Mixed Blessings

Oh dear.  Lovely lovely day in Seattle. 

Beautiful morning, nice breeze, calm seas, great people.  How could anyone be sad or upset? You Ask.  We were there to remember Katie Elliot.  Someone that left because of Childhood Cancer.  Someone that fought a good fight. Someone that spent her short 18 years squeezing as much out of life as she could.  

We met, we talked, we re-connected.  We supported the kids that have survived. We cried with the Mom's and Dad's with less successful stories. 

Katie will never be forgotten. 

Thanking God She had Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and not __________

Yes, it is one of those days.  The kind of cancer your child has/had does not make a difference.  There is fear and trepidation and panic and deep depression no matter what the diagnosis.  The test is that all of these kids qualify for a Make-A-Wish because of their condition.  They all have life threatening illness.  Those of us in Cancer World have seen even the "best" treatment fail, and fail miserably.   

Time and time again the kids die, relapse, fail to achieve remission, develop a secondary cancer, life long struggles with thyroid, skin issues, GVHD, weird hair stuff, infertility.

We all know the number of kids that  are diagnosed do better now but it is still a heart break with every single child that leaves the corporeal world to join the universe.  Heart breaking when a tumor comes back, when a close chemo buddy dies. 

Despite the loss, the sadness, the failure to cure, the great unknown about the future, we have to continue.  We have to continue to support each other, try to make a difference and hope the postings about death and relapse become less a part of our lives.  

Today we honor those that have died since of May 2014 of Osteo Sarcoma. The boys are gone. Katie, the tall lovely girl in the middle is gone. All gone too soon.  All shared the same cursed disease, all were loved and honored and valued and cherished.  All are missed.  Nicole, the lovely child on the left remains cancer free.  Or as they say in Osteo world.  NED, no evidence of disease.  

This is the best those families can hope for at any given moment.  NED.  But the docs are always on guard about finding the disease again.  Sort of like Dr. Carpenter, he told me I could relax for NOW.  I wanted it to be forever. 

So today, March 27, 2015  we are thankful and grateful for NOW.  Because NOW is all we can count on.  NOW is a good place to be. 

Diagnosis Hope vs Treatment Reality

Someone mentioned to me that their grandchild had been diagnosed with osteo sacoma.  They were obviously upset and the depth of their confusion and pain and fear were very apparent.  It is a very scary thing. Hearing those words sticks with you for the rest of your life.  It is a "Where were you when Kennedy was Shot" question.  (Yes, I am that old.)  The child will be in treatment for 9 months.  The family has arranged to be home for a year because they are teachers and their fellow teachers have given them sick time from a pool.  There is a sister. 

The grandmother is trying to figure out what to do. How could this happen?  Does it matter if the child is 8? This is so rare how can they cure it? Do the doctors know what they are doing?

As I sit here this morning watching the birds gather sustenance from the bird feeder buffet, I just sigh.  Katie Elliot will be buried in a week.  I met her family when they were starting treatment.  Three years later, treatment is over.  She too had Osteo.  She did not make it out alive. 

When you first hear those words, the thing that gives you comfort is the "plan" or the "road map".  There it is, the PLAN.  Yes this is a lousy diagnosis but we have a PLAN.  Something to look at, something to put on a calendar. An end point is sitting there for all to see.  You can plan your live around the PLAN.

I still have some of the calendars and all the Road Maps.  I look a them when I am sorting through things.  I still look and wonder at the amount of hope and optimism contained on those pages.  The PLAN.  

What you soon realize is that the PLAN is kind of a guide.  You know where you want to go and you head West.  Sort of like being on the top of the Continental Divide and heading to the ocean.  There are million ways to get there and the ocean is a vast. But with enough effort and enough perseverance and some luck, you do arrive.

 The journey is not easy. The path is not straight. There are losses of untold magnitude.  Some are secret losses you don't discover for many many years.  It is a journey some have to make more than once.  But it is doable. 

As the family begins on their journey, my first words of advice would be to hang on to all the hope they can.  They will need it as they make their journey and have to face the reality of the bumps on they way.  Second bit, be ready for a wild ride.  Third, remember you are not alone. 

Its the "Word" Thing again.

Child having trouble breathing.

Child still in ICU.

Child with a tumor pressing on the end of the stomach.

Child with Relapsed Lymphoma.

Child with tumor growth.


What do we say?
What do we do?

I have racked my brain for days.  I am not one of those "Just buy a gift card" kind of person.  I know on some level it is the best thing.  Some money, a prayer, an encouraging note, a Coffee Card.  Heck I just found out there are McDonald Cards.  I know.  Write a note, put in a 20. Go on with my business. Easy.  I'm done. I have stepped forward and contributed.  The rest will work itself out. 

