HELP

Jason was an outgoing child. People were attracted to his calm acceptance of a life-threatening illness and were intrigued by his trust in God. He knew what he was facing to some degree but much of it was difficult for us to explain since we as well were unsure what it would be like. He talked to everyone, though, about his feelings.
To Bethany he said, “It’s okay if God wants me to die now.”
They discussed heaven and the streets of gold. Bethany wasn’t sure if she really believed that heaven had such streets, but Jason convinced her that if the Bible said so, it was true. They spoke of the ones they knew that were in heaven. Jason said he would see his great grandparents as well as Connie, Uncle Pat and Carl. These dear friends had died recently and it was easy for him to relate to their being in heaven because he remembered them alive.
Death was not discussed with fear, though lumps rose in our throats. It all was very simple to Jason. He told Barbie, the reporter, that he was not afraid of dying.
“I don’t worry about it. I pretend I am a normal person. I pretend I’m just fine, that I don’t have a disease. And nobody would ever know except for the holes in me.”
Those holes were from chemotherapy that he was getting three days a week. He told of being brave and not crying when getting his shots. He was anxious to get it over with because he felt that I was upset and never really happy anymore. He worried about his brother and sisters having to be tested as possible donors. He wondered whether we would forget him if he died. That he was only six while dealing with all of this amazes me even now.
While we were groping for answers to his questions and trying to carry on as usual, the fund for his operation was growing. Local folks were planning fund-raisers in the form of Fun Days at the Downtown Park, balloon rides, bowl-a-thons, walk-a-thons, etc. We were amazed that everyone would care so much. Certainly it is easy to feel sorry for a family in a crisis, but these people were running errands, selling T-shirts, playing Superman, turning green to become the Hulk in a dunk tank, and painting dozens of faces with hearts and balloons. The list goes on and on. The K-Mart Corporation became interested in helping raise money in early August. This became a huge effort in its stores throughout the area and would eventually result in over $37,000.00 being raised for Jason’s benefit. It was an awesome task and the effort put forth on our account was most touching.
We were seeing a side of people that many will never see. Some reporters said that our story was popular partially for this reason. In a world where no one seems trustworthy, crimes are committed around the clock, and evil abounds, we saw people giving freely of their time and money to help a six-year-old many of them would never meet. It was also our privilege, by way of the media, to tell thousands that our strength came from above and that we firmly believed God would do what was best for us all. There were times when much of what we said was never printed. Apparently faith in a living God and reliance on His will are not popular topics and don’t sell papers. We answered the questions they asked and tried to keep our household running smoothly as meals were interrupted and routine in general was turned into chaos.
While every effort was being made to raise money we were running into problems with the State of New Hampshire. The Federal Government had promised to match state funds, but in fact, we would never receive a dime from either Washington or New Hampshire. When we applied to the state for medical aid we were refused because we provided Jason a stable home life. If one parent were absent from the home or one parent were unable to provide support or care, the story would have been different. But there was no aid available for happily married couples. We were horrified! It seemed so incredible that this was the reasoning behind the refusal! The media shared our sense of outrage. Papers carried the headline “STATE SAYS ITS RULES FORBID HELPING BOY” and accounts of New Hampshire’s position began appearing. The clamor increased as the public became aware of the situation. There’s no doubt in my mind that God’s grace to us increased as well. What other reason can I give for my ability to courteously thank the women who called telling me to divorce Wes and set up a separate residence? How ridiculous! Patience with such advice would certainly not have been my natural reaction! Such well-meaning people thought they were helping and I treated them as if they were, but divorce? That was unthinkable!
As that August of 1985 began, Jason was once again in remission. It had taken exactly a month. We were so relieved, because everything else hinged on this! Next, we needed to find a donor. This was to be a sibling, and even with three to choose from, the chances, statistically, were not great. But I had a feeling that the baby, MaryEllen, would be the one. The events surrounding her birth had seemed to mean something, and this could be the answer.
