“In Sickness & In Health”: Carol’s Battle with Terminal Cancer

(Hi Folks! Sara here, and I’ve been struggling - as any new blogger does - with the ideas swirling of what should be our opening blog piece. Through prayer, it’s come to me recently that the first story we share is of Carol’s miraculous victory against cancer in 2010. Her story will provide to you all an insight into who we are as a family, and why our faith in the Lord is so solidly strong. And, there is no better testimonial to this story than of the version Hal wrote in Summer 2011 about his beloved wife, and what it was like for him as a husband alongside her through the harrowing journey. We hope you enjoy reading his musings here. We know it’s lengthy, but hope it brings you, the reader, empathy and strength if facing a life-threatening crisis or inspiration if at a crossroads with faith in the Lord.

Carol’s Battle with Cancer: Her Story As Told by Her Husband, Hal

Many people can point to a single day that turns their world upside-down. A day—perhaps even an hour—that shakes them to their core. Friday, April 30, 2010, was that day for us when I took Carol into the Emergency Room at Dickinson County Hospital, Iron Mountain, Michigan. This had been the advice of our son, Andy, who is a doctor and knew that the symptoms described to him by his wife might be related to Carol’s diabetes. Three days prior to that she appeared her normal, healthy self, and that Friday morning had completed her usual two-mile walk. She did complain of some back problems that week, and sought chiropractic help on Tuesday and Thursday. But, clearly, that was not the problem.

The ER doctor shortly determined that her sugar count was very high, well above 400, but the normal routine blood tests revealed that her white counts were about 10-times higher than normal. Prior to him bringing this news to us, I had seen him consulting with another doctor in a different room. The seriousness of the situation was evident on his face when he told us that Carol probably had leukemia. It took a moment to absorb this, and Carol said, “That’s cancer, right?” He confirmed that it was. The reality of this didn’t seem to sink in, and we didn’t want it to. He wanted to send her immediately to Green Bay via ambulance, and suggested that I go home and gather Carol’s personal things. On my way home, I called Andy and gave him the details. He called me back within a few minutes, and suggested that she go to Bellin Hospital as he knew some people in their Oncology Department to be very good. However, when I returned to Dickinson with Carol’s personal things I was notified that all the arrangements had been made to send Carol to St. Vincent’s Hospital instead, and it didn’t make sense to challenge these arrangements. Some weeks later it became clear to me that the assignment to St. Vincent’s was orchestrated by God. Our experience at St. Vincent proved to be a special place, and there were some key people there that God was about to use.

As shocking as the news of cancer was we figured that at least the people in Green Bay would set the record straight, for there had to have been some mistake. This was not real, and although I had to make a phone call to someone from our church to cancel some event that Carol had scheduled all that I said was that Carol was on her way to the hospital in Green Bay. I didn’t want to alarm anyone with the analysis that I thought was probably not correct. Shortly thereafter, I received a call from our pastor who wanted to know what was happening. I told him the details I knew, but didn’t want him to alarm anyone at church, for this whole thing didn’t seem possible.

I arrived at the Oncology Department of St. Vincent’s Hospital, Green Bay, around 8 pm. The reception room was virtually empty except for the receptionist. I told her who I was, and she informed me that Carol was with an oncologist, and she directed me to some refreshments. I paced about the room, feeling quite helpless as I tried to process all that had happened in the last 12 hours. I was then called to the room where the oncologist had taken a bone marrow sample out of Carol’s hip. She, as normal, seemed to be taking all this in stride, and was carrying on small talk with the doctor. After he examined the sample he indeed confirmed that Carol had leukemia. He was also quick to point out, however, that there were many different types of leukemia and some of them quite curable. The exact type would have to be determined by an outside lab, and that would take several days. That gave us some sense of hope, yet the shock of all this and the fear of the unknown were very unsettling. The staff at the Oncology Department faced situations like this every day, and yet they were still very sensitive to our needs. At the human level, it was clear that we had to trust them, and just follow their protocol, which gave us some relief knowing there was a course of action, and they had been through situations like this many times. Carol was assigned a room on the sixth floor, where most cancer patients were admitted.

On a spiritual level, even though we had become Christians over twenty years ago this was about as severe a test that we had ever faced. How does one pray about this? “Heavenly Father, please let this not be true?” Nothing seemed adequate or appropriate, and even if there were an appropriate way to pray I was just too numb to do it. It was already late in the evening and there wasn’t much else I could do so I headed to Andy’s house, which was about 30 minutes north. Andy, of course, knew the seriousness of this situation, and when I arrived at his home the compassion he had was evident on his face. His home provided some sense of comfort that only a family can provide. Andy had already done some research on leukemia, and knew that it had been narrowed down to two types, APL and AML. Our hope was that it was APL, as this was quite curable. But ultimately, it was determined that Carol had the worst possible type, acute myeloid leukemia or AML. We did not get this news until almost a week later.

