Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, July 13, 1995 TAG: 9507140033
SECTION: NEIGHBORS PAGE: S-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: LISA APPLEGATE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
A Mutant Ninja Turtle coloring book rests on one knee; a green magic marker juts out between frail fingers.
He wants his mother to color and says so with a sharp cry. He watches her curve the green ink inside a turtle's shell with easy swoops.
The 4-year-old boy ignores the intravenous bag filled with yellow platelets being wheeled toward him. He doesn't seem to hear his mother, Denise, ask the doctor to order more chemotherapy pills. He doesn't look up when another woman, Lori Braford, mentions her own son, Andrew, using past tense.
Denise Brown says her son knows the "bad guys" are back, but doesn't really understand to what extent they're winning.
Nathan plays with the intense face of a diamond cutter who's trying to ignore an earthquake. His behavior epitomizes how his family has coped these past five weeks since the leukemia returned.
On the outside, Denise said recently, they're a typical family: watching the fireworks on the Fourth of July, cheering her husband, Gene, in his softball games, and covering the driveway with sidewalk chalk drawings.
"But on the inside," she said, "we're dying."
In November, Neighbors featured Nathan and his friend, Andrew Braford in a story. The two Roanoke natives were about to leave for Duke University Medical Center to undergo bone marrow transplants to replace cancerous marrow cells with healthy ones. Months earlier, both had been diagnosed with same acute myelogenous leukemia, a cancer that attacks the
blood-forming organs.
Andrew Braford survived the procedure. But in February, he died in his grandmother's arms.
About the same time, after a tough recovery in which Nathan went through high fevers and a lung biopsy, the Browns thought the tough part was over for them. They hoped Nathan would be one of the 30 or so percent who stay in permanent remission. Then, in June, a routine visit to the doctor uncovered more cancer.
Dr. Ronnie Neuberg, Nathan's physician at Community's year-old pediatric oncology unit, said there's only about a 2 percent chance another transplant could eliminate the disease.
Instead, chemotherapy will help slow the leukemia's progression. Painkillers will ease the ache Nathan will feel as the cancer fills his bones, he said.
Now, Neuberg said, the Browns must stop fighting the disease and enjoy the time they have. Now, medical procedures are an aside; quality of life decisions are made from the gut.
"We're out of the realm of decisions that the mind can dictate and into the realm that the heart dictates," he said. "Whether to try another drug ... or if the child should die at home - the right answers will become crystal clear for them."
Denise said she can't focus on most of the tough decisions. She and Gene vacillate between knowing they need to prepare for the future and fearing they're giving up on Nathan.
They don't know how they would get through this without their family - a group that includes Lori and Dick Braford. The couples met at the University of Virginia Medical Center during last year's chemotherapy treatments and lived together near Duke during the transplant procedure.
Lori is trying to help the Browns prepare funeral arrangements now - choosing music, gathering names and phone numbers, finding a suit for Willie, Gene's 11-year-old son from a previous marriage.
She remembered, just after Andrew died, having to decide in what order the funeral procession would leave the church. That's something the Browns' shouldn't have to go through, she said, so she's taking advantage of the strength they have now to plan ahead.
Dick calls at least once a day, Gene said, just to tell him a joke and keep him laughing.
They don't talk for hours like Lori and Denise. It's the shared experience, Lori said, that comforts Gene.
"Sometimes they'll just look at each other and say 'Been there, done that.' There's nothing else to say," Lori said.
The Brafords' church, Parkway Wesleyan, devotes the same support in the Browns' struggle as they did for Andrew's family. They bring dinner five nights a week; they clean the Browns' house; they pray.
Two weeks ago, members of the church held a three-hour prayer service for Nathan. Denise said that calmed her, knowing that they had done everything spiritually possible for her son.
Even with the preparations, they still plan for a miracle.
"I want him to live through Christmas," Denise said. "People ask me if that's not wishful thinking, but why not hope for the longest time possible?"
The Browns also are taking advantage of all the possible time, placing life on hold to play with their children. In March, the Make-A-Wish Foundation flew them to Disney World. A picture of a beaming, mouse-eared Nathan hangs on their living room wall.
Everyone in the family, including their 2-year-old, Megan, wears a summer tan from their trip to Myrtle Beach a few weeks ago.
Denise wonders if she could ever go back to the beach. Will she volunteer on the pediatric floor, like Lori has done, to ease the pain and help other families adjust? Could she imagine ever having another child?
She won't know until she gets there, she said. For now, she's keeping the earth-shattering tremor of this disease at bay.
|n n| Waiting for the injection of platelets his body can no longer produce, a droopy-eyed Nathan wraps his thin limbs in a blue blanket and rests his head on his mother's leg.
Denise smiles as she strokes the fuzzy head that once was covered with wispy blond hair.
"Spending quality time like this - this is my miracle."
Memo: NOTE: Also ran in July 19, 1995 Current.