I want to give something special. I want to give something meaningful. I want to be of help and to take away some of the burden.  I want it all to go away.  But as many of us in Cancer World have learned over the weeks and months and even decades, there is really nothing that helps.   But darn it, there has to be something.  I hate limitations. 

I received news that Katie Elliot took her last labored breath this morning.  Talk about a "no words" moment.  Words won't make a difference to Katie.  Her family will no doubt find words not comforting, for a while because the pain is so excruciating.

I think the reason we are at a loss for words is because sounds don't adequately do the job.  A death is a time for silence, for deep reflection, for gazing out into space to try and connect with the molecules of the spirit.  It is a time to think about the great things the person did during her lifetime and what we learned from her.  

We all die. Some sooner than others.  The only thing that matters is what we do with the earthly time we have.  How many times do we smile, laugh, change another person's life in a good way?  What really matters isn't the balance of the bank account or how many bedrooms and bathrooms we have.  It is what we have done to effect some one's life. 

Everyday a good deed must be accomplished.  That is the important pile of stuff that needs to taken care of and stored and sorted and increased. 

Today we dedicate good deeds to Katie and her very sad mom Darlis

Year Three Evaluation....

There is a secret Facebook Group known as Momcology.  Lots of sub-pages for the different kinds of Childhood Cancer, age groups, locations etc.  Lots and lots of Mom's.  It is a wonderful support group where things are said that are not said in public.  

We are often so caught up in our own room of Cancer World we don't know much about other rooms.  Sarcoma Rooms,Lymphomas, Wilms, AML, ALL, Brain Tumors.... the list is pretty long.   We all learn from each other.  We learn about the way kids are diagnosed, the treatment and the follow-ups.  We learn that some kids have to have a prosthesis eye and they out grow it. We learn Brain Tumor's are bad.  We learn where cancers spread. We learn more than we ever wanted to know. 

But most of all it is a place for the quiet despair and agony of the moms. Moms with traumatized children, dying children, relapsing children. Children with huge struggles from treatment and the lingering after affects.  Teenagers, tiny babies and young adults.  We watch and learn and do what we can to support each other. 

One thing I have gleaned from months and now years of spending time on Momcology is that everyone has "follow-up" appointments. Most Moms deal with something called Scanziety.  It is a little known disorder not yet recognized by the medical community but it is real and lives in the hearts of these strongest of strong women.   They have to face sending their children through MRI, PET and CT scanners at varying intervals. The doctors are looking for signs of wayward cancer.  As the day approaches, the intensity of the Scanziety increases. The tension and fear and feelings of total despair is ever present.  
I don't want to belittle this fear but this week, I am wishing Meb had such a simple follow-up.  A scan, a result, a conference and then a new plan or a sigh of relief and a new date for the next scan.  

Oh, No Not for us. 

 It is a week long process of multiple tests and exams and evaluations.  A week of it.  Blood draws, close physical evaluations, Pulmonary Function tests, two separate eye exams, Dermatology, Hematology, 
gynecology,  two dental exams, PT, and then Vaccinations.  All through the process everyone is on high alert and holding their breath.  What will the test say? When will it all come back? Can they see anything?  Is something hiding out?

It is the same sort of follow-up anxiety but packaged in another way.

 I have come to believe that we will have bad news.  I am just conditioned for that process.  Today Dr. Balter (first of two eye doctors) came out of the exam room and came in my direction.  My heart stopped.  Dead.  I asked him what was wrong and he laughed.  and then said "I totally understand why you would react with so much anxiety. I was the one that started this process.  But she looks great." (He was the doctor that first discovered something was wrong with her in 2004.)

I know she looks great. I know she feels great.  I know she is almost 3 years out of transplant. She is back in school. She is off 99% of her meds. She may not have to go back for this evaluatoin again for 3 years. But  I also know how close leukemia and secondary cancer's hover.  I can say it all the time that things are fine but I also know that when ever we put her under this many thousand's of dollars of tests, something might rear its scary head.   

It happened before.  

So here I sit.  Day 1 of 5 and wonder and wait and try not to work myself into too much of a tizzy.  But as I fail to keep calm, I am not the only one. I am not the only Mom wondering and wanting to know if everything will be okay.  

Day Two Tomorrow:  Derm, Ophthalmology. 

I can do this. We all can do this.  We can survive a simple "Follow-up". 

So here we are.... gliding along, not knowing others are really struggling...

That is a lie.  I know there are horrible battles going on every day, all day and every night. I know kids are dying and mom's are crying and people are getting horrible horrible bad, worse than you can imagine news.