That was Friday night. At that point, I still didn’t know how serious the situation was, but I at least knew Carol was being well taken care of at the hospital. The following morning, when I arrived at the hospital, I found her room vacant. The nurse, whose name was Jen (ironically, our eldest daughter shares that same name), told me that Carol had been taken to another area for tests, but would soon return. Jen seemed a bit distressed, and told me that Carol had been bleeding from her mouth and nose. I didn’t know what to make of this, but later realized that this was a sign of internal bleeding. The leukemia was beginning to destroy her body from within.

When Carol returned to her room I saw no signs of internal bleeding, and began to think that Jen was simply an “alarmist”, and was just subconsciously adding drama to the situation. A couple of hours later after Andy and our daughter, Jennifer, and their families had arrived to visit, Jen the nurse called us all into the hallway, and wanted to know if all the family members were present. At that point our youngest daughter, Johanna, was not there but she was on her way. Jen told us that Carol would soon be going to ICU, and wanted to make sure that all immediate family members were present, suggesting that this was gravely serious. I still felt Jen was overreacting. When the oncologist arrived, Jen lobbied him to have Carol admitted to ICU. But, the oncologist overruled her, as he felt that quite possibly Carol was beginning to stabilize.

Shortly after, however, Carol’s condition began to deteriorate. Her bowels shut down, her lone kidney shut down, and she began to bloat up. Carol’s breathing was getting more and more difficult, and she was gasping for air like she had just run a long race. The bleeding from her mouth and nose continued. Jen the nurse grew impatient, and without consulting the doctor swung into action, within moments having Carol whisked away to ICU on the fourth floor. I later realized that Jen, with all of her experience and knowledge, was right-on. She sensed how critical the situation was right at the start.

ICU was a frightening place, as a number of attendants were hovering over Carol, and not saying much as they knew how serious this was. They were all business. Carol by this time was in a coma, and was hooked up to all sorts of tubes; tubes ran in her mouth, nose, and all along her arms. I sat there in that room, but there wasn’t much I could do, and the whole scene made me feel weak. I left for the Waiting Room, where our immediate family was waiting. I mentioned to Andy that, all along, I felt that between Carol and me, that I would be the first to die. Andy’s dry sense of humor surfaced, and he said, “You still might be.” We decided to all go back to Andy’s house for supper, after which I decided to stay there for the night and try to get some rest. Andy and Johanna, our youngest daughter, went back to the hospital, and Jennifer, our eldest daughter, returned to her motel room.

That was Saturday night, which was basically a sleepless night for me. I kept on getting flashbacks of all the wonderful times we had as a family, and what I called “flash-forwards”, which were scenarios I would face with a life without my wife. Tears didn’t seem to stop flowing. I tried to pray, but the emotions ruled, and I felt quite helpless. I tried to recall Scripture, but all that came coming back to me was John 14, where Jesus said He was going to Heaven to prepare a place for his disciples, and in a like manner for all believers. About the middle of the night, I had a strong urge to go back to the hospital, but talked myself out of it, figuring the hospital staff would call me if things got worse. That morning, Leslie, Andy’s wife, told me that she was awakened about 2 am, and had a strong urge to pray, which she did until daybreak. When I arrived at the hospital, Andy told me that during the night they were about to call me in as Carol’s condition had reached the bottom. Then, suddenly, there had been a turn-around. I asked him what time that was. He replied, “About 2 am.” When I met Jennifer, our eldest daughter, she told me that she, too, awoke during the night with a strong urge to return to the hospital, which she did. I asked her, “What time was that?” Her reply was, “About 2 am.”

What was about to become clear to us was that God had intervened during the night. Basically, what He seemed to be saying was, “Your job is to pray. Mine is to bring her through this.” Jen, the nurse, faithfully stayed with Carol all night, constantly monitoring and adjusting all the equipment hooked up to Carol. Clearly, God was using Jen to keep Carol alive. Although by morning, Carol’s condition had been stabilized, the ordeal was far from over. She was still in a coma, and would be that way until Wednesday.

I had been in contact with our pastor from the initial trip to the hospital the previous Friday. At that time, I wasn’t convinced that Carol’s condition was serious, and suggested not to “jump the gun” and alarm our congregation. On Saturday, as the situation became serious, he wanted to make a visit. Carol, however, didn’t want any more visitors other than our immediate family because she was embarrassed by her condition. She didn’t even want any of our 13 grandchildren in the room, for fear of alarming them. Our church is a close family, and as pastor broke the news that Sunday morning (the morning after Carol’s turn-around), he told me later that it changed the whole tone of the service. I knew that our whole church body was in prayer. That Sunday afternoon, our pastor and his wife appeared at the hospital, and were the first non-family members to visit us. I could tell that seeing Carol sleeping with tubes running everywhere disturbed him, even though his German temperament was not prone to showing emotion. Yet he saw fitting to read some Scripture, and his wife quietly sang an old hymn.

