Take a Peek Inside: Chapters 1-4

Part I: Early Diagnosis

Painful Memories

McKinley Elementary School

Concordia, Kansas

July 25, 2012

It was a hot and humid mid-summer day in this rural farming community in north central Kansas. Known for its hometown friendly atmosphere and wheat production, this was the place where I grew up as a child. I had returned many times to see my sister who was the only one in our family of eight kids who settled in Concordia. My visit however, would be more than just seeing family. I had come to reminisce about my childhood and contemplate what my family’s future would hold.

I parked my car near the long-abandoned McKinley Elementary School where my younger brothers had attended class. The playground which once was home to the laughter and play of children was marked now by large cracks in the asphalt with overgrown weeds. As I walked across the school yard, I was drawn to the eight-foot basketball goal tucked by the side of the building. I remember the day this goal was installed brand new. The backboard was white and the curved pole a shiny silver. As a young child, I would spend hours playing in this spot. Like many school age children I idolized sports celebrities. It was my dream to play in the National Basketball Association (NBA), and in many ways my childhood dreams became a reality in the world of my playful imagination; on this outdoor basketball court I was a professional athlete.  

Today the abandoned school and forgotten goal mirrored my somber mood. My 14 year old son Isaac had just completed a ten-month treatment protocol for pediatric brain cancer, (Medulloblastoma – PNET; stage III & grade IV) at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. The experimental therapy had left him emotionally bruised, physically scarred and fighting lifelong disabilities. Tears filled my eyes as I contemplated what his childhood dreams would be. Did this dreadful disease rob him of the innocence of childhood? What would his hopes and desires be for his future? Most importantly, what would the future hold for him and our family?

This book is more than just a father’s account of his child’s battle with cancer. It’s about an entire community which rallied around a family to save a young life in crisis. The following pages reveal a team of dedicated medical professionals at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital whose sole mission is finding a cure to save children from this horrible illness. Lastly, if not for the painstakingly hard work of the army of fundraising agents who comprise the ALSAC division of the hospital, children like Isaac would never have a chance to fulfill their dreams. When Hope Overcame the Impossible is where cancer meets its most fierce opponent, the hearts of those who refuse to be broken by this devastating disease.

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One Gold Coin

My wife Dacia and I were married in Tulsa, Oklahoma on May 7, 1989. After settling into careers as educators in a neighboring school district called Sapulpa Public Schools, our desire was to start a family, a desire wrought with difficulties. Taking the path many weary couples take, our inability to conceive a child led us to seek medical intervention with a fertility specialist.

In the early 1990’s fertility treatment was in its infancy. The procedure would not be covered by our insurance and the success rate was less than twenty-five percent. The doctor explained the fertility treatments would require Dacia to make daily trips to his office. She would undergo numerous injections to create a human egg. In all, the treatments would cost in excess of twenty-five thousand dollars and there was no guarantee it would produce a human embryo.

After a series of tests, Dacia and I went to meet with the doctor to hear his proposed treatment plan. His words echoed like the sound of a glass vase breaking on a ceramic floor. “You have no chance of conceiving a child unless you seek fertility treatments.” I sat in stunned silence as I pondered life without the sound of children in our home. Dacia found the thought of motherhood passing her over, and the realization adoption would be our only path to have children deeply disappointing. However, she would not let the doctor’s diagnosis become an avenue to blame her. As for me, struggling to form my words, I asked the young doctor, “You mean to tell me without medical intervention, we will never be able to start a family on our own?”

He answered my question with an analogy. “Say you were to fill the entire state of Texas with silver dollars a foot deep and hid one gold coin among them, then tried to find the gold coin with a swipe of the hand, that’s how much chance you have of conceiving a child.”

Well we found that gold coin nearly four years later to the day when Isaac Daniel Walsh was born on July 21, 1997. He was a healthy child brought into this world without fertility treatments. Two years later, Dacia gave birth to our second child Caleb Thomas Walsh who also was born without the intervention of a medical procedure.

Isaac’s birth in some respects symbolized something special for me. He was the son I was told we could never conceive on our own and a child of promise. Years prior, I had come to the realization my heart would be left to find solace in loving someone else’s child. His childhood represented through life’s most bitter disappointments, there is hope for those who refuse to be defined by the impossible.

