Max William Beeners 1981-1999

The following is a story my brother wrote for the newspaper 16 days before he died. He reminds me of this fact every day: without your health, you've got nothing.

     From the second you are born, you are one second closer to dying. In a way, everyone has a life expectancy. Some people ask why life isn't just a smooth road and everything is perfect. Well, what fun would that be? The challenges you face everyday are what make you who you are. They can only make you stronger.
From the time I was five years old I have been faced with death and miracles. I remember getting tired and pale all the time. When you are five, all you want to do is be outside running and playing with your friends. Something wasn't right though. I couldn't do these things without having to take a nap. My parents got very concerned and on June 13, 1986 I was diagnosed with A.L.L. (Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia). When a doctor tells you that you are sick while your parents are crying, you get scared. The next three years of my life were filled with needles, spinal taps, bone marrows, and miracles. I endured three years of chemotherapy which made me sick, moody, and much stronger. Now when I say stronger, I don't mean muscle. I mean mentally. Yes, there were tough days, but I was a fighter, and I never gave up. My mom remembers the doctors and nurses telling her, be glad he isn't a teenager, and be glad it's not A.M.L. (Acute Myelogenous Leukemia). After three horrifying years of treatment for A.L.L., I was done. Every now and then I would go back to the doctor for blood tests and check ups. The next eight years of my life I was cancer free. I didn't take one of my days for granted because I learned at a young age how precious life is. Everything changed August 31, 1997.

The summer going into my junior year seemed all too familiar. The tiredness, the paleness, and in the back of my mind, the memories. I wouldn't admit to myself that I was getting sick again though, but I told my mom that I wanted to go to the emergency room. In high hopes it was just mono, we went in silence to McKennan Hospital. They did numerous tests to check certain things. When my blood test showed that my hemoglobin level in my blood was 4, with normal around 18, we knew right away. Hemoglobin is your red blood cell count which carries oxygen to your brain and body. This is a key factor for leukemia.They put me in the hospital that day and were going to do a bone marrow biopsy the next morning. This is an operation in which a tiny hole is drilled into your hip and marrow is drawn out. By looking at this marrow they can tell if there are cancer cells. In my case, again, there was cancer.

As the word spread around the school, the support was incredible. The first night, over 100 kids came to visit and the cards, balloons and flowers seemed to never stop. After having surgery in which they placed a small metal screen under my skin by my right collar bone, I began to get real weak. My blood wasn't clotting where they did the surgery, and it was very painful. This operation was done to put the chemo through by a temporary needle placed into it to avoid so many pokes. They could also draw blood through this. After spending three days in McKennan, we began to wonder why they were not starting treatment yet. My mom came in one day and in tears told me that they were going to take me up to Rochester, home of the Mayo Clinic, and St. Mary's Hospital. I remember my mom placing a call to Roosevelt, and I had to tell so many friends goodbye, not ever knowing if I would see them again. With no hesitation, they loaded me up in my dad's Suburban and we headed for Rochester at about 95 mph. At one point, we got pulled over, but knowing it was an emergency, the cop let us go. With about 10% life in me, we arrived at St. Mary's. I was rushed up to the Pediatrics unit and placed in a hepafilter room with two doors into the room, and a sink and soap to sterilize yourself so I wouldn't get any germs. My white blood cell count (which fights infection) was so low that any germs could be fatal. The doctors reviewed my marrow and diagnosed me with a totally unrelated type of leukemia then before - A.M.L., or cancer of the bone marrow. My chances of getting both types in a lifetime are 1 in 25 million. You are more likely to get hit by lightning twice. A.M.L. is a much more deadly type than A.L.L. It is more rapid, and it affects many more cells. One major difference is the treatment is much more intense. The chemo was so powerful they had to take out the metal screen under my skin because that was not strong enough to hold the type of chemicals I was going to receive, and if any leaked into my body, it could be deadly. They replaced that with another device called a Hickman, a tube fed through the jugular vein to put chemo in and draw blood from. We connected or accessed it by two permanent tubes that came out about 5 inches from my ribcage. That would later be removed after treatment many months later.

I was blasted with chemo to kill every cell in my body. With hopes that each time, I would recover. At one point, I had seven infections at one time, and not expected to make it. My white count was then at zero and I couldn't fight anything. The doctors had to do something the Mayo Clinic hadn't done in over four years; a white blood cell transfusion. First I needed a match. This was not covered by insurance and was very expensive, and with the support of friends back home, fund-raisers and donors helped our tremendously. They used two of my family members who matched; my cousin and my uncle. They took white cells out of my cousin and put them into me. I began to notice that I was slowly stopping breathing. My cousin wasn't a perfect match and the white cells clotted in my lungs. With a fever of 106, and barely breathing, they transferred me to the ICU, and did emergency surgery to remove the cells from my lungs. My uncle's cells later saved my life, and so did you and your prayers. Many more months went by with so much pain and a total of 17 operations. I can't even begin to touch on that year of pain.

At one point on Jan 9, 1998, two days after my 17th birthday, I was out of the hospital for a couple days until an infection was so bad in my stomach, I was rushed by ambulance to the Sioux Falls airport, and put into a jet to go back to Rochester. My white cell count was so low again that if they were to operate, my chances would be slim. The doctors said that the only thing that saved my life that time was the difference of air pressure in the jet. Lucked out again. After that I began to get better each day, always keeping my hopes up. My goal and dream when I was sick was to play tennis. I would do all I could to keep my strength up in the hospital room, because I was never allowed to leave it, in fear of infectious germs. I spent over 170 days in a room 20ft by 20ft. I lived that goal last year during my last chemo treatment by playing varsity tennis. I have done a lot in the last year, knowing even more how precious life is. I have met the goals I made for myself, and learned a lot more about life. At my lowest weight I was 96lbs, and over the last year built myself up to 150lbs.

Then on April 20, 1999 during a routine blood test, the unthinkable happened. My cell counts came back, and didn't look good. So again I did a bone marrow biopsy and again, it was A.M.L......... My life has been filled with the best and the worst. My friends and family are the only reason I am here today. They are the reason I wake up everyday and tell myself it's going to be a great day. Without them I don't know what I would do. Through over 100 operations in my life I have always had my friends and family there to tell me they care and that's what kept me fighting. Some people are put on this earth for 1 minute, 1 day, or 100 years. Everyone makes a footprint in someone's heart. I had a good friend tell me something the other night that really made me think. His brother who went to Roosevelt high school was killed in a car accident when he was 15. Months before he was killed he wrote, "When you are born, you cry and the world rejoices. When you die, you rejoice, and the world cries." Each day is getting shorter now, and each breath is getting shallower, but every breath I take is because of you guys. In a way, you are all heroes, and I thank you for letting me be a part of your lives.

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." 2 Timothy 4:7