That Sunday afternoon we decided to have a picnic at a local park. The whole family of our three children and 13 grandchildren were there, and it was an opportunity to take an emotional break from all the stress of the last few days. Our pastor and his wife joined us. The kids had no problem enjoying all of the playground equipment. Not to minimize the seriousness of the situation, but they were able to look beyond all the difficulties of the moment, and enjoy each other and the day for what it was. It’s no wonder Jesus said that, “…the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14) They were able to put their trust outside themselves, and enjoy life as God intended. As adults, I believe God is telling us to display that same level of trust, but it is so hard to let go. We are so conditioned to determine our own steps.

In the following days other visitors showed up at the hospital; friends from our church as well as friends from the community, many driving over one- or two-hours one-way to do so. One touching moment for me was when a fellow elder from our church and his wife paid us a visit. We noticed that whenever I spoke, there was a slight response in Carol’s face, typically a raised eyebrow. So, we knew that something was there in that body, and her mind was processing the sounds around her. Our friends decided to sing a few hymns, and I joined in the best I could. It was a memorable moment. Later, Carol revealed to me that the old hymns kept coming back to her. She had difficulty recalling Scripture, but not the old hymns, and her head held many of them. It is one of those tools that God provides for us for circumstances just like this.

By that Wednesday, Carol came out of her coma. Her first words to me were, “How was church?”, for to her it was Sunday afternoon. From that point on, we were all looking for continued signs of improvement. Lots of prayer ensued. That following weekend, while being visited by one of the oncologists, I tried to press him into telling us what the prognosis was. He was reluctant to say anything, and always prefaced his comments by saying, “If only her kidney would return to function.” In other words, her treatment options were very limited, as her body was very weak, and it was obvious that he didn’t think she had much chance. Finally, I pressed him and said, “Does she have a week? A month? A year?” By the way he hesitatingly replied, I knew he was being generous when he said that he doubted she would live another year. That news was hard to take. Carol took this news with a grateful attitude, saying, “Well, I’ve had a good life.” I’ve heard that statement from others near death, but it seemed premature. We felt she had many more years left. She immediately began to make funeral plans, which she shared mostly with our eldest daughter, Jennifer.

Another memorable moment was when Carol’s parents, both in their nineties, came to visit. Carol’s mother had to be pushed around in a wheelchair, and is suffering from dementia. While visiting Carol in ICU, when in a moment no one seemed to know what to say, she wheeled herself next to Carol’s bed, pulling herself up by grabbing onto the side of Carol’s bed, and said, “Let’s sing.” All joined in to some familiar hymns, and ICU had never heard such wonderful music. It made the visit much more endurable for all. However, when they returned to the Waiting Room, Carol’s dad began to tear up. It was one of the few times that I had ever seen him do that. Andy, who had witnessed this, was also touched by that, and told me later that he hoped he would never be in a position like that over one of his daughters.

I spent a lot of time over the new few days between the Waiting Room and Carol’s room in ICU. Carol began to get a bit stronger each day, and eventually was able to get out of bed for a few moments. Like a toddler first learning to walk, a few steps were a major accomplishment. Carol began to measure her walks by how far down the ICU ward she would travel. It was only about 100 feet from her room to the end of the ward, and finally, one day she made it all the way to the end and back. Each time, however, she needed someone to walk with her as she shuffled along with her walker and her traveling IV line, which looked like a “hat tree” on wheels. Together, we would celebrate with each new achievement in these daily walks. Yet, she was still very weak.

One day while walking into Carol’s room I saw this person from behind, bending over Carol’s and listening with his stethoscope. I could not miss his long hair draping down, and I thought, “Who is this?” This was ICU, and only serious things happen here by serious people; not many professional men wear their hair long and so it really caught me off-guard. We soon learned this was the doctor in charge of Carol’s dialysis, and he was a breath of fresh air. We soon found out that, just for fun, he and some fellow doctors had a rock band! They would go out and play for various events, mainly benefits. He was probably in his forties, and I’m sure that his teenage kid’s friends thought he is the coolest dad. Carol and he hit it off great, as they had that musical connection (Carol having taught music in Wausaukee for 19 years). He was the first doctor to offer any kind of optimism. He told us that it was quite possible that Carol’s kidney may return to full function, but for the foreseeable future she would have to undergo dialysis every other day.

