assured that God has a plan for your life. No matter how terrible the situation, you can know that God has a good purpose for placing you in the situation. I know that I will see my parents in heaven again some day. I prayed with my Mom and know that she believed in Jesus. Also, my neighbor informed me that she prayed with my Dad six months prior to his death and that he asked Christ into his life. Their lives were shortened, because of sin, yet your life doesn’t have to experience the same tribulation. The answer is so simple, yet so life-changing; all you have to do is pray and ask Jesus into your heart and life,

“Jesus, I’m sorry for all of my sins. I believe that you died to pay the penalty for my sins. I ask you to forgive me for all of my sins, past, present, and future. I ask you to come into my life and my heart. Please give me your Holy Spirit to comfort, guide, and teach me. Please help me to know you in a way that I have never thought possible until now. I thank you that I now know for sure that I have eternal life and that I will live with you in heaven forever. Show me these truths in your word and open my eyes so that I can see them for myself. I love You,God. I commit my life to you and give you all that I am. I pray this in the name of Jesus, Amen.”

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enzaime-blog · 7 years

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Hear from Our Child & Teen Patients

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/hear-child-teen-patients/

Hear from Our Child & Teen Patients

Emily’s Story

Around Emily’s second birthday, she began experiencing abdominal swelling, leg pain, and low-grade fevers. Less than a month later, she was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a rare cancer of the sympathetic nervous system. At Memorial Sloan Kettering, Emily’s neuroblastoma team provided the latest treatment options, including a new experimental therapy.

In late June 2003, shortly before her second birthday, Emily Wang came down with a low-grade fever that lasted for two straight weeks. It was during this time that Emily’s grandmother first noticed that her belly was distended and hard to the touch. Emily also often complained of leg pains. “She was very needy and constantly wanted Mommy to carry her,” Emily’s mother, Tina, explains. “It was so unlike her because she was usually an outgoing and independent little girl.”

Emily loved playing in the water, so when the Wangs visited Tina’s sister’s house over the July Fourth weekend they set up a small pool for Emily. But when they attempted to put her into the water, Emily cried and refused to play in the pool. “We all thought that it was very strange of her to react in such a way,” Tina remembers. “When we watch the video we took that day, we wonder why we didn’t see the obvious signs that she was unwell.”

Worse Than Expected

Suspecting that there might be something seriously wrong with Emily, the Wangs made an appointment with her pediatrician on July 7. At the appointment, they described the symptoms, and after examining Emily’s distended abdomen the doctor said that it was probably only constipation. When the family persisted, the doctor ordered blood tests, which revealed that Emily was anemic. The pediatrician then called in his colleague to perform a second examination, at which point both doctors recommended that the Wangs take Emily to the local emergency room at Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn for an ultrasound.

Emily was rushed to the ER for the ultrasound, which revealed that she had a large mass around her kidney. The ER doctor told the Wangs that the tumor was most likely Wilms’ tumor, the most common cancer of the kidneys found in children. Emily was admitted to Maimonides that same day. “It was the most devastating day of our lives,” Tina says. “From the outset, Emily knew something was wrong. She just didn’t know how to tell us.”

Two days later, deciding they wanted to send Emily to the best children’s hospital in New York City, the Wangs transferred Emily to Children’s Hospital of NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia University Medical Center. A week later, Emily received a biopsy to determine if she did have Wilms’ tumor. Two days after the procedure was performed, the doctors informed the Wangs that the mass was not Wilms’ tumor but a rare cancer of the sympathetic nervous system known as neuroblastoma.

Afflicting only about 700 children in the US each year, neuroblastoma affects the nerve network that carries messages from the brain throughout the body. Some neuroblastomas will go away without any treatment, and others can be cured by surgery alone. But approximately half of all neuroblastomas have already spread to the bone and bone marrow by the time they are found and require more complex treatment.

“We were very disappointed and saddened because we were hoping the tumor was, in fact, a Wilms’ tumor,” Tina offers. The overall five-year survival rate for children with Wilms’ tumor is more than 90 percent. “We knew,” she continues, “that the outcome with neuroblastoma is not as positive.”

It was obvious to Emily that she was sick, Tina explains, but she also appeared to understand that the doctors would help her to get better.

Move to Memorial Sloan Kettering

After doing some research, the Wangs scheduled an appointment at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. After meeting with the neuroblastoma team, led by Nai-Kong Cheung, the Wangs concluded that Memorial Sloan Kettering had the most promising neuroblastoma treatment options, and they decided to transfer Emily from Children’s Hospital.