One afternoon in early August we all went to have blood drawn at Mass General. This identification procedure is known as human lymphocyte antigen typing, or HLA. The little ones were nervous as technicians drew 20 cc’s from their arms (30 cc’s equals about 1 ounce). The baby gave 15 cc’s and Wes, Jason and myself, 75 cc’s. These tubes seemed enormous to Jason as he was used to much smaller amounts of blood being taken. It was a long day and seemed to take more out of me than usual. I was glad when it ended and hoped no more blood would be needed from the children.
Everything was getting so hectic. Some days I could have used an answering service, as calls were constantly coming. I usually managed to keep a level head and do what had to be done. There was no longer any such thing as a routine at our house. Wash got done late at night, when no one had anything left in their closets. Clutter collected in places that usually were neat. Ironing was done only in emergency situations. Most of the days were spent in Boston or interrupted by reporters and phone calls. One particular evening we had a visit scheduled from a cable TV channel wanting some footage on Jason. They were due at six, which meant the children would have to be fed early. Just as I was getting their meal ready a call came from a Catholic priest who wished to tell me about the powers of this “sister” he knew. He was genuinely concerned, no doubt, and I was trying to be kind, explaining my beliefs while at the same time being pressured by the relentless ticking of the clock. Needless to say, when the television crew came down the driveway, we were not ready.
The children were still eating and Wes was just getting home, full of questions as to why there was such disorganization. Eventually we were “ready” and as we came out on the front lawn the cameras began to roll. But while Wes and I were talking to the anchorman I could hear Bryan and MaryEllen crying in the house. All this confusion was not the children’s fault, yet they were suffering for it. I felt like I was ready to explode!
“I’m sorry but I just can’t do this,” I blurted, and dashed inside.
‘Wes was taken aback to say the least, but, after the crew had left and he’d heard about the way things had gone he was a little more understanding. It had not been a good day! Surprisingly enough, we heard later that the taping was a success. ‘We never did get to see it and, in a way, I was glad.
On the 12th of August we got the results of the HLA typing for Jason’s donor. Success! We were elated — and my instinctive feelings had been right! Little MaryEllen would be the one to try to save her big brother’s life. She was a perfect match, and neither of the others were even close. Jason had been worried about not finding a match, and this set his mind at ease.
I have my donor! I m perfectly fine now! Jason informed a reporter. “I’m glad my sister’s going to give me the bone marrow. Now I know somebody will be able to help me and I don’t have to worry anymore. She’ll be asleep when they take it from her so she probably won’t even feel it and that’s good.”
In the midst of all this excitement, we were anticipating seeing Walt Disney World. Jason had been granted a special wish by the High Hopes Wish Foundation, a wonderful organization dedicated to fulfilling the wishes of terminally ill children. We left on August 16th, after a bit of uncertainty as to whether we’d be leaving at all! Our flight was at 10:55 A.M. and we’d had to be at Mass General at 8:00 that morning for Jason to have a two-hour blood transfusion.
We raced through the Callahan Tunnel to Logan Airport with only minutes to spare, relieved to discover when we arrived that the flight was delayed. This gave us time to catch our breath before boarding. Finally, after a relaxing, enjoyable flight, we reached the condo that had been provided for us. It was lovely and we were glad to be there. Being so far from home without Wes was strange, but business responsibilities had made the trip impossible for him. Mom Vitale came instead, and was a tremendous help, as usual.
The children enjoyed the Magic Kingdom even in the merciless temperature. Jason, on prednisone, was very grouchy, but I think he enjoyed himself anyway. Watching him race along the mini Grand Prix raceway with his grandmother, I couldn’t help but think that the next time our family visited Florida Jason might be in heaven. These thoughts were not predominant, yet every so often, when least expected, they would crowd in. This was reality. To push them aside would be to close my eyes to what was a distinct possibility. I knew God was able and I wanted to trust Him no matter what happened! As we prepared to leave Epcot Center for the airport we were caught in a torrential downpour. We were soaked. The children laughed until they could laugh no more. To them, seeing Mommy and Grammy looking like drowned rats was much funnier than the Country Bear Jamboree!