Carol spent a total of two weeks in ICU. She had finally stabilized enough for her to be moved into a regular room back on the sixth floor. We were informed that Carol would probably be in the hospital another six to eight weeks while undergoing chemotherapy. This would be followed by regular chemo treatments at the hospital for about 6 months interspersed with living at home. Summer had always been a wonderful time for us. We had always enjoyed camping with the family, and one of our favorite trips was to travel to Lower Michigan during fruit season. Sometimes, we would make two trips in one year, as we would pick sweet cherries and peaches in early summer and blueberries later. I had to enjoy that, for the trips around Chicago was always a nightmare. We always pulled our camper, and the roads always seemed to be under construction; yet, we enjoyed it so much we endured the travel.

I remember one year waking up about 3 am with an urge to pick sweet cherries about two hours below Mackinac Bridge. I woke Carol, and told her of my wish. Never one to hesitate on an impromptu decision, she was all for it. So we began that six-hour drive before the sun came up. We had a delightful day picking those cherries, and enjoying the familiar places we had been to many times. For some reason, we were on a short time schedule, and had to return that same day. But we thought nothing of it. We returned late that same day, exhausted, but quite satisfied that we hadn’t missed the sweet cherry season. Another time, I desperately wanted to pick blueberries. Our favorite spots were in the extreme southwest corner of Lower Michigan, about two hours around Chicago. I dreaded that trip through Chicago, so elected to drive the northern route. It must have taken us about 10 hours of driving, but it was worth it. We arrived just a day before they were about to clean out the patch with their big commercial harvester. The berries were in their prime, and we couldn’t pick fast enough. We picked about 75 pounds in about 3 hours, enduring an occasional rain. But we had fun! The rain was refreshing, as it was quite warm. We also purchased about 100 extra pounds, but what to do now with this perishable crop and temperatures in the upper 80’s? The only thing we could do was dress up as warm as we packed along, and begin the trip home with the air conditioning on high! However, it was too far to make it all the way home without some rest. So, we did find a motel that night, but had to continue early the next morning, as it was still very warm outside. These were the types of things we looked forward to as each summer approached. These memories gave us the incentive to endure our long winters. But, this year was going to be different. I began to feel like were being robbed of a whole year of our lives, and was beginning to get a bit depressed about it. But, I knew that feeling sorry for ourselves would accomplish nothing, and knew that I had to learn to deal with reality of our situation.

Reality became more complex in the early part of May. The previous year, I convinced Carol that we could build our new home at the orchard before we sold our house in Wausaukee. It was a gamble, but we were not yet in the recession. Andy, our son, had watched the financial markets more than I had, and saw hard times coming. But my optimism thought we could move our house, and besides, our orchard sales were increasing each year, and I thought we could manage any financial demands. In our upper Midwest climate, we can expect frost problems during apple bloom every four out of 10 years. This was one of those years, however, it was even more so. Temperatures dropped to 22°F one night, and 23°F the next. That virtually destroyed our entire apple crop, valued at about $50,000. It was not only financially devastating, but it really compounded the trials that were facing us.

We had to make a decision about Carol’s bakery. Each summer, she would bake for the farmer’s market held every Saturday in Iron Mountain, Michigan. Even in the best scenario, Carol would not be able to work in her bakery for the rest of the year. I decided to get the family together to look at our options. Johanna, our youngest daughter, has a similar bakery business near Stevens Point. Leslie, Andy’s wife, and our top employee, Lynn, also joined Johanna in the discussion. The consensus was soon clear that we would keep the bakery open. Johanna did an inventory of all the ingredients in the pantry, and even volunteered to do some of the baking each week, before she would drive the 150-miles one-way back home to her bakery and do her baking for her market. Using Johanna as the primary baker was not a practical solution. Leslie stepped up to the plate, even though baking was not in her comfort zone. Each week she gave up her weekend, came up with her family Thursday or Friday, and would often spend the entire weekend. Leslie would bake all day Friday, get up each Saturday at 4 am to continue baking, and then took everything to the market, which began at 8 am. Lynn was also very valuable and needed very little direction, helping Leslie with the baking for market. Later on, as Carol was able to, she would direct things from her hospital bed. She could still be the boss, and feel as a part of her bakery.

One day, while Johanna and her family including five children were visiting me at home, we decided to relax and go to our pond in the woods to go fishing. The kids were having a good time enjoying the day, and as I was watching all this from my perch on our picnic bench, suddenly our youngest grandchild, Sophia, tumbled down the bank and within a blink of an eye was flailing under water. A snapshot of that horrid moment is still vivid in my mind, and at that instant I thought of Job. “Oh no, first my wife, then our orchard, and now our youngest grandchild were being taken away!” I seemed paralyzed and time seemed to stand still. What seemed like an eternity was only an instant before her dad dashed into the water and pulled her out. Fortunately, her drowning was not to be, as she was rescued before she inhaled too much water. Praise God!