Little did I know thirteen years later, tragedy would strike our family. Cancer had shown up on our doorstep and marked our first born. Thrown into a hurried state of making life and death decisions, and staring over an abyss contemplating the loss of my oldest son, this calamity would leave me questioning my faith.

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Warning Signs

The sound of the crowd cheering filled the basketball gymnasium at Sapulpa Junior High School. A thirteen-year-old redheaded seventh grader had just entered the game. He was known as the team’s sixth man and their clutch three-point shooter. His lanky legs were reminiscent of a typical teenager whose coordination was trying to catch up with the adolescent changes going on in his body. Tonight he was lethargic and listless. Sprinting onto the floor, he knew something was wrong. Usually overjoyed at his chance to play, he reluctantly signaled the coach and asked to be pulled from the court. Complaining of a headache, short of breath and legs hurting; Isaac Walsh had just played his last basketball game.

In some respects, this fateful contest was a turning point in Isaac’s young life. Driving home from the game in the darkness of night, Isaac complained his vision was blurry and he could not read the signs by the side of the road. Initially I attributed his intermittent poor vision to a winter fog which hung in the valleys, and at times made driving difficult in the rolling hills of Sapulpa. Days later a phone call from the school informing us Isaac had fainted in the hallway sent us to our family physician searching for answers.

The weeks which followed were filled with numerous visits to medical specialists. A vision exam cleared Isaac of any eye disease, a trip to the chiropractor ruled out a herniated disc, lab results from the doctor’s office were negative for rheumatoid arthritis and a trip to the emergency room diagnosed him as a little dehydrated. Despite all the seemingly good news from the medical tests, Isaac’s condition was deteriorating by the day.

I clearly remember the last day I dropped him off at school before he was admitted to the hospital. As Isaac walked gingerly across the cement schoolyard, he positioned his head in an awkward manner as if to relieve some type of pressure in his neck. Isaac had lost thirty pounds or nearly twenty-five percent of his body weight. Due to the lack of food intake and the toll this illness was taking on his body, he appeared ghostly white in color. His ghastly appearance attracted a group of student onlookers who stared at him as if he were from another planet. My hands began to shake as I gripped the steering wheel of the car. A deep sadness came over me as I watched my child being undeservingly thrust into a world of childhood ridicule. The anguish and pain I felt left me feeling powerless, as my search for answers had yielded nothing.

Deeply alarmed and concerned, I called our doctor and pleaded for something to end this nightmare. I vividly remember what she told me, “Do not go anywhere, I’m going to call and get some tests ordered.” Roughly one hour later, on March 8, 2011 Isaac was admitted to St. Francis Children’s Hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The doctor had ordered a CT scan of his brain and spine. We were told a few hours later the scan showed an “abnormality” and a doctor would come and talk to us soon. However, his room was quiet and void of activity throughout the night. Reluctantly, I drifted off into fitful and disturbed sleep as I pondered what exactly the scan had revealed. I awoke a few hours later to the sound of a large wooden door opening from the hall into our room. A young female doctor appeared and in a very calm professional manner asked if we had any questions about the results of the scan. 

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“You really don’t know”

The doctor’s reassuring demeanor gave me the sense of peace I had been ardently wanting from the results of the many tests which had been done. I told the doctor we knew the CT scan showed an abnormality, and details would be discussed with us later. In a brief second her disposition changed. Her stunned and perplexed facial expression sent chills down my spine. An overarching sensation of fear overwhelmed me. Gathering her thoughts, she said, “You really don’t know, do you?”

Knowing what she had to say next would be upsetting, she asked us to follow her to a consult room. Carefully choosing her words, and in a somber voice, I remember her saying, “The scan has revealed Isaac has a brain tumor. We believe due to its location on the brain stem, it’s malignant and a form of cancer.”

Nothing in life had prepared me for this day. In an instant I found myself at a total loss for words – unable to comprehend the impact on our lives this diagnosis would bring. Cancer had taken the life of my mother-in-law, my mother and now indiscriminately laid claim to my first-born son. Dacia, overcome with grief, recalled struggling to speak due to difficulty breathing. We realized we had to get back to Isaac’s room. Wiping tears from my eyes and struggling to find the words to utter we embraced. I asked Dacia, “What do we tell Isaac, what do we say to our son?”