When we arrived home, Jason and MaryEllen were called in for more tests. Their white cells were fighting. Perhaps this wasn’t going to work after all! It was like being on a see-saw. Up, down, up, down, up, up. It turned out to be just a fluke. Their match was indeed a good one and MaryEllen was still the donor. We heard from Washington again and were told that as far as New Hampshire’s paying was concerned things looked pretty bleak. Still, they insisted there was nothing to worry about; something would open up. Publicity continued and the pace of our schedule picked up even more. We were in a race with this disease. What if there were another relapse before we found a hospital? No, God would work it out. We felt confident about that.
With such a pace it was difficult to accomplish everything.
Simple things like showers had to be squeezed in. One Monday morning I had to get in the shower and get my hair washed. The children were downstairs. I checked on them and told Jason and Bethany to stay in the basement where they were playing. Bryan was entertaining MaryEllen as she sat in the walker in the living room. They would be fine for the few minutes while I was in the shower.
In the middle of my shampoo I heard an awful crash. I jumped out, grabbed a towel and ran. MaryEllen was still in the walker — at the bottom of the cellar stairs. Blood poured from her mouth. Looking down I found one of her teeth on the floor. Running upstairs with her in my arms and my towel in her mouth, I dialed the dentist. As I was talking quite hysterically I noticed the three holes that had once held her three teeth. She had lost them all! I was put in touch with an oral surgeon and made an appointment. Next I dialed Faith, for no particular reason other than panic.
She asked, “What’s so funny?”
I said, “I’m not laughing, I’m crying!” Poor Faith. She pictured my finding Jason in bed not breathing. I explained what had
happened and she came right over.
While we waited for her, Bryan hugged my leg and said,
“Don’t worry Mommy, we can get a new one with teeth.”
I didn’t want a new one, I wanted to go back in time and decide against the shower. The visit with the oral surgeon showed her gums were clean but the teeth could not be replaced. He tried to console us with the prediction that, by the time she was six, we would never know anything had happened, but this was small comfort. I still felt terrible. Poor MaryEllen!
With MaryEllen scheduled to be the donor, the need to find a hospital for the operation to take place became even more urgent. Publicity increased with the state’s inability to help and it seemed as if the whole area was in an uproar. Perhaps it was the irate citizens that spurred the New Hampshire state government into action. This sick child was bad P.R.!
One evening we were visited by Susan Lombard, a woman from the Office of Human Services. She was a very sweet person who was genuinely interested in helping our Jason. When she understood the whole story she promised to assist in some way, somehow. Back in her office she started a search for a hospital that would have a sympathetic view of this complicated mess.
Meanwhile, others had been touched by Jason’s plight. Donations and fund-raising continued as the fund reached 5O,OOO.OO.
This was wonderful, yet it still fell far short of what was required.
Then, one morning after breakfast, the phone rang. The caller asked if I were Martha Vitale and if I had a son, Jason, who needed an operation. He went on to say that he was prepared to pay for the transplant. He knew about the cost and said he would do whatever it took to see that Jason had a chance to live a normal life. The blessings he had been blessed with were many, he said. There was no need to retire and take it easy at his age so he wanted to use what he had to help those who were less fortunate than he. The memory of an eight-year-old daughter who had died from cancer had not disappeared from his mind. Why shouldn’t he try to help spare another family such a loss? I was in shock as I took his name and phone number. He asked that Wes reach him later on. After all our frustration with governmental red tape, this certainly gave us a glimmer of hope once again. Was this God’s answer for our crisis?
Later in the week we met this dear man, his wife and two of their sons. They were the kind of people that made us feel at ease, as though they had always been our friends. In the long months that lay ahead, the sincerity of this offer would be demonstrated time and again. Very soon after their visit we received another call from Susan. She had located a hospital in California that was most interested in Jason’s case. It was the City of Hope National Medical Center, located in Duarte, California. Its approach to catastrophic illness is unique. The medical staff there believes there is no benefit to healing the body if in so doing the soul is destroyed. Money is not an object. If an operation cannot be afforded it is performed anyway.