But, despite all these events, I can honestly say I didn’t play the, “Why me, Lord?” game. There were some moments when I reflected on what God was going to teach me through all of this, but never gave much consideration as to why this all happened. I began to focus more on how He was going to get me through each day. I found my daily reliance upon Him became much stronger than it was before Carol’s illness. Where else could I turn? I just instinctively knew that I had to hang on to Him. But prayer time and Bible study were difficult, for I had difficulty concentrating. Yet, I never felt guilty for my lack of sincere devotional time, as I knew the message of Romans 8:26, “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” Because of that, I knew that whatever I was lacking in these circumstances, His Holy Spirit was providing for me. I felt a strong connection with God. Just as a toddler reaches out their hand to their earthly father to steady their walk, I reached out to my heavenly Father to steady my way. And as a toddler does not always know where they are going, they place their trust in their earthly father to get them there. In the same way, I did not know how this was all going to turn out, but knew that if I faced each struggle one at a time, and each day one at a time that He would lead me through. I knew this was the only strategy that would allow me to cope.

How was I to manage my time? Should I spend most of it in Green Bay or at home? I discussed it with our pastor, and he thought perhaps I should spend most of my time at home, and thought the routine there might bring some stability in my life. I took his advice, for there was no lack of things for me to do at home. We were in the process of building a new home, and I had decided to do all the interior finishing work myself. Plus, I had our apple orchard to manage. The work was soothing, and I really poured myself into it. The previous fall, we moved into the basement of our unfinished house, and made a bedroom out of Carol’s future craft room. Most of the upstairs was unfinished, and anticipating that Carol would be home in about two months I knew that she would not be able to steps, so I set a goal of getting the upstairs bedroom and bathroom finished. I spent most of my time working on the house and maintaining the orchard. The fact that we virtually had no crop made the management of the orchard a lot easier, and eased that burden for me.

The first few nights home were strange. How was I to relax, alone and after working all day? Carol, looking for ways to pass her time in the hospital, soon was attracted to watching the Milwaukee Brewers on TV. I had been a baseball fan years ago, and began to watch as well. Soon we were discussing, by phone every morning, the previous night’s game, which was a diversion we soon both enjoyed. However, nights were difficult for me, and I never slept well. There were a few nights, where I was startled during the night with screaming in my head or someone calling my name. My first thoughts were that demons were tormenting me. But I knew from Scripture that, “Greater is He that is in me than is in the world.” In other words, as a Christian I knew that God’s Holy Spirit was within me, and He was more powerful than anything else. Yet, it was still disturbing. I never discussed this with anyone for I was embarrassed by it, yet I should have mentioned it.

The absolute low for me came the first few days after being at home. Carol had always done the majority of our routine errands, which included shopping. Now, all the little things that made our household run were in my lap. One doesn’t fully appreciate all that one’s partner does until that partner is incapacitated or gone. For one of my tests in the orchard, I needed a gallon of distilled water. In the past, I simply would have asked Carol to pick it up on one of her shopping trips. She would know just where to go in the store, and would have located it with no problem. Of course, I had no idea where it was. I asked one of the clerks and was directed to an aisle where there were all kinds of bottled waters, and yet I could not find distilled water. Another clerk was nearby and I asked for help once again, and I was sent in an entirely different area of the store; I couldn’t find it there either. I found another clerk, and they sent me back to the first spot. I felt like I was being bounced around like a ping-pong ball and at the same time totally abandoned. Ultimately I did find it, and when I approached the check-out counter, there was a young couple in front of me just enjoying each other’s company as they were checking out. And I was alone. I can’t ever remember feeling so alone before. It struck me that this was the way it was going to be for me. I wanted to tell them how lucky they were to have each other and to learn to really appreciate it, but of course I didn’t.

Yet there were times that I felt totally at peace. Philippians 4:7 talks about, “…the peace of God, which transcends all understanding…” Moments like this often came to me while at the hospital, and it truly was beyond understanding. The atmosphere at the hospital often contributed to this sense of peace, and God’s presence had to be there, working through many devoted people. It is probably why God had directed us there back on April 30. I wasn’t sure if my wife would live or die, yet I seemed to want to connect and possibly offer some comfort to others who had a loved one in ICU. Some were receptive and some weren’t. One time I did offer to pray for a man whose wife was in serious condition. He welcomed that, and when I finished he surprised me by rising out of his chair and I thought he was about to give me a hug. Yet, we merely shook hands as he thanked me.