As we head out of this current orbit around the Double Cord Blood Transplant  universe and head to the unknown galaxy of Post DCBT, I try to be a bit like Lot and not looking back at   Sodom and Gomorrah.  I don't want to know what is going on behind me but I know I am turning into a pillar of salt.  I have not found it possible to just walk away.  Or in my case, run like hell. 

It is so hard.  Sitting here tonight, working on my blog, trying to do some editing, figuring out what I need to do to publish and then I hear a ping.  A bell like sound that says I have a private message on Facebook.  I check and it says:  

I thought you would want to know my dear son passed away yesterday. 

I see those words and it is like a kick in the gut.  This is a kid that had 10 months of chemo and a major surgery and was clear and then, it was back just a few months ago and now it is over for him.  20 years old. I can just feel the balloon of hope and prayers collapsing around a devastated family and friends and his best friend that did a campaign for him to go to Europe.  (The hope was to take  both families but from what I can gather, it was just the two boys.   I am sure they had a great time. ) 

So I stop.  I reconnoiter, I check on my kid.  I gather the Momcologist around this devastated mom.  I relieve her of the responsibility of "telling" another human. I start to look for the obituary because I will go to the funeral/service.   I do a quick search and find the child's Facebook and Twitter account.  I heave a heavy sigh. I write a few words and do what I think helps and then I turn away and head back on our road to recovery.  

But I know it is like the Ray Bradbury story about the guy that steps off the designated trail when he goes back in time to hunt dinosaurs.  When he returns the world has changed.  I have stepped on another butterfly and the world will not be the same.  A bit of hope chips away.  

Every time one of these children die, they take a part of the universe with them.  How much they take depends on where they were in the child's life. The moms have a Grand Canyon, Winslow Crater, Pacific Ocean kind of hole in their lives.  The loss is never minor or insignificant.  It is gaping, hard to close and subject to multiple infections and complications. 

So we say goodbye to another child.  A family is decimated, the world looses amazing potential.   His last tweet:

If you do everything right, people won't know you did anything at all.

World Cup is Like Childhood Cancer

Lots of player
Lots of teams
Lots of ways to win
No one really understands how it works
It doesn't happen that often but when it does it is all consuming
It comes back no matter how hard you try to avoid it.
Many people are there to watch and help.
Confusing 
Life Consuming for some and totally ignored by many
Needs a large group to cheer you on
Needs a large group to cheer you up when things are bleak
Needs constant fans to continue when it is over
There are Tee Shirts/Jerseys
It never seems to end once it has started
It can slip into the back of your mind for a while but there are always reminders
Some inevitable violence is expected



But most of all I don't understand it... at all. It comes with no warning and is a constant source of excitement and sadness. Some win, some lose there is no way to figure out who is going to do what. 

Sometimes it just "is" 

Hoping our Lasts.... stick this time.

The last dose of Chemo,
The last round of Radiation,
The last Scan,
The last meeting with the Oncologist,

Everyone is very tuned into the lasts.  The first start out in such a shock cloaked whirl of activity, "Last" seems hard to imagine.

We did all the lasts and then we did the big Palisades Party and the Lake Union Party.  We celebrated like the best of them.  The we did the rest of high school and summer camps and summer jobs, and summer vacations and did what we expected to do... Go on with our lives. We had ports removed and we had appointments that allowed such things as normal  dental appointments.  

We took it to heart.  Then...... Out of the blue, when Cancer had been forgotten.  We did it again and it was so so much worse.  We don't even know how much worse it has been because we are not done yet. 

Every time we celebrate the many good results, the ends of ..... fill in the blank.  There is a part of me that says a special prayer.  

Dear Universe:  I know I am a lawyer and we are ones that love endless appeals.  We do believe there are "no answers, just arguments", but in this case, make this be done.  Make this battle with cancer the last and only such battle in the life of this child.

We are headed this summer to many lasts.  I really am not interested in doing any of this again! We all have too much other stuff to do. 

Here's to a bunch of firsts....  Still looking for the cowboy that should have come with my slicker....

Childhood Cancer...... Rare? Depends on your perspective.

Childhood cancer is seen as a rare disease.  Lots of money goes to things like Breast Cancer, Lung Cancer and Colon Cancer. 

So these are the facts:

 Each year around 13,500 children are diagnosed with cancer in the US, that’s more than a classroom of kids a day.

 35,000 children are currently in treatment for cancer.

 Some 25% of all kids who are diagnosed with cancer die.

• Some pediatric brain tumors, such as brain stem gliomas and pontine gliomas, are terminal upon diagnosis and no new protocols have been developed in 30 years.
• Many pediatric cancers, including neuroblastoma and disseminated medulloblastoma, are terminal upon progression or recurrence.