They wanted us to contact them, and we wasted no time in doing that. Yes, they would do Jason’s bone marrow transplant! With close communication between the physicians there and Dr. Truman here in Boston, Jason’s condition was monitored and a date in October was discussed. It was so difficult to be patient. Time was passing, with a relapse threatening every day.
While we were waiting for a definite date, Jason returned to school. He seemed to enjoy being in the first grade. His teacher was a mother of seven, and a lovely, understanding woman. When Jason grew tired, she let him rest. When he was cross, she understood. It was a blessing that he had school to go to, as it made the time pass quickly and offered a much needed diversion from anxiety about the upcoming operation.
“I try to be brave but sometimes I can’t,” Jason said. “It’s getting closer and closer and the worry pushes up to my head and messes it up.”

Leaving for California

In mid-September we learned definitely that Jason’s operation was scheduled. We had to be in California by October 22nd for an October 23rd admission. Now it was time to start packing and to tie up loose ends in N. H. We found a friend to live in the house while we were gone. The schools were told that Jason and Bethany would be leaving. Last minute physicals were scheduled and all other matters attended to. Three to five months would be a long time away from home, yet we had been waiting for this for four months and were anxious to get moving.
We were put in touch with The Corporate Angels, a group of private planes that will transport cancer victims and their families if they are going where the patient and his family needs to go. The timing was perfect and we were connected with a very kind pilot who was more than happy to take us to California on October 19th. What more could we ask for? Hadn’t God worked everything out perfectly in His own time? We could only marvel at His goodness to us and pray again for divine guidance.

CALIFORNIA

The packing was done, the house taken care of, the goodbyes said. Watching the ground disappear below, I had a tremendous sense that life would never be quite the same again. But isn’t life like that for everyone? It comes with no guarantees of smooth roads and gentle breezes. We just don’t anticipate the ruts and the winds.
I looked over at MaryEllen. She was falling asleep in her car seat, which we had strapped into one of the six seats in this small jet. She seemed so little to be going so far away from those at home we all loved. She’d probably be running around by the time we returned. Now, at eleven months, she was quite mobile but didn’t walk. Wes was in front of me with the other children. Bryan watched out the windows, full of wonder as the cotton-like clouds sailed by. Almost three, he seemed small to be facing this strange life ahead. Bethany, a grown-up five, tried to busy herself with sticker books and the big bag of surprises she had been given when we left home. The going away party in kindergarten had been fun but now it was all behind her and she wondered if her friends would forget her.
Then there was Jason, sitting somberly on Wes’s lap, occasionally letting a few tears fall. It’s hard to be brave all the time, especially when you’re six years old and you don’t know what’s ahead.
“I’m scared, Dad. I just don’t know what this is going to be like. I’m afraid it’s going to be real hard for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be going home again.”
Wes rubbed Jason’s head and spoke softly, “Jason, there are a lot of things we don’t know. Shouldn’t we be thankful that we have a God that knows everything? He will help us through this and He wants you to trust Him no matter how hard it gets. You have always done that and this time won’t be any different as far as that goes. It’s all right to feel scared. We all do. But we have Someone to turn to when we’re afraid. You know who that is, don’t you?”
Jason nodded. “A lot of people don’t have a Savior to help them.” Jason brightened and it wasn’t long before he too was totally involved in the flight.
He was delighted when the pilots invited him to sit with them for a while, but when they actually let him steer the plane, that was too good to be true. He was still smiling when we landed at a little airport in Sauna, Kansas, to refuel. Everything was so flat! Miles and miles of field stretched out in every direction. New England was not like that at all! A very pleasant lady in the building at the airport fed the children homemade chocolate chip cookies and let them talk to her parrot, and then we were on our way again. The scenery was breathtaking — immense patchwork quilts of fields waiting to be planted, peaks of mountains piercing the clouds, the tail of the Grand Canyon, and, finally, the many lights of Palm Springs. California at last! Enjoyable as it had been, it was a relief to know that the flight was behind us.