After Carol’s condition had stabilized, my routine was to make two or three trips a week to visit her. It was a two-hour drive one-way to Green Bay, and my thoughts would wander all the way down. Often, I would break out in tears for no apparent reason. I suppose some thought would trigger this, and I couldn’t avoid the tears. This happened, as well, when I would go for walks in the neighborhood of the hospital. It was an old part of town with many lovely, big, old homes, which were all well taken care of. Many had beautiful flower gardens, and it offered a soothing diversion from the seriousness of the day. However, I often found myself pulling out my handkerchief as these moments were interrupted with the emotions bundled up in me. Emotions are powerful, and often trump reason. One would think after being a Christian for more than twenty years, one would have this all under control. But that was not the case. God is well aware of that, and knowing how incomplete we are, He, through His grace, provided a helper described in Romans 8:26-27, “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.” This is a beautiful passage, and I believe it gives us a sense of security and removes that sense of guilt that we have when we think that we are not “performing” to the standards of which we think we are being measured.

On these trips to Green Bay, I had to make the exit from Highway 41 to Tower Drive. At this point, my thoughts would no longer wander, but were focused on St. Vincent’s and what I would find when I got there. Even months later when all this was behind us, that exit still triggers a somber mood like my destination was still St. Vincent’s Hospital, floor 6. It was a reminder of the many anxious trips that I had made. One time, I found nurses busy within Carol’s room, carrying out their duties and Carol was behaving very strangely. It was almost as if she were drunk! She was talking very loudly, and not making much sense. The nurses didn’t seem bothered by this, which disturbed me, but after asking one what was going on, she replied that the team was having difficulty managing Carol’s sugar level. All the chemicals they had been injecting into her body had sent her sugar levels way too high. Whatever they gave her to reverse that was too strong, and it sent her levels down into the 40’s, which is very dangerous. Carol did pull through that incident, but it underscored how difficult it was for the medical staff to manage all the medications Carol was on. Everybody’s body is different, and it took some time before they knew how to respond to all the various symptoms she had.

One other time, Carol was being attended by a young oncologist. He told her one evening that they had not been totally honest with her, and that her condition was very serious. Even a sneeze could be fatal, as it could start internal bleeding that wouldn’t clot and she could bleed to death! That was news that Carol did not want to hear. Needless to say, she did not sleep well that night. Carol’s blood levels soon became the “scorecard” we were all watching. The chemo was designed to kill all the blood cells in hopes that in the process all the cancer cells would be killed as well. Then, we would watch that “scorecard”, and wait for her body to rebuild the cells. In the interim, she was dependent on transfusions to keep her body going. Platelets were the critical blood component as they would enable her blood to clot, and they had a short shelf life: just about 7 days. We were dependent on the generosity of those who gave blood and platelets. Often, the supply in the State of Wisconsin became low, and procedures had to be delayed until they were assured enough platelets were available. We quickly became aware and thankful how critical blood donation were to the well-being of so many patients.

As she had done in ICU, Carol was determined to build up her strength, and began to walk the halls with her IV “hat tree”. Again, she would set goals - up to the clock and back, or to the end of the hall and back - and would try to extend her goal each time. However, her performance was dependent on where she was in the chemo cycle. It would take a few days for the chemo to kick in, and then she would be very weak, a signal that the chemo had done its work and her blood counts would be low. This was always the critical part, as when her white counts were low she was very susceptible to infection. A transfusion would boost her red count and give her some energy as they would distribute the oxygen her body needed. Then, toward the end of the cycle, her body would naturally begin to rebuild her blood and her strength would improve. All the while she would be spreading joy to all she met. Over time, Carol got to know the nurses well, and they got to know her, and she soon became a favorite patient. Each nurse had her own personality and life experiences, and Carol would often tell me about many of them. One of them was a great Brewer fan, and they had good conversations about the games. Almost all of them were great Packer fans, and could carry on an intelligent conversation about all the subtleties of our local team. Carol was a delight and encourager to all to whom she came in contact. Eventually, one of the nurses told her that they wish she would visit all their chemo patients and counsel them, as a good share of them needed encouragement and positivity.

Carol’s positive attitude and the caring staff at the hospital made the long stay bearable. Outside of the food, which never tasted good (chemo was largely responsible for that), Carol seldom complained or felt depressed. However, there was an exception to that when we made a trip to Madison that September to visit the head of the cancer unit at the University Hospital. Carol’s doctor had been seeking his advice about Carol’s case from the beginning, and we needed to talk to him about the possibility of a bone marrow transplant. The procedure involves destroying all the bone marrow (which produces the blood cells), and transplanting marrow from a donor. It is a risky procedure, yet when it works it guarantees that the body is free from all cancer. We had never seen the hospital, and when we arrived we were amazed at the enormity of it. When we walked through the entrance, the sign above the door identifying it as the “Cancer Center” highlighted the reality of Carol’s illness. She almost broke down, as she was now one of the many seriously ill coming to and going from the place. The warm, family atmosphere of St. Vincent’s stood out in stark contrast to this place. The doctor, however, was very warm, understanding, and helpful. He was upfront about Carol’s condition, and explained that the transplant process was risky in itself as 25% do not survive the procedure. His recommendation was that since her current treatment at least appeared to be working, it would be wise not to do the transplant. However, should things suddenly go south, the transplant would be the last resort to save her life. Carol decided not to opt for the transplant, even if her condition became worse.

