Peter’s Page

Another wonderful comment:

There is also a fund established at Northern National Bank.
Checks can be sent to:

Peter Eigner Benefit Fund
Northern National Bank
PO Box 2690
Baxter, MN 56425

There are also drops at the Brainerd Civic Center
and Property 3 Homes at 8299 Wise Rd Brainerd
For further info you can contact:
Dean Smith
218-829-0176 or 218- 820-4680
Sue Peltoma
218-829-3999

Thanks to Dean, Denise, Blake, Bren, Tiffany for this comment.

Chuck Grillo just left a wonderful comment. In his words:

Please note that we are raffling off an authentic, and autographed, Mario Lemieux jersey @ Shep’s on 6th in Brainerd, MN starting today. Our goal is to raise monies to help pay for out of pocket expenses the Eigner family will incur in fighting this dreaded disease. Shep is one of those special guys always willing to help others and he was eager to get this raffle going. This is a great week-end for the raffle because the Elbow Convention is August 26th and 27th.

With a little luck, a substantial amount of money will be brought in.

Take some time, stop in @ Shep’s, and buy a raffle ticket.

You only have to meet this little guy one time to know you would want to help him out during a time of need. Peter is special; a young man created to impact those fortunate to meet him.

Buy your tickets here:

Shep’s On 6th
315 S 6TH St
Brainerd, MN 56401-3537
(218) 829-4835

Thanks Chuck and Shep!

I’ll try to sprinkle some lighter moments in here when the Pete-man makes us laugh. So here’s the first of such posts…

Over the weekend Peter was in a weakened state of recovery and I was reading him his new favorite book (I certainly wasn’t the first to read it to him).  The book is titled “If I Were a Minnesota Twin” and it’s one of those cutout books where you insert your own photo. The hero’s face is cut out on every page and it’s filled by a grinning Peter. That’s kind of funny on its own when you see it.

So the book starts with the Twins playing the White Sox and the Twins fall behind 2 – 1. The Twins manager calls on Peter to pinch hit in the bottom of the ninth to save the day. The first pitch is delivered to Peter (grinning at the plate) and the ump calls out “Striiike!”

I’m about to flip the page when Peter, not feeling strong enough to move his head, rolls his eyes towards me and says, “That was a ball”, in a soft, airy voice.
“But the ump called it a strike”, I respond.
“It was inside.”

Hah! I guess the artist didn’t plan on the reader having such a good eye at the plate. I just kind of turned to the next page so he could hit the home run and save the day.

The pathology report came back this morning and the news wasn’t as good as we all hoped. There are “favorable” and “unfavorable” forms of this disease and the existence of certain nodules in the mass indicated that Peter’s going to battle the more aggressive “unfavorable” variety. So he drew a tougher opponent, but Peter and fam are stepping up to the challenge.

This afternoon Peter went down to get some marrow drawn from his pelvis. He’s back in his room and eating this evening and looking pretty alert. Staff member Emily gave Peter a fake ice cream cone with a foam top that shoots into the face of the unsuspecting. He managed a couple giggles from bopping us.

Peter also upgraded his IV today to a fancy central line (or Hickman?). This is a multi-tube contraption that enters through his chest. It looks a little more extreme, but it can administer meds (including chemo), fluids, etc, as well as draw blood. So it should save him some uncomfortable pokes down the road.

Thanks again on behalf of the Eigners for all the support and comments.

If you haven’t had a chance to talk with Ty or Erika, you may be wondering how they’re holding up. If you have talked with them, you’re probably as amazed as I am at their strength and attitude. They are being parents in the most phenomenal sense of the word.

Every visitor and well-wish helps Peter. But when it comes down to it, Mom and Dad are the two people from whom Peter will take guidance and draw strength. And they are providing both masterfully.

I left out some important details as I read back through this, so let me try to fill in the info.

I mentioned that they weren’t able to remove the entire mass during surgery. Therefore, the remaining material will need to be fought with chemotherapy or radiation or some mix thereof. At this point I don’t know when that would begin.

The bone marrow test will happen tomorrow and will require Peter to go under again. There will be another CAT scan of his torso on Wednesday. The pathology reports on the tumor (that was the size of a small grapefruit) should be coming back tomorrow. Everyone is praying that we’ll get more good news from these tests.

A page was added along the top of this site for contact/visit information. Thanks for all the comments on the posts. We’ve been reading them to Peter and he appreciates them.