Old family friends Charlie and Pat Spataro were waiting at the airport with a rented car for us. We piled all the luggage into the big station wagon and went to their house for a snack. We felt at home within minutes. The strangeness of an unfamiliar city was lost in the closeness we felt with these friends who were giving so much of themselves. Once again we were grateful for the luxury of having Christian friends. Although we would have loved to stay longer we were due in Monrovia, one hundred and twenty miles further, by nine or ten that evening. So we were off again.
“Wes, what’s that ticking?”
“Oh, probably an engine noise, don’t worry about it.”
But when the engine noise developed into a steady banging the “don’t worry about it” turned to “get off the road as fast as you can, something is really the matter with this thing!” And Wes took over the wheel. We were in San Bernadino and pulled into the first motel we saw. As we coasted into a parking space the car shuddered, coughed and died. Monrovia would not see us that night! To make matters worse, the kids had been awakened by the commotion. MaryEllen was wailing and I was soaked — one of the more dramatic lurches the car had treated us to before dying had showered me with a full cup of coffee. We settled into the motel room and started making phone calls.
Charlie felt terrible when he heard the story. “I’ll take care of everything in the morning. Pat and I will bring you a new car by the afternoon.”
I don’t know what we would have done without him. Looking back now I’m glad the car broke down. We all had time to stop and catch our breath. We walked to a restaurant for breakfast. The children enjoyed seeing many birds and plants — especially cacti — that they had never seen before. They were sure that walking was more fun than watching everything go by through car windows.
When we finally were on our way again none of us were disappointed to be a day behind. We watched the California landscape and read the signs with interest. Every mile was leading us closer. We were anxious to begin.
Before long we pulled up in front of 818 Valley View, the house we would call home for the next several months. A modest stucco ranch, it had a beautiful lawn and gardens boasting gardenias, lilies, petunias and roses of every color. Everyone liked it immediately. Bethany noticed the swing set in the back yard and was thrilled. The boys couldn’t believe that there were real oranges on the trees. It was awesome! Little MaryEllen was glad to be out of the car. She would explore everything later! We were greeted warmly by Lilyane and her parents Lily and “Monte.” Lilyane had agreed to move in temporarily with her folks and let us rent her house. Once more we had Christian friends to thank for coming to our assistance.
That night, as we closed tired eyes, we were truly thankful to the God who had taken us across the entire country with four little ones, found us a place to live, a car to drive and above all a hospital that would take Jason. A few months before we had not been certain that any of this would happen. A few years before we could not have imagined that any of this would be necessary! But the Lord had known it all and had gently led us each step of the way. 

CITY OF HOPE

It was October 22nd when we drove onto the grounds of the City of Hope National Medical Center. We were pleasantly surprised to find the atmosphere so restful. The long driveway was lined with palms and a huge expanse of flawlessly manicured lawn stretched out beyond. There were rose gardens and waterfalls on the right and a large parking lot on the left. The children thought the little tram that ran between the parking lot and the hospital was wonderful — “just like Disneyland.”
In front of the main building was a big fountain with a statue of a father, mother and baby. Just to the left was a large building under construction. To the right was the pediatric building and behind all this, reaching back almost 90 acres, were areas for research. We felt immediately that we would like this new place, so different from Boston, yet so receptive to us strangers.
Since opening its doors over 70 years ago, the City of Hope National Medical Center has never turned away anyone for financial reasons. Although insurance companies are billed for the services provided by the Medical Center, individuals who cannot pay are not billed. Many fund-raisers as well as private donations support this great institution. Over 300 bone marrow transplants had been performed inside its walls and the rate of success was close to 50%. Almost all the patients were cancer victims or suffered from some other equally catastrophic illness.
The first day was for preliminary tests. The following day would be admission day and there were things that could be done in advance to make that easier. Jason and MaryEllen were the only ones that were needed but with no baby sitter we decided we would all go. Jason had an EKG, CAT scan, chest x-ray, spinal tap and bone marrow aspiration as well as the usual blood work. While these tests were not fun, he was having no problem at all compared to his dear little sister.