Because Emily’s tumor was considered high risk, she was placed on what is called the N8 treatment protocol, which entails a combination of therapies: induction, surgery, radiation therapy, stem cell transplant, immunotherapy, and differentiation therapy. The initial phase of treatment, induction, consists of five rounds of chemotherapy. After the third round of induction chemotherapy, when the maximal reduction in tumor size had been achieved, pediatric surgeon Michael La Quaglia operated to remove the primary tumor.

Emily then received a stem cell transplant, a procedure in which the patient’s neuroblastoma-infected bone marrow is destroyed and then replaced with stem cells that are free of neuroblastoma. “Having Emily locked in a clean room for the monthlong period was difficult for all of us,” Tina says with understatement. “But she was a real trooper. Amazingly, she was able to entertain herself by having tea parties with her stuffed animals and watching her favorite videos. No matter how painful or hard it was for her, she would get herself out of bed every morning and enjoy her day as if she were a typical three-year-old.”

After that, in conjunction with radiation therapy and differentiation therapy using the drug Accutane® (generic name isotretinoin), Emily underwent numerous cycles of an immunotherapy that uses the monoclonal antibody known as 3F8. This treatment is designed to train the body’s own immune system to detect and destroy neuroblastoma cells that have survived chemotherapy or radiation therapy.

I remember a doctor here at Memorial telling me, ‘You’ll see her getting very sick before you’ll see her getting better.’ This proved to be very realistic.

Tina WangEmily’s Mother

Emily had a difficult time dealing with the side effects of chemotherapy. The treatment-induced nausea led to a loss of appetite, which in turn led to a dramatic loss of weight. “It was really tough at first,” Tina recalls. “Emily knew that she wasn’t feeling well, but she didn’t know why. She would cry when she saw the needles, and I would cry because I had to be the bad guy, holding her down. But she never saw me as the bad person. She would always want Mommy to be there to help her.” The 3F8 treatments proved especially painful because they also attack the neurosensory cells. Luckily, the treatments became more bearable as Emily received more of them. “Like many kids at Memorial, she learned to adjust to the pain,” Tina says in amazement.

Relapse and Investigational Treatment

Unfortunately, in March 2005, three days before completing the N8 protocol, a tumor was discovered in Emily’s brain, signaling relapse. Surgery was performed immediately, with pediatric neurosurgeon Mark Souweidane removing the tumor. High-dose chemotherapy followed surgery, after which Emily started two rounds of 8H9 treatment. This is a promising new protocol that targets neuroblastoma cells in the central nervous system (CNS) using a monoclonal antibody known as 8H9. In this treatment protocol, a form of radioactive iodine is attached to the 8H9 antibodies. The antibodies can be safely injected into the cerebrospinal fluid, which bathes the CNS. The liquid radiation destroys neuroblastoma cells, which are targeted, without damaging normal cells.

In her research on neuroblastoma, Tina had heard that there were usually few options once the disease spreads to the brain. “I was devastated,” she says. “But Dr. Cheung was so calm and sure about the whole situation, telling us that there was this new treatment, 8H9, which could be used to bring Emily back into remission.”

We have a dream team here at Memorial Sloan Kettering. As a result of this institution’s efforts, we have come quite far, with many children surviving neuroblastoma.

Nai-Kong V. CheungNeuroblastoma Program Head

Emily had the distinction of being the first female patient to receive this protocol. Fortunately for Emily, the 8H9 treatments were both successful and much less painful than the 3F8 had been.

A Real Trooper…and a Healthy, Happy Child

Today, thanks to her resilience and successful treatment, Emily is a happy, strong, outgoing, and resilient little girl with a kind heart and an easy-going nature. Despite her treatment-related short stature and high-frequency hearing loss, she is very healthy and is doing well in school. Although she knows that she was once sick, she does not feel as if she is different from the other children around her in any way. “Emily is truly a very special and gifted child,” her mom marvels. “She kept our hopes up and taught us how special life really is. We learned that sometimes you can get the bad, but eventually the good comes around.”

Advising other parents of children recently diagnosed with neuroblastoma, Tina explains that they should prepare for a difficult and emotionally challenging journey. “I remember a doctor here at Memorial telling me, ’You’ll see her getting very sick before you’ll see her getting better.’ This proved to be very realistic.”

Tina credits the neuroblastoma team at Memorial Sloan Kettering with saving Emily’s life. “We know that they spent countless hours in the laboratory developing revolutionary treatments like 3F8 and 8H9,” Tina emphasizes. “Prior to 8H9, there was no hope after relapse to the brain. We want to thank Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and Dr. Cheung’s team for their dedication to advancing neuroblastoma research. There is no better cancer treatment center, and I could not wish for a better hospital and medical staff for my daughter or anyone else’s child.”

#ER #independent little girl #neuroblastoma #neuroblastoma treatment options #Wilms’ tumor #Cancer

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