Eventually, Carol’s oncologist started talking about releasing her to go home. This heightened our optimism, but it also put some pressure on me. I wanted the upstairs bathroom and bedroom finished, so she wouldn’t have to negotiate steps. Fortunately, we designed our home to be handicap accessible; little did we know that we would need that feature so soon! Our kitchen was unfinished, too, and would remain that way until we sold our house in Wausaukee, as we needed the cash from that sale in order to complete that part of the house. But, I could manage without a kitchen in the meantime. All it meant was that I would have to run the dishes up and down the steps so I could clean them in the laundry tub in the lower level.

That great release date was finally given to us: July 3! Carol spent 65 days in the hospital. How great it was for her to be out in the sunshine! Late spring and early summers are beautiful times in Wisconsin, as everything is new, green and refreshing. The air is usually light, cool, and a pleasure to breathe, and Carol being released at that time had missed all but just the tail-end. When she was admitted the hospital, the trees were just beginning to leaf out, and the early flowers were beginning to open. Now, of course, the trees were fully leafed out, and although the tulips and daffodils were gone other flowers were in full bloom. What a pleasure it was for her to breathe that fresh air and feel the sun on her face for the first time in 65 days!

There were just a few days left of strawberry picking left outside of Green Bay, and on our way home we sought out one of our favorite spots. We always enjoyed picking whatever fruit was in season, and strawberries would have been the first crop that summer. Carol wasn’t strong enough to pick, but she sat in the car and enjoyed being there as she watched me pick. We nibbled on those berries on the way home, and had to stop off for an obligatory ice cream cone. Carol knew all the good shops, having scoped them out on her many trips to Green Bay, and loves a good ice cream treat.

When we arrived home, I noticed two lawn chairs set up on the porch: a symbolic statement that we were back together. A group of ladies from our church volunteered to come and prep the house to make it more comfortable. I had given them a list of all the things that needed to be done yet, such as transferring Carol’s clothes from the lower level to our bedroom now on the first floor, organizing our closet, arranging our pantry, and general cleaning. One of them spent three days painting the living room and kitchen, staining the cedar paneling in our bedroom as well. When they left, the house was neatly cleaned up and ready for Carol’s arrival. What a delight it was to have her home! It didn’t matter that she was still very weak, having to be helped out of the car and into her wheelchair.

I had been living alone for two months, so there were adjustments to be made, especially in the new house. I found it difficult to sleep with her, as her body was literally radiating heat from all the chemo, and yet she was always cold. I, of course, wanted the air conditioning on! While sleeping, she would often let out a slight groan whenever she exhaled. All this made sleeping together difficult, so for the first few days she slept in her chair in the living room while I stayed in the air-conditioned bedroom. When she did return to the bedroom, she needed more sleep than I did. Hours after I left the room, the thought would often come to me as to whether she was alive or not. This kept me on edge a bit for some time. The chemo had also affected her taste buds, so most foods didn’t taste good at all; this meant she didn’t eat much. She had lost a lot of weight, and when people would comment on her new, trim figure, she told them they could have that, too…it only cost about $2 million dollars and two months in the hospital!

Her white blood cells were always low after a chemo cycle, so we had to be very careful while in public or when people came to visit. She had to continue to wear a mask to avoid picking up infections from others. She had been given some wigs to wear to cover her bald head, but after trying them on she opted for hats instead. While in the hospital, someone had given her a pattern for knitting hats. It was a clever design, one that fit tightly over the head just like a wig. So Carol knit many of them in different colors, and even gave several away. She seldom wore makeup in her life, and this was no different. Her face usually reflected the joy that was in her heart, and so she didn’t need makeup to change her appearance. And so it was with the hair; having none was no big deal, as she just put on her hat. Eventually, her hair began to grow back, and, as some people promised, it came back different! She had always bemoaned the fact that her hair was straight. Soon it became apparent that it was coming back in dark shades, light shades, and curly! She didn’t miss the opportunity to resurrect her $2 million dollar joke when people admired her new “‘do”.

Our first church service together was an emotional time. These wonderful people had been praying for us throughout, helping get the house in order, even helping us with some work to be done at the orchard, and were delighted, of course, to see her again. They all marveled at how good she looked. During the service, I had to assist her each time we were asked to stand and sing, but what a joy it was for her to sing with our church family! Carol just sang her heart out. Our gratitude for all the prayers, visits, cards, and so on was hopefully expressed sufficiently, as our church family had provided much strength and encouragement through those difficult months.