The trouble began with the blood work. The nurses had been told to get at least 20 cc’s from her. After three or four attempts they were still getting nowhere. Her little vein would yield 4 or 5 cc’s then shut down. Of course this had her screaming and fighting. She did not like these ladies who kept smiling at her and then stabbing her with needles. Finally, after the chief blood technician had been called in, it was decided to try entering her jugular vein. They wrapped her tightly, as though in a cocoon, and, suggesting that I leave the room, they tipped her upside down. As I closed the door I shut my eyes but my ears would not close. She screamed until she lost her breath. Then, as quick as a wink, it was over.
We proceeded to the EKG department. My poor baby, with a bandage on her neck, was falling asleep and woke just enough to fidget while the bands were put on her arms and legs. The EKG went fairly well except for the fact that she was still sighing heavily from crying and the lines kept jumping around. By the time her tests were completed I was feeling worn out.
We still had a meeting with the pediatrician who would be treating Jason and with the doctors who headed the Bone Marrow Transplant (BMT) unit. Dr. Foreman gave us a tour of the BMT floor and showed us the room that was soon to be Jason’s. As we walked along he talked about the patients. There were no other children in the ward now but earlier we had met a little boy who was due in at the end of the month. We discussed the severity of the procedure and the fact that less than half of these rooms would be the stepping stone to health. Looking into the faces of these folks made that difficult to accept. Half of them would never leave. In which half would our Jason fit?
Dr. Foreman told us, “Any odds are 100% better than none.
Why can’t Jason be that one-in-ten success story?”
While the children watched cartoons in the waiting area, we met with Dr. Krance in the adjoining physician’s lounge. He was nice in his own way but vastly different from our beloved Dr. Truman. His face showed little expression until he smiled. Then he was actually handsome. His thick mustache almost covered his mouth; maybe that made it hard to see his expression. We would soon become accustomed to his mannerisms. It was easy to tell that he knew what he was talking about, even if he showed little emotion.
The results of the bone marrow came back and Dr. Krance reported that it did not look good. For a minute we weren’t sure we were hearing right. Dr. Truman would have said, “I have bad news.” We stopped him, wanting to be sure we understood him.
“Do you mean there are leukemia cells present?”
“Yes, Jason is not disease-free but the relapse is just beginning so it could be worse.”
Our immediate concern was whether or not the transplant
was still on. The thought of our having traveled all that way for radiation department for some measurements, he was free to go out with us until bedtime. The next day was much the same except that, when we went to the airport in the evening to pick up Mom and Dad Vitale, Jason was able to come with us. What a surprise for Grammy and Grampy! They arrived at a perfect time.
On Friday, Jason went into the operating room to have a Hickman Line inserted. We usually called this a catheter, as that was basically what it was. By placing a tube into a vein in the chest and leaving one end protruding from a small hole, the need for intravenous needles was eliminated. Jason sailed through this and, other than being a bit sore, felt fine.

SINGING

The following Tuesday Jason began radiation treatment. He had never experienced this before. It was very interesting to watch the huge, multi-million dollar machine being set up. Being prepared for this machine made Jason look like he was dressing for Halloween. His lungs were traced in black for the placement of lead blocks. This area would not need as powerful a dose and had to be protected.
Dressed only in underpants, he stood on Styrofoam blocks and was held by straps secured to the ceiling. There were pegs for his hands to grasp, as movement was not allowed. For the first treatment special capsules that would measure the radiation were taped here and there all over him. He resembled an Indian in war paint. Radiation did not hurt. There were no apparent side effects after his
first few treatments. Later the vomiting started and his appetite, which had begun to wane, disappeared completely.
Wes and I usually took turns accompanying him, as his treatments were three times a day. On Thursday evening it was my turn. My spirits were drooping and I was beginning to wonder what we were doing there. Jason, however, was in excellent spirits. As we walked to radiation he was telling jokes to the wheelchair attendant.
