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Support System
It's not unusual for parents to stay with sick children round the clock. But the floor nurses noticed something special about Kathy. She was always smiling and positive, even on days when Michael was very ill or received bad news about blood counts. "It was never about Kathy or the sacrifices she was making," says Debra Dearstyne, one of Michael's nurses. "She never let Michael see how hard this was on her."One day, Michael told one of the nurses, Felice Kloss-Hefferan, that he was so impressed by what she and the other nurses did, he planned to enroll in the nursing program when he was healthy enough to go back to college.
Michael always believed he would conquer the disease. He'd done so with other hurdles in his life. Born a preemie on January 1, 1981, he overcame a learning disability and was mainstreamed into a regular classroom by the third grade. Despite good grades, he did poorly on his SATs. He gave up a trip to take a summer prep program at Widener University, south of Philadelphia, then entered as a freshman that fall. At five-nine, he was always told he was too short to play sports, yet he managed to become a linebacker on Widener's Division III football team.
When the third round of chemo was finished, in September 2001, Michael returned home to await the results. A few weeks later, Kathy and Matthew were devastated when Selina Luger, MD, Michael's oncologist, pulled them aside in the hall of the clinic, out of Michael's earshot, and told them, "The chemo didn't work."
"What do you mean?" Kathy asked. "So we just go to the next round?"
"There's no next round," Dr. Luger said, gently taking the arm of a now hysterical Kathy to steady her. "Michael's incurable. He's dying."
Matthew was shell-shocked at the news. Like his son, he always believed they would beat this. This can't be the end of it, he tried to convince himself. Kathy wept against a hallway window while Dr. Luger and Matthew walked into an exam room. Dr. Luger explained it could be weeks or months as Michael just nodded, speaking only to ask, "Is my mom okay? I hear her crying."
Kathy continued to care for Michael at home over the next several months. But he failed to bounce back after the difficult chemo, remaining pale and listless. He was determined to attend his sister's wedding on Saturday, March 23, 2002, which he did. But the following Monday, Michael confessed that he'd been suffering from a high fever for days and had taken Tylenol to cover it up so he wouldn't ruin the wedding. Back in the hospital, tests showed Michael was in heart failure.
On April 14, Michael woke from a nap on the couch and said, "Mom, you took care of me through all this. I think you'd make a great nurse. I know I'm not going to be one, but promise me you'll go back to school and become a nurse." Later he added, "I want you to work where I was treated."
"I did this for you, but I could never do it for anyone else," Kathy replied.
"There are a lot of other me's out there," Michael answered. "I want you to pinkie swear."
"Sure, Mike, sure. I'm going to be a nurse. Pinkie swear," Kathy said to humor him, entwining her little finger with Michael's.
The next day, Michael's blood pressure plummeted to 60/40. Kathy and Matthew summoned family and close friends and told Matthew Jr. he needed to come home from college right away. As the monsignor from the family's church pressed the crucifix to Michael's head and began last rites, Kathy noticed her son's breathing was becoming more labored. In his hand, he tightly clutched a silver angel medallion with the word love written on it, a gift from a friend. Matthew held his son while his mom rested her head on his. "Mikey, I'll be okay. Just let it go. No more pain, just let it go." And Michael closed his eyes for the last time.
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