It’s not often that Monday is better than Sunday, but this is an exception. Peter seems so much better. His voice is stronger, he’s sitting a little more upright and he even managed some little smiles this morning. Auntie G said that she hadn’t seen a toothy smile yet, but any kind of smile is progress. Maybe soon he’ll be able to enjoy some of the wonderful toys that are filling his room.

Let me get to the real update now. He had a bone scan at 3:30 this afternoon to determine if the bones have been affected at this point. When he returned in the wheelchair, brave and strong, we were prepared to wait until tomorrow for any results. At about 5 PM, a doctor came to the room and announced that this scan came back negative; The cancer hasn’t spread to his bones in the manner that this test would indicate.

So we’ve been celebrating this one victory, knowing that there’s still a lot of tests ahead of him. A few happy tears are a welcome sight.

This was a tough day for Peter. I was with him for 8 hours or more and didn’t see a smile, and as you may know, that is just not Pete’s style. He’s uncomfortable, in pain when the meds wear off, scared to move due to the six-inch incision from bellybutton to breastbone, and probably sick of all of us asking him dumb, rhetorical questions all day. It seems to be a chore for him to speak a sentence, much less eat his jello.

But by the evening he started to get a little better. The highlight of his day was a visit from some of his favorite girls. Molly, Molly, and Carolyn visited from Brainerd and allowed him to forget about feeling sick for a little while.

A CAT scan was postponed until early in the week, so the tests begin tomorrow. That will cause some anxious waiting.

I guess it’s Saturday, although it’s tough to keep track of time these days. Pete-man is in recovery and isn’t his normal bubbly self, but that’s to be expected. Uncle Troy and I helped Ty with his hockey camp in Blaine most of the day, but there were many visitors keeping him company.

The big activity of the day was getting out of bed and walking “just to the door and back”. When Peter arrived at the door with IV in tow and in his little red underwear, he looked down the hall and saw friends and family in the seating area. So he decided to go a little further and join everyone. He walked down the hall and said to Daddy, “I’m wobbly” in a weak little voice. After reading a book in the seating area he headed back to the room. Just walking and moving a little bit is important to his recovery.

Oh, I almost forgot that he decided to take off those little red underwear at the end of the hall. Go Pete.

When the doctor came into the waiting room we all held our breath as he debriefed Erika and Ty. They removed most of the mass, but some of it was wrapped around an artery and posed too much risk to remove at this point. All-in-all, the surgery went well.

They were told that the next day or two would be recovery time and then more tests would begin. The tests are to detect if the cancer has spread, if at all. The tests will include a bone scan, another CAT scan (including chest) and a bone marrow test.

Tonight Peter is pretty out of it, but he looks good and is not in pain (thanks to the meds). He has oxygen in his nose, a tube to his stomach, and IV and oxygen monitor, so he’s pretty wired up, but it’s good to see his eyes again.

It wasn’t until it was time to get wheeled out of his room and into surgery that Peter got a little scared and didn’t want to go. I don’t know if he sensed what was ahead or sensed the fear and sadness in the adults that we all failed to conceal. He came out of his room in daddy’s arms as they prepared the bed on wheels to take him away. He was wearing little fuzzy scrubs.

I came down the hall to give him one last sentence of encouragement, but when I leaned in to kiss him and saw a tear beneath his big eyelashes, words weren’t going to come out. This was certainly the saddest moment I’ve ever witnessed and it appeared I wasn’t alone in that feeling. Many tissues were soaked as he laid down in the rolling bed, his reddish blonde hair visible over the pillow, and was wheeled down the hall with Mom and Dad. There was a lot of sadness, some fear, but also plenty of hope.

Erika stayed by his side until the orange-smelling medicine put him fast asleep. She said he did great through it all and I don’t doubt that. Erika, on the other hand, looked like a boxer that went 6 rounds without defense. The rest of us went to the surgery waiting room to try to pass the next three+ hours until the surgeon would give us a report.

Peter remains chipper as family and friends arrive at the hospital trying to grasp what is happening. It is a deeply sad and surreal scene. Peter understands that the doctors are going to have to check out his tummy later in the day, but the hospital staff assures him that “you’ll be asleep so it won’t hurt you at all”. “How do you know?”, he responds, as if to say that they don’t control his nap schedule.

He learns about the doctors’ masks and the anaesthesia mask and chooses the smell of his sleep medication — orange. He knows they’re going to poke into his tummy, but doesn’t know enough to get overly stressed. He makes hospital bracelets for his cousin Macy and cousin Buzz and builds a tower from legos to “protect the cat from the bad guy.” Peter is fine in his new setting. The adults are a wreck.