During the treatment, as I watched him on the monitor, I could see his lips moving. The nurses that were with me in the station outside the radiation room turned up the volume. Above the whir of the machines I heard his little voice singing. I tried to place the song but couldn’t. It was an original Jason song that he made up as he went along. The only lines I could make out were “Jesus is my Savior” and “God is my Friend.” As my tired eyes welled up with tears my spirits were lifted high. It was not I who was having TBI (total body irradiation) yet I was feeling down in the dumps. This desperately ill little guy had once again taught me the value of trusting in the Lord.
Friday marked the end of radiation. By then Jason was itching from dry skin and found it increasingly difficult to stand still. He was very relieved when the last radiation session was over. Saturday was chemotherapy day. While 1500 cc’s of VP16 were pumped through his catheter, Jason slept. The hydrocortisone and benadryl given to avoid an allergic reaction had also made him very sleepy. The only time he woke up was to urinate. This was a task in itself due to the cardiac monitor the nurse was watching. Because he could not get to the bathroom he was forced to use the “bottle.” Mr. Modest had to make sure we all left the room for this. It was quite comical to see him so concerned about his privacy at a time like that.
With twice the lethal dosage of chemotherapy going through his veins, Jason was ready for the new marrow — almost.
On Sunday he was given a pass to go out for dinner with us all.
Barbie Walsh had arrived in California to write about the upcoming operation and she came along. Dinner was not that great. Jason was on a special, low bacteria diet and could not eat the things he wanted. He was glad to go back to the hospital that night.
Although Jason was thousands of miles away from home, the folks in New England were still helping. Literally hundreds of cards had arrived during the week of radiation. Surrounding him on all sides of his room were banners from classrooms in Massachusetts and New Hampshire, as well as letters and cards in all shapes and sizes. The nurses couldn’t believe how popular he was. They had never seen a patient receive so much mail.
As time went by and the steady flow of mail did not abate, more hospital personnel became curious. “Who is this kid getting all this mail?”
One day the lady from the mail room paid Jason a visit. She had to find out why this little boy needed a whole box to himself when usually one would do for an entire floor. There is no proper way to express the gratitude we felt towards all those who kept Jason so very busy opening mail. We all loved the letters that children wrote from schools. Many times we laughed until we cried. When days were otherwise rather long and sad it was wonderful to have the daily mail to look forward to.
Through reporters, Jason sent a message back to the thousands of people who were praying for his recovery. “It’s up to them to trust in God. Even if I die they should believe in Him all the while.
On Monday morning, November 4th, MaryEllen was admitted to The City of Hope. She was in the pediatrics building rather than where Jason was. At 7:30 A.M. on Tuesday she was taken to the operating room. While we waited in the corridor just outside the O.R. we played with her and held her. Mom Vitale had come in to see her before she went in to surgery. When the time came for her to be wheeled away she hardly whimpered. It was a very strange feeling, walking away and leaving our baby there. I would be glad when 10:00 came and she was all finished. Thinking about her being placed under anesthesia while needles extracted precious bone marrow from her tiny hips gave me chills. She was so little! Yet, when it was over, she was fine. At first she cried and thrashed around. She was so hungry that she became angry. Since she had not eaten since the night before — her frustration was understandable. After a bottle of apple juice she fell asleep.
When she awoke she was MaryEllen again, crawling down the hall and as happy as could be. A passerby would never guess she had been in surgery. Oh, there were bandages on her hips to cover more than 30 holes, and bandages on her little feet. One foot had held the I.V. while the other accepted the blood transfusion. Wes had given blood specifically for her on the day before. It would replace the 250 cc’s she lost while giving the marrow. This represented 1/3 of her total bone marrow. After being filtered to remove fat and bone particles, the marrow would be given to Jason through the catheter in his chest. It is amazing to realize that this marrow would find its way to the bones on its own. What a marvelous machine the human body is! Once inside Jason’s bones it would rapidly reproduce to replace his own marrow, which had been obliterated by the radiation and chemotherapy. Another amazing fact was that Jason would then have MaryEllen’s blood type. Although their match was perfect, their blood types were different. His was 0 positive and hers was A positive. A staggering amount of research must have gone into this procedure. When we hear the Leukemia Society discussing the great need for research we now understand what this means. We feel very privileged to have been the recipients of such a tremendous effort.