Category Archives: Adult Children

From Linnea about her brother Nelson

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I owe a lot to my big brother Nelson.

When I went off to college, I began to drift away from the things I had always believed. I used my doubts and questions about God as a reason to basically do whatever I wanted, even things I knew were wrong.

Then during my senior year, Nelson moved to town. He had been out serving at the Youth With a Mission (YWAM) base in Hawaii for several years, but since he was only one year short of his bachelor’s degree, he decided to come back to the Midwest to finish it. The two of us graduated from Anderson University together on the same day in May of 1999.

What a relief that must have been for my dad! Education was a top priority for him and he worked hard to make sure we all had the chance to go to college. Nelson mostly finished school to honor his father, which makes me think of Ephesians 6:2-3: “Honor your father and mother, which is the first commandment with a promise, so that it may go well with you and that you may have a long life in the land.” When I pray for Nelson now, I love thinking about how he has obeyed this command!

During the year we were together at Anderson University, Nelson went out of his way to spend time with me. We would go out for coffee and talk about spiritual things. He never preached at me, but always listened to me without judgment and tried to answer my questions. And he talked a lot about YWAM.

As graduation approached, I had a growing uneasiness about the direction I was going. I felt guilty for some of the choices I was making and wondered if I needed to make a complete break from my life as it was. I began to think maybe God had a better plan for me.

I will admit, I might not have initially decided to try YWAM for holy reasons. But once I got out there, far away from everyone and everything I knew, I could suddenly see my life more clearly—how ungrateful I had been, how self-focused, and how deceitful.

As I read my Bible, listened to the teachings, and talked with my leaders, I realized I was far from who God wanted me to be. And I was a wreck, filled with regret and desperate for God to forgive me and change me. After two months there, I was baptized in the Pacific Ocean off the main pier in Kona, and I knew I would never be the same again.

During those early months on the YWAM base, the same thing happened many times. Someone would mention my brother Nelson, and a new acquaintance would say, “Wait! You’re NELSON’S sister?!” And then suddenly, a virtual stranger would give me a hug and start telling me a story about some crazy adventure they’d had with Nelson in a third world county. I had instant friends everywhere because I was Nelson’s little sister. I loved it.

A year into my time with YWAM, I met Adam, who became my husband. At that point Nelson was living in Nashville and not on the YWAM base, so Adam had never met him, but he knew all about him from the stories his leaders had shared!

(Conclusion tomorrow…)

Palliative Care

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Being a non-medical person, I didn’t know what the word “palliative” meant until Nate had his cancer. The hospice people were using that word, so finally I looked it up. Palliative care is medicine or a medical treatment that lessens pain or other negative symptoms, without dealing with their causes.

When Nelson, Ann Sophie, Will, and I first got to the Mayo Clinic, one of the many doctors we saw mentioned that they were setting up a meeting with the palliative care people. Nelson’s immediate response was, “Well, I don’t think we need that, do we?”

Like me, he was thinking back to when his father had been in his final days of cancer and the nurse brought up palliative care. In other words, she was letting us know there was nothing more they could do for Nate except to mitigate his suffering. She called it “comfort measures.” That, they could do.

But the meeting at Mayo’s was scheduled for us anyway, and we met with the head palliative MD yesterday. As always, little Will came along and brought sunshine into the small exam room, charming the lady doctor with his smiles.

Ann Sophie, constantly thinking ahead, had packed Nelson’s medications in her bag and when asked the first question, she reached in and pulled out the prescription bottle the doctor was asking about. “I just brought them,” she said, “in case you needed to see them.”

In less than a minute she had them all lined up on the exam room bench, grouped by category. The doctor was impressed (as were Nelson and I), and it turned out to be a big help to have the bottles there. Though this palliative expert had all these same drugs on a computer list in front of her, she quickly pivoted to the bench-with-bottles to study labels, count remaining pills, and ask questions about their efficacy.

Dr. Christiansen spent well over an hour with us. First and foremost, she wanted to know how Nelson was feeling. What were his most bothersome symptoms? How did his current condition compare with weeks past? Did he need to continue all the pills, or could some be eliminated? Did he have questions about the many drugs he’s taking?

She took time to listen carefully to his answers, once in a while turning toward her computer to tap out notes.

Then she turned to Ann Sophie, asking how she was coping with managing all the pills and their different stipulations. Ann Sophie had her questions ready, and Dr. Christiansen had a detailed answer for everything any of us asked. She was profoundly knowledgeable about every drug, their different uses, and why each was prescribed for Nelson.

When we left, it turned out that the palliative care appointment Nelson didn’t think he would need had been very useful. Best of all, though, was when Nelson said, “I know one thing for sure. I feel a lot better now than I did a couple of weeks ago.” And beneath that heartening statement was the valuable care of palliative medicine—along with a few comfort measures from another source:

The Lord is “the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles…” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

Planning Ahead

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We’re all agreed it would be nice to have no more emergencies stemming from Nelson’s lung cancer. We’ve had three visits to the ER, two hospital admissions, one ambulance ride, and a variety of crises here at home related to the above—in four weeks.

Having no more would be nice.

But cancer keeps us guessing, and this morning we had yet another beat-down moment that took us by surprise.

We had just loaded the car for a 30 minute ride to a special appointment at a distant post office. We were trying to accomplish Nelson’s chosen task for the day (a #4 on his list of goals) to deliver paper work that would eventually bring an American passport to baby Will. After all, his mama is a citizen of Germany, and his relatives there are anxious to meet him. So our errand was a future-focused undertaking of how life might be after cancer.

Nelson had started the car and was waiting for us in the parking lot. Ann Sophie brought Will out, and I followed, each climbing into our respective car doors. Then Nelson said, “Did you bring an anti-nausea pill?”

Ann Sophie said, “No. Should I go back and get one?”

Nelson flung his car door saying “too late” and bolted for the building entrance, which of course was locked. Ann Sophie realized he was about to vomit and said, “Do it in the bushes!” When he didn’t head that way, she ran ahead with her keys ready for the locked doors.

The two of them disappeared into the building just as Will began to cry in his car seat. I got out and went around to open Will’s door to pick him up, and there we were, a screaming baby and his grandma, pacing around a parking lot near a running car with all four doors wide open and no one inside.

Ten minutes later, out they came, Nelson pinching a paper towel over his bloody nose (due to blood thinners), and Ann Sophie dragging the heavy oxygen machine with its tubing, cannula, and cords–on loan from ever-helpful cousin Luke.

Nelson had made it to the toilet, his mouth filled with saliva, knowing that the retching was about to tear into his mid-section with excruciating pain and then morph into a cardiac event as it always had before. He felt he was about to pass out and asked Ann Sophie to run for the oxygen.

He took several whiffs while kneeling in front of the toilet, and in just a few seconds, the intense nausea magically disappeared. He hadn’t done any retching, there hadn’t been a cardiac event, and he felt just fine.

Ann Sophie dragged the heavy oxygen machine to the car, and while wearing the cannula, Nelson felt good enough to drive. Though we were late to the appointment, our mission was accomplished.

Such is the world of day-to-day cancer. Though we’d like to know what tomorrow will bring, that’s not how it works.

“When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider this: God has made the one as well as the other. Therefore, no one can discover anything about their future.” (Ecclesiastes 7:14)