Carol’s return to the farmer’s market was also long-anticipated. The vendors had become almost like a family, and she enjoyed wheeling around, visiting all of them. Many of her customers were so concerned, and were delighted to see her, too. The first few weeks Carol wasn’t strong enough to stay for the whole market, and she didn’t make them all as she still had several more months of chemo. It soon became apparent that many people at the market and elsewhere had their own cancer story, and there was an opportunity for mutual encouragement with many of them.

The pattern for the rest of the year cycled monthly. The beginning of the month was a return to the hospital for a week of chemo. By about the third day in the week, the chemo had taken its full affect, killing off most of her blood cells. She was then dependent on transfusions to keep her body going until her “scorecard” once again showed her body had begun to rebuild new cells. By the end of the week, she would be strong enough to return home. By the middle of summer, the hospital staff knew her body better so she didn’t experience the wild swings of her sugar levels. The weeks became quite predictable, although not without risks. Any time blood cells are killed off, the dangers are there. At one point she developed spots on her lungs, and the dreaded fear of pneumonia raised its ugly head. This, of course, is what kills a lot of people in a weakened state. But, fortunately God protected her, and the spots eventually disappeared. Her strength continued to improve, though weakening a bit during the chemo cycle each month, but she began to feel stronger with each passing month.

The oncologist was flexible enough to arrange the schedule, at Carol’s request, so that she was at her strongest point for our annual Applefest held the last Saturday in September. Again, many of our faithful customers were so happy to see her and offered encouragement throughout the day. The day after the festival, we were on our way back to the hospital for the next round of chemo. Throughout all these cycles, the Oncology Department was checking her blood for any signs of cancer. The miracle of all this is that never since that first week in ICU did they ever find ANY cancel cells! Can we prove that God miraculously removed all the cancer? No, we cannot, for we were often reminded by the oncology staff that their technology is not advanced enough to be certain 100%. By the same token, no one can say for certain that Carol wasn’t 100% clean. So, unless at some future time the cancer returns, we chose to believe that God did miraculously cure her that first week. Could we have refused any treatment at all? We probably could have, but that would be testing God. So, the prudent course of action was to follow the protocol outlined by the oncologist, which we did. We know that God can and does heal through medicine, as well.

So what role did the prayers of our family and others play in this healing? Certainly, God wants us to pray. I am reminded of the battle which Joshua and the Israelites had with the Amalekites. Moses, Aaron and Hur watched it from on top of a hill. “As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning. But whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it, Aaron and Hur each held his hands up—one on one side, one on the other—so that his hands remained steady until sunset. So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword.” (Exodus 17:11-13) I am also reminded of Matthew 7:7-8 where Jesus says, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks the door will be opened.” The danger here is to deduct that we can pull a few strings through our prayers and God will do whatever we want. Yet, we must balance those verses with all of Scripture. Isaiah 55:8-9 says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” So by this, we are reminded that no matter what seems logical to us, God operates on a different level with different purposes. His sovereignty is clearly illustrated in Genesis 25, where God chose the younger son to carry out the promise of Genesis 12:2-3, “I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.” So, God expects us to pray and we, as well as many of our friends and family, were obedient to that end. Yet it was not our prayers that caused this healing. Nor was there any righteous behavior on our part that caused this healing. We were not, in any way, the cause of this healing. Carol’s healing was simply an act of grace by God. He gave her life back to her for reasons we do not know, and will probably not know until we meet Him face-to-face. And until that time, we look for opportunities to share the story of His grace, mercy, and of this miraculous healing.

Post Script: At the time of writing this, June/July 2011, Carol has basically returned to full strength. It has taken roughly six months since her last chemo treatment to reach this point. She has returned to her bakery, full of enthusiasm, and eager to try new ideas*. We continue to encounter customers who don’t know whether or not Carol survived 2010, so it is a pleasure to tell them our story. Carol gets her blood checked every three months, and—to date—she continues to amaze her oncologist by her recovery. And often, when I look across our orchard and see Carol tending to her flower patch, I am reminded that the outcome could have been entirely different.

Carol celebrated her 10-year cancer remission anniversary in Summer of 2020. Hal and Carol celebrated 54 years of marriage in August 2021. As of this publication they still live and work together in love and faith, celebrating each day their blessings and, above all, their opportunities to serve the Lord through their family, business and friendships. If anyone has questions about Carol’s cancer experience or would like to have more knowledge about our Lord God, Hal and Carol welcome those questions either via email or in-person. *Watch for a future blog post about one “new idea” Carol could not escape from when in the hospital recovering from leukemia, and how that item has turned out to be one of our signature and extremely popular baked goods at Pleasant View!