Heritage Snapshot: Part 82

On April 16, 1973, a Mexican-American mother brought her dying son to Loma Linda University Medical Center. Oscar, though six years old, weighed only 24 pounds. He was suffering from kidney failure, heart failure, and extreme anemia. His big dark-brown eyes were full of fear. Within minutes Dr. Ralph Harris, the Medical Center’s pediatric kidney specialist, was organizing a medical team for Oscar. He needed a blood transfusion to counteract the anemia, medicines to slow down and stabilize his heart, and a peritoneal dialysis to clean his blood (a function normally performed by the kidneys). Within 10 hours, Oscar was pulled back from the brink of death. After a two-week hospitalization, Oscar went back to his home in Indio, California, 70 miles away. Oscar had been born with undersized kidneys. His condition had been treated by medication, diet, and fluid restriction. But only six months after he left the Medical Center, his kidneys stopped functioning. Since they no longer filtered the impurities from his blood he was forced to go on an artificial kidney machine. At that time, he was the youngest patient ever to undergo routine hemodialysis at Loma Linda University Medical Center. For the next several months his mother was unable to meet his appointments. Twice he was rushed to Loma Linda in a near coma. When it became necessary for Oscar to be on the kidney machine three times a week, four to six hours at a time, Dr. Harris suggested that Oscar stay in a foster home near the Medical Center. His mother refused. Several weeks later she gave in. The 70-mile distance was too far. The family car needed repairs constantly. There were five other children at home, and she could not afford a babysitter. With the agony known only to a mother who has given up a cherished child, Oscar’s mother permitted him to become a ward of the court so that he might receive the medical care needed to keep him alive. Oscar’s nurses loved him in a special way and often came back to see him on their days off. But one nurse—Bonnie Porter—came back more often and stayed with him longer. She asked if she could take full responsibility for Oscar. Dr. Harris at first did not believe she was serious. She was a single woman. But he recognized the advantages of having an alert pediatric nurse caring for Oscar and gave his approval. After Bonnie was accepted as a foster parent by the state social service agency, she explained to Oscar that he needed to live near the hospital and asked if he would like to live with her. He understood and accepted her idea. Bonnie acquired some needles and a doll to help Oscar adjust to the treatments. In the evenings he would push the needles into the doll’s leg and explain, “It just hurts for a little while and it’ll make you feel better.” Within a few weeks he could stand the injections without crying. While the large needles were being inserted, he would grip Bonnie’s hand and grit his teeth. Afterward, he would heave a sigh of relief. When Oscar turned seven, he was no larger than an average three-year-old. Because of his kidney problem, he weighed only 32 pounds, and on his weak, wobbly legs he stood only three feet tall. But he had persistence, a friendly giggle, and an impish nature. Fearless, he would ask a stranger to bounce an enormous rubber ball to him across the hallway of the pediatrics unit. One day he bounced the ball into a doctor, caught the rebound, and lobbed the next shot into a patient walking by. Almost everyone in the Medical Center knew Oscar. Members of the staff went out of their way to say hello to him. “Oscar’s a great little guy,” said Dr. Harris. “He’s the hospital mascot and he’s done a lot for us.” Oscar would add his comments to medical discussions, give a hand in pushing a crib from one room to another, and try to be helpful whenever he saw an opportunity. Oscar seemed to accept his condition. He was even cheerful about his dialysis treatments. During the procedure Oscar would wave good-bye to his blood as it flowed through the clear plastic tubes toward the kidney machine. When he demanded that bystanders wish his blood well, no one could refuse. In the evening he would play his favorite game, “pretend dialysis.” His rabbit doll would be the patient and he would be the doctor.