Category Archives: Disease and dying

Obituary of Nelson Hamilton Nyman

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Nelson Hamilton Nyman was a young man who had much to live for with a wife he adored and a new baby boy, his first child. He fought to live with all the determination of a warrior, but in the end, God had a different plan and took him to heaven “early.” On Christmas morning, 2022, Nelson quietly left us.

He was born in Chicago, on January 26, 1973, weighing in at 10 pounds. His noteworthy start was an indication that he would live a large life all the way through, and he did. His family raised him in the Chicago suburbs where he attended Christian Liberty Academy through his elementary years, followed by Hersey High School, both in Arlington Heights, Illinois. Nelson loved working with his hands and working hard, especially outdoors. He delighted in solving problems, whether by repairing an old car, scraping moss off a roof, or best of all, helping others mend relationships.

He and a cousin began a lawn mowing business while still in high school, learning how to do far more than just cut grass. Because both of them were of Swedish heritage, they named their business Scandinavian Lawn. Through the years, they mastered every gardening skill there is and also learned how to balance books and how to keep customers happy. In and out of college during those years, Nelson eventually graduated from Anderson University in Indiana with a Bachelor’s Degree in psychology and a minor in criminal justice, but a desk job was not for him.

In choosing a place to settle after college, he decided to sell his Illinois landscaping business to his brother and move to Tennessee—where the summers are long and a landscaper can work most of the year. Nelson loved country music and landed in the musical capitol of the nation, Nashville. There he began landscaping in earnest, growing his business to include several employees and 80 customers. Even with this success, though, his heart was being tugged in a new direction.

As a little boy of five, Nelson invited Jesus into his heart and life. He attended Sunday school and church every week with his family and found it all fascinating. Throughout his growing-up years he remained conscious of God, His Word, and how he ought to live as a Christian. In his early adulthood, however, he sometimes strayed but would always find his way back to the Lord.

About then, he met several friends who had spent time in Kona, Hawaii, at a Christian organization called Youth With A Mission (YWAM) and wondered if he should try it, too. During the off-season of landscaping, he ventured to Hawaii, taking classes and working at the YWAM campus in Kona. To his great delight, he discovered he could travel the world with YWAM while spreading the good news of God’s Gospel as he went. So once again Nelson sold Scandinavian Lawn and committed to working in the YWAM ministry. He led different groups through a variety of countries and cultures, filling an assortment of positions while 13 years passed. He loved his work, each new day different from the one before, but more than that, he grew to love Jesus Christ with a passion that never dimmed.

Eventually he took a position that was anchored in Kona, running a YWAM program with 50-100 young adults from all over the world, guiding them spiritually while managing their work hours on the campus. It was in this position that lightning struck when he met a new staffer from Germany. Ann Sophie was assigned to work alongside Nelson, and it wasn’t long before co-workers were commenting about the electricity between them. A year later they were married in Kona, both dedicated to continuing their missionary work there—now as a team.

But last March, Nelson began feeling poorly. Their baby boy, Will, had just been born, and he was overwhelmed with joy to have become a father. The day of his cancer diagnosis was a challenge beyond all others, a crushing disappointment invading the happiest time of his life. In May of this year they left Hawaii, landing at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota for treatment. God chose a path for him that neither he, Ann Sophie, nor little Will would ever have chosen, but he decided not to ask “why” but to leave the reason with God. No doubt his new home in Paradise includes satisfying answers to many of his questions. His family will have to wait to hear them, but they are confident that one day they’ll all be together again. Their farewell wasn’t permanent….just “goodbye for now.”

Nelson is survived by his wife (Ann Sophie), his son (Willard Nelson), his mother (Margaret), six siblings( Lars, Linnea [m. Adam], Klaus, Hans [m. Katy], Louisa [m. Teddy] and Birgitta [m. Spencer]), 15 nieces and nephews, two uncles (Kenneth and Bervin), and 16 cousins.

The Best Christmas Gift

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On December 25th, our Nelson received the best Christmas gift anyone could ever get, from the best Giver there could ever be. He was lifted out of his pain-riddled, weakened, cancerous body and given a new life of comfort, strength and perfect health.

Here’s the story of his last 10 days:

Thursday, Dec. 15: Nelson experienced severe hip pain. Oncology doctors examined him and found he’d broken a low vertebrae but considered the sharp pain to be from nerves. Eventually the orthopedic oncologist recognized his pain wasn’t nerves at all but bone pain. He had another scan in which they found that his femur, experiencing heavy damage from the cancer, which was paper thin in some places. Immediate surgery to secure the hip and femur was recommended.

Friday, Dec. 16: This morning Nelson underwent a pinning of sorts, when doctors put a long rod/nail from his hip to his knee that would allow Nelson to keep on walking. They also secured the hip. Recovery went well and he was able to surrender his cane, putting weight on his leg normally.

