CANCER STORIES: Gayle Hahn; A family affair

The word "cancer" changes your life instantly. It is really hard to describe.

My oldest son, Michael Hahn, called me in the summer of 1992. He was 20 years old and working as a groom at the race track in Omaha. He called to ask me to make a doctor's appointment for him in Grand Island.

I asked him what was wrong.

He told me he had a cyst behind his knee. People had told him he probably had a Bartholin water cyst. I went to Omaha, as the races were over, to bring him home to Grand Island. I was so shocked when I first saw Mike.

He was walking on his toes because he couldn't bend his leg. He confessed he was in a lot of pain. At his first doctor's appointment, he saw an orthopedic doctor in Grand Island, who had no clue what this "cyst" was. So we made another appointment in Lincoln with the orthopedic doctors who treated the Nebraska football team.

That appointment was so memorable. The doctor who saw Mike was very professional as he told us the earth-shattering news. It was not a "cyst" but a tumor.

Then the next statement actually seemed to make time stop for an instant. He told us he thought Mike had a tumor called "synovial cell sarcoma," a fancy name for a very rare cancer. He told us Mike's leg would have to be amputated to remove this tumor.

My stomach lurched. Mike turned pale, and we both wanted to leave the exam room immediately. I think Mike actually got up and left. The doctor told me to wait while he called a specialist in Omaha. He stressed it was urgent that we go as soon as he could get an appointment. That's how we met Dr. Michael McQuire at Creighton University.

At our first appointment with Dr. McQuire, he told us he agreed with the doctor in Lincoln. However, he told us Mike had to have a lung scan first before a biopsy. He explained there would be no treatment if this cancer had advanced to his lungs. I left his office while Mike went for his lung scan. I remember praying and crying as I realized my son might die very soon. This moment was the beginning of our cancer battle.

In November 1992, Dr. McQuire did a biopsy of the tumor to confirm the original diagnosis. Back home in Grand Island, I had left Mike's four siblings: Sarah was a sophomore at Chadron State College, Susy was 15 and in high school, Brian was 13 and in middle school, and Jordan was 10 and in elementary school.

They were trying to cope in their own ways with their brother's cancer.

We went for a biopsy and stayed nine days. The doctors had decided to do the first of three weeklong chemotherapy treatment. Family and friends back home had to step in and take care of the other kids.

Mike had a port surgically inserted before he could begin the chemotherapy.

The morning of his first chemo treatment, they started the chemo before I arrived. The nurses wore what we called the "Smurf outfits." They wore paper caps, gowns, masks and shoe covers as they injected Mike with this toxic medicine.

Mike hated the chemo treatment. He had to be hooked up to an IV for 24 hours a day for seven days. He always told me the chemo messed up his mind. The chemo was physically devastating.

That first morning, I entered his room to find vomit everywhere. On him, the floor, the bathroom. No one had bothered to check on him. After that, I never left him alone. I realized all cancer patients need an advocate just for them. This now was the reality of a future life with cancer.

In December, after the second round of chemo in Omaha, Mike's white count dropped to zero (one of the many side effects of chemo). He was admitted to St. Francis Medical Center by Dr. Fruehling. The doctors at Family Practice, especially Dr. Husen and Dr. Settje, had become Mike's primary doctors that fall. They exemplified the best in doctors by the way they treated my son, with compassion and caring for the next two years.

In January 1993, Dr. McQuire surgically removed the tumor. Michael had decided not to have his leg amputated. It's hard for a mother to be accepting when your adult child makes his own medical decisions. When they are little, you can usually fix their hurts with a Band-Aid, Tylenol or a smile. This became my hardest job. I had to let Mike decide his future medical treatments.

After his healing period was over from the surgery, he went to the St. Francis radiation oncology unit for seven weeks of radiation. There we met the doctor who bonded most with my son, Dr. Mark Bolton.

I believe Dr. Bolton treated Mike with respect and love that Mike easily returned to him. To this day, if we meet, Dr. Bolton always gives me a hug, asks me about myself and how my family is doing.

There is no happy ending to our journey with cancer. The cancer spread to Mike's lungs in January 1994. At this time, he was working at Super Saver as a night manager and coaching Jordan's basketball team. Again, he started chemo and radiation.

However, this year was when he met the love of his life, Niki Cooper Manning. Niki became his inspiration to fight to survive. In the fall, Mike had fluid in one lung, tumors in both lungs and a tumor surrounding his heart. The doctor told me it was like his heart was encased in concrete.

New Year's Eve, we were all in his hospital room watching Nebraska win the National Football Championship. It was surreal to be in the hospital with all my children and Niki, knowing Mike was succumbing to this horrible disease. People everywhere in the hospital were cheering NU to victory, but I knew we had lost our battle.

Michael died peacefully at home Feb. 6, 1995, with Niki, me and his beloved dog, Jed, next to him.

But our story doesn't end there. This cancer affected my whole family. My parents in their late 70s had helped care for Mike. Niki's family, too, had come over to help. All my children had helped sit their brother up in bed, fed him or stayed overnight as it took two people to care for him. Even my Bible study group wanted to be involved, especially Mark Stines. Mark wanted to do more than just pray for Mike.

He chose to come alongside Mike and Niki. He hired Niki to paint some rooms at his business. He brought them food, came to Mike's last birthday party and actually came the day before he died.

After Mike's death, I visited Phyllis Swanson, a grief counselor, for help with my kids. She explained teens react three ways to grief. They seek control, so they drive faster. They turn to alcohol or drugs to dull the pain. Or they use sex to feel closer to someone.

My own children had some of these experiences. How has this death of a child and sibling really affected my children and myself? Sarah quit college and went to Europe for the summer. When she returned, she started at a different college in Kentucky. Questioning the meaning of life, she joined Campus Crusade for Christ and became a "born-again" Christian. She also did a one-year missionary experience in Mexico. Sarah is now married with two sons.

Susy finished her senior year of high school and went to college. She always felt I missed most of her senior year, and I did. She, however, was selected by her classmates to be their senior class commencement speaker. She graduated from UNL in 2004. Susy is married and has two daughters.

Brian, who was 15 when Mike died, struggled the most. He was unable to face his own pain while Mike was dying and afterwards turned to drugs. Today, he has joined the Air National Guard and is training to be a firefighter.

Jordan, the youngest at 12, was able to help me plan Mike's funeral. He helped pick the songs and decided we would release green and purple (Mike's favorite colors) balloons at the cemetery. His "Y" basketball team were honorary pall bearers. Hard life lessons for sixth-graders. Jordan, too, is a college graduate and working in California.

People often ask me how I survived my child's death. I can honestly say, "God's grace." God was so present to me, helping me to cope during the cancer days and all the days afterwards. The first two years were very hard, especially the holidays. But God's grace was sufficient for me.

We all came to be cancer survivors.