In 1995, my son and I embarked on a journey I did not want to take. The path was often painful and I dreaded where it might lead, but my son showed me the way to go and I have grown along the way.

A Rare Disease
On January 2, 1995, my 6-year-old son, John, was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma, a rare childhood cancer. Watching him face this terrible disease with so much courage, compassion and enthusiasm for life changed me forever.

John seemed like any other 6-year-old boy, except he faced the challenges thrown at him so bravely and without ever giving up. Sometimes the obstacles seemed to loom so large in front of him; if it had been me, I might have quite, but he never complained and always moved on. The treatment to keep the disease at bay wrecked havoc on his little body. He lost most of his hearing, needed platelet transfusions three times a week, required I.V. feedings because his kidneys weren't functioning properly and the chemotherapy weakened his bones so much that jumping into a swimming pool fractured two of his vertebra.

He was fitted for hearing aids, hung his I.V. bags over the back of his wheelchair and rolled on. Last spring, John worked very hard to get strong enough to leave the wheelchair behind when he went to camp. After hours of physical therapy, he achieved that goal and went to two camps last summer.

An Even Rarer Capacity For Caring
Besides his amazing courage, John showed remarkable compassion. Once, another little boy named John was put in our room at the hospital. He was undergoing the myriad of tests to make a diagnosis and was frightened by many of the procedures. My son had a doll someone had made for him, and it was his buddy.

But John gave the doll to a little boy while he had tests done and assured him it would be all right.The boy held the doll tightly to his chest and smiled for the first time since arriving at the hospital. On the boy's discharge from the hospital, John gave his buddy to the little boy to keep because he knew his friend need it. Days in the clinic can be very long and often filled with unpleasantness.

As John grew older and more experience in clinic life, I saw him try to brighten the days of younger children by reading to or playing with them.

Caitlin, a 4-year-old, latched on to John as her defender, refusing to be checked in by the nurses unless John went with her. We heard reports from others that she would sulk and pout if she arrived at the clinic and John was not there.

A Zest For Life
Despite everything, John forged ahead with enthusiasm for life. Not wanting to miss anything, he lived each day to the maximum as if he knew time was a precious commodity.

He loved to tell jokes and do voice imitation, and many evenings found him holding his own comedy show for the nurses of the seventh floor.

One nurse decided to turn the tables on John and bought a joke book full of bad jokes. Every time she came in the room, she had another groaner to tell.

Unable to take any more, John wheeled his I.V. pole down the corridor and found the joke book unattended in her office.

He snatched it up and hid it in a drawer at the nurses' station, where it remained until John revealed his secret months later.

A Dedicated Ranger
John belonged to a Boy Scout-type group called Royal Ranger that met on Wednesday evenings. After spending all day at the clinic in Boston, he would pull on his uniform and be ready for a night of fun and games with the other boys.

He participated in all the activities in which he was able, and cheered the boys from the sidelines for other games.

In June, the Rangers always have a Pow Wow, a weekend camping trip with hiking, fishing and games. John wanted desperately to attend, so his chemotherapy schedule was rearranged, an extra transfusion of blood was given, his I.V. supplies were packed on ice and he and his father went off to camp.

His father had brought an air mattress for John to sleep on, because the cold damp ground could make John's already painful bones ache even more. But John refused it, insiting he would sleep like all the other boys.

The hikes proved a challenge, but John went right along "four wheeling" as he called using his wheelchair, requiring a good hosing down before going back to the hospital.

In his short life, John flew an airplane, sailed a yacht, sprayed a fire hose and rode in a police cruiser with sirens blaring. Not many people can say they have done all of those things.

Journey's End
John's journey ended last October and my course has been forever changed. He has inspired me to go back to school to become a nurse and to help the hurting as John always did. Obstacles are no longer barriers in my way, just temporary setbacks until I find some way to overcome them. Each day is a chance to make someone's life a little better and mine a little fuller. Thank you, John, for the lessons I learned.

John Andrew was honored for his courage, compassion and faith in the following ways:

• Nominated and honored as an honoree for "Portraits of a Century," an exhibition of portraits born over the 20th century, from 1900 - 1999 by the Massachuestts College for Art.
• Royal Ranger Honor Guard presenting the Royal Ranger flag to his mother at his funeral.
• Honored by 250 people who attended his wake.
• Honored by his doctors, nurses and medical students who came from the New England Medical Center to his funeral.
• Honored by the Northeast District Veterinary Command District Warrant Officer and the New London Veterinary Service Branch by attending his funeral.
• Honored by the 43 car proceessional to his gravesite at the Veterans Cemetery in Bourne, Massachusetts.
• Honored for his unwavering faith in God by an article written by Becky Walters Reigel; published in the Leader's Edition Summer 2000 of the Royal Rangers High Adventure Magazine.

Editor's Note: John Andrew used many units of blood and platelets to support his treatment. John's father, Army Staff Sgt. John Peebles, drives from Newport to Boston each month to donate platelets. Without the support of blood donors, patients like John Andrew would not have the quality of life which your donations allow. Thank you for caring.

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