Saturday, Dec. 17: Still in the hospital, Nelson and Ann Sophie were able to share dinner together in his room and had some good conversation. For the first time Ann Sophie asked, “What will we do if you don’t get better?” Nelson said, “Let’s table that until I get home again.” But it was a special evening with a special openness in their conversation. They were able to make peace with their situation, and while praying together, both of them accepted their lot. They also decided they wouldn’t ask “why.”

Sunday, Dec. 18: Though Nelson couldn’t wait to get home, they wouldn’t discharge him unless arrangements had been made to send him home with 4 liter oxygen. Although he was disappointed and hated being in the hospital, he was afraid to go home without the oxygen, worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Monday, Dec. 19: He was discharged with a powerful oxygen machine and was oh-so-glad to be home again. Since he was cold all the time, he put his jacket on, wrapped himself in an electric blanket and settled into his comfortable laz-y-boy chair, concentrating on recovering from the operation.

Tuesday, Dec. 20: Nelson began changing, becoming confused, unable to connect emotionally with anyone. He slept deeply in his chair but panicked when he thought the oxygen might run out or not be powerful enough to help him. Things were changing quickly, and Ann Sophie felt she would soon be unable to care for him. She called her mom, Astrid, and pleaded with her to come, saying she could no longer be left alone with Nelson.

She decided to give him his Christmas gift early, a poster he loved that she had saved from their Hawaii apartment after they’d left in such a rush last May. Moving slowly, he had trouble unwrapping the gift. When he saw the poster, which normally would have thrilled him, he showed no emotion at all. Later he told Ann Sophie he felt like he was trying to breathe through a tiny straw and could never get enough air.

Wednesday, Dec. 21: Nelson became fidgety and restless after a sleepless night, trying always to stay awake. He wobbled when walking and became more confused. His speech was slurred and soft, and he could no longer swallow food without choking on it. A full blown panic attack was just beneath the surface, and Ann Sophie knew it. By mid-afternoon, it was evident he needed to go to the ER. Though Nelson knew this might lead to the hospital, this time he didn’t object. Ann Sophie called 911, and they whisked him away, with Ann Sophie riding along at his side. The driver remembered Nelson from his former ride in an ambulance. But this was different. As much as he wanted to stay home, this time he sensed he couldn’t go on there any longer.

Wednesday, continued: That evening I arrived from Michigan and went straight to the ER, swapping places with Ann Sophie, who had spent a long day with Nelson. Within the hour, the transport paramedics arrived to move Nelson into the hospital. He was uncharacteristically compliant about being admitted. I stayed with him overnight as staff members worked to make him comfortable. But it wasn’t to be.

Thursday, Dec. 22: As Nelson’s breathing became more labored, they decided to put a new drain tube into his left side, hoping to drain the gelatin-like substance from the lung. They were unsure if the shadows on the x-rays were cancer clinging to the lung walls or a lung infection. He began taking antibiotics. At 8:30 PM they did the catheter surgery in the room under local anesthetic, but the hardest part for Nelson was holding perfectly still for—40 long minutes. A nurse and I were both holding him steady, as he rounded his back and leaned on the side table. It was torture for him, but he did get a bit more breathing space after they began draining the globby material from his lung. Ann Sophie came and went all day, running home to feed Will and put him to bed as needed. Most of the time she walked the 2 blocks…in sub-zero weather. I stayed in Nelson’s room overnight.

Friday, Dec. 23: Doctors had lined up a brain scan, a brand new chemotherapy cocktail, a swallowing test, a lung wash, endless blood draws and the establishing of a feeding tube. The steady parade of doctors and nurses was unnerving to Nelson who mumbled, “They’ve taken everything away from me.” He struggled with an extremely dry mouth and failed his swallowing test, resulting in them taking away both food and water. And since he could no longer swallow, his meds were set aside while the nurses scrambled to find alternatives that could be given intravenously and be just as effective. Once Nelson began drifting into sleep, Ann Sophie and I sat in the twilight of his hospital room and began talking about end-of life issues. We talked about the worst case scenario and how in the world Nelson’s frail body was possibly going to withstand another, more severe chemotherapy regime. It seemed like continuing treatment simply agreeing to subject Nelson to more torture. He would never stop fighting to live, because of Ann Sophie and Will, but the decision was in her hands instead. Both of us cried as we finally admitted that Nelson’s life on earth might soon be over.

Friday, continued: And then Nelson had a panic attack, again feeling like he was suffocating. The nurses worked hard to quiet him, as did we, and a dose of Ativan helped. But shortly thereafter, his panic level rose again, this time to new heights. He forced himself off the bed and went to his knees on the floor. I thought he’d fallen. But he pressed his head against the edge of the mattress and though he couldn’t talk above a whisper, this time he cried out loudly, “God help me!” The room quickly filled with eight medical experts who all agreed he needed the ICU. Once there, this new staff settled him quickly with IV meds. And the head doctor asked for a conference with Ann Sophie and me. His question was, did we want to sustain Nelson’s life with artificial means, if it became necessary?

Friday, continued: Because of our discussion a short time beforehand, she was ready with her answer, given in tears. It was a no. The doctor told her that her decision was the best gift she could ever give her husband. It had been extremely difficult to come to it, but it was the right thing. I was so proud of her. After we decided on “comfort measures” for Nelson, Ann Sophie and I headed to Nelson’s room.

The minute he saw her, he once again threw his legs over the edge of the bed and this time, he threw off his hospital gown and reached for her. She kneeled down in front of him and he wrapped her in his arms, casually saying, “Hi!” The busy staff all giggled at his changed demeanor, so happy to see him happy at last. This was his last spoken word.

Most of Nelson’s lines/tubes were removed and all further testing and procedures halted. Ann Sophie, Astrid and I all stayed overnight in Nelson’s ICU room. He was receiving morphine and ativan through an IV port and began resting well for the first time in two weeks.

Saturday, Dec. 24: Since Nelson had no additional medical needs except to be comfortable, they moved him back to the oncology floor to free up the high-tech, in-demand ICU bed. It was a large room with two picture windows and many chairs. Pastor Kevin and his wife Heidi arrived and with Nelson’s guitar, they initiated a singing session of Christmas carols and hymns. We all hoped Nelson was enjoying the music as he slept peacefully. As we went into another long night, his appearance began changing dramatically. We spoke lovingly to him, offering comforting Scriptures and talk of heaven and what life there would be like for him. His nurse looked in every five minutes, offering pain meds as needed. The nurse made up the couch/bed for us and Nelson breathed shallow but regular breaths all the way till morning.

Sunday, Dec. 25: Christmas Day dawned icy cold with grey skies. Nelson was still breathing regularly, though not deeply when suddenly his breaths became like tiny wisps of air. Ann Sophie rushed to the hospital from home, and as we whispered loving words and our goodbyes, he slipped away peacefully.

The hospital let us stay with Nelson’s body as long as we wished, and we enjoyed three hours of talking and thinking together—Ann Sophie, her parents, little Will and me. It was obvious to all of us that Nelson was not there with us. Soon one of the hospital staff arrived and offered to make a print of Nelson’s hand for us. Ann Sophie and I had both had long stints of time sitting with him and holding his hand. Several times in recent days he had asked us to please hold his hand, which was our great pleasure. As the lady painted his hand with invisible ink and pressed it onto a paper, I thought of the hard working Nelson and all the good he’d done with his hands:

“Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” (Ecclesiastes 9:10)

                                                                                                                                                     Nelson’s funeral will be held on January 7 at 
Ranfranz & Vine Funeral Home, 5421 Royal NW, Rochester,
MN 55901
Visitation will be at 10:00 AM, Service at 11:00
In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to Northbridge Church
1925 48th St. NE, Rochester, MN 55906
or to the family

 

 

Back on the Wagon

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Monday I resumed taking the Mekinist / Tafinlar chemo-combo. It amounts to 1 of the Mechanist every other morning and 1 Kafinlar every morning and every night. The last time I was at the ER, I was told, “These are heavy duty drugs. It’s no wonder you have side effects like you do.” 

The thing is: I had 5 weeks with minimal fallout and at the end there, I had 103 degree fevers, headaches, and extreme fatigue. But the other thing is: the pills are killing this cancer like nobody’s business. 

Annso and I are a good team and God is asking something very different from me than from her. She does 90% of the work with our little baby boy and helping me and I pretty much try to exist and follow the doc’s orders as far as rest, pills, and overexerting myself. 

When I started back on the pills the fever came back right away.

I was hoping it would take a few weeks like it did the first time around. I take Tylenol for it but it’s a far cry from actually handling the headaches and fever. Just takes the edge off a little. 

I ask myself, “Can I do this for 6 weeks straight, a week off then another 6 weeks, then evaluate?” There’s always the chance the symptoms back off and that’s what we’re banking on, but who knows. There are no guarantees. But for me, I really have no choice if I want to live. Cancer is still all over my body and would surge back with a vengeance without this treatment.

The other day I saw an embroidered plaque on the wall at the clinic that said, “Fighting since 2007.” I got a queasy feeling in my stomach when I read it. Wow. Fighting for 15 years. Fighting like I am right now for that long… good grief.

On the one hand, that person was probably delivered a death sentence like me… 2-5 years tops and now they’ve been at it for 15. 

I think that’s why God doesn’t tell us the future. We are capable of far more than we think (with his help of course) if we don’t know what’s coming. 

It seems like forever since we moved to Rochester, but like they say with raising kids, “The days are long but the years are short.”

The days do drag on when I feel like this, but I’m thankful we have the solution and IT’S WORKING. I need God like never before and Annso would tell you the same. She just went on her second walk of the day with little Will in that baby carrier just to keep from going crazy. 

I did the first, but wasn’t up for the second. 

We jumped in at a great church with both feet. 

One of my doctors invited me while I laid in the hospital. 

We have small group and meetings with others who have suffered and overcome like me. Those are some of the biggest helps.

Also, many of the things I learned in Alcoholics Anonymous come in handy. 

“One day at a time.” 

“You won’t always feel the way you do today.”

All we can do is keep on duckin’ and swingin’.

Thank you all for your prayers. We need them now more than ever!