 More children die of cancer every year than adults died in 9/11.

 Cancer kills more children than AIDs, asthma, diabetes, cystic fibrosis and congenital anomalies combined.

 The average age of death for a child with cancer is 8, causing a child to lose 69 years of expected life.

 The death of a child is one of the most traumatic events a family might face.

• Families who have lost children are often financially and emotionally depleted.

This is Cancer World.  Now given there are over 300,000 million people in this world, Cancer is Rare.

When you are in Cancer World, none of it seems rare... It is our lives.  I am not sure why they always report the occurrence of childhood cancer as if it is surprising.  Those of us here it is not rare. 

Each parent of child with Neuroblastoma, knows a dozen kids with the same "Rare  form of cancer.  For a child to die of OsteoSarcoma, shish, happens all the time.  For a child to fail at a Bone Marrow Transplant, so so common.

It is all about perspective.  It just irks the Cancer Mom's when the words

Rare

seldom,

almost never happens

are bandied about our feathers ruffle and our feelings are hurt.  We are so so sensitive because all the kids we know have cancer.  It is not a rare event. It is our everyday life. 

When you enter Cancer World you are immediately

 put on a floor with kids that all have the same thing disease.  As your former live is taken over by being in Cancer World, you make more and more connections with families with cancer.  If you take stock of your life and your connections, few begin to be Cancer Free families. 

Because your child had cancer, everyone with cancer in their life begins to share.  You learn all about their journeys.  It is a way to connect and to be supportive. Sort of like when you are first pregnant and most women have a birth story to share.   Sharing and connecting is in our very beings. 

Childhood Cancer is rare when taken from the view of the entire population of the United States.  It is not rare on the 7th and 8th floor of Seattle Children's Hospital.  

It is the most financially and emotionally devastating form of cancer.  You think it is hard to parent a Teenager, try doing so with one that has been through treatment or diagnosed during that time.  We all complain we did not receive a manual for babies. We certainly don't have a manual for helping a child die and for burying a son or daughter. 

Lots of people are upset by the book "The Fault is in our Stars" and another one called, "I Wish My Child had Cancer".  

It is all about perspective.  How are we looking at things?  Which part of the animal is the blind person touching?   I get upset when I think someone should know better when they speak.  Dr. Charles Hemenway, an oncologist was one of them.  He really upset lots of families belittling their pain and struggles. He then explained himself as being a kind caring oncologist but not a lot of people bought his explanation.

He is one that should know better. 

Again, perspective.  Where are we seeing this story unfold? 

When do we stop treating..... When are we done?

I didn't realize that when we were first in Cancer World we were just on the fringes. Mary-Elizabeth had High Risk ALL with never confirmed but treated CNS involvement.  She did the 2.5 years, 12 doses of spinal and cranial radiation.  The whole ball of wax.  

I met someone I had known in a previous life and she was the first child I knew that died from this most heinous disease. But she was really the only one.  As I look back, I know we sort of sailed through Cancer World Part I. 

We wondered about people, we had some connections but not like now.  When Meb relapsed and we started doing serious hospital time and a transplant, we really were in the thick of things  We were introduced to an entire other world. A place of deep darkness and horrible results.  Heart rending darkness.  We had been in and out before, a day, may three or four.  Now we were doing months.   Weeks and sometimes it felt like years.  It had a whole new intensiveness. The difference between John Glenn flying around the world and a moon landing. 

I don't ever remember a discussion in Cancer World I when there was a discussion about being done with treatment because there were no more options. I never heard the words Hospice, Palliative Care or words like End of life care.  Because of my relationship with one of the providers, I knew it happened.  Tracy would call it a "do over". 

This time has been different.  I don't know if it is because we spent time with sickest kids, have reached out more, Facebook, or what but there are lots of kids dying and getting ready to die.   Many children just run out of options. 

Their parents are in such agony.  When you start you are told the odds.  Even when they are not what you want to hear, you know there is a chance. There is a possibility, there is hope, there might be a new discovery.  There might be a "miracle".  There might be..... our world if full of might be's.  Might be a new study. Might try a new drug. Might be......  

In so many cases there are no longer any options.  The cancer wins.  The brave decision is made to stop the treatment.  There will be no "Cure". The cancer wins.  

I have no way to even think about making that decision.  My daughter has been very clear that she is done.  She won't do all of this again. She is a full fledged adult and she is in charge of most things in her life.  She will not submit to treatment.  She lives her life with that in mind.   It is hard to think about but then it is easier than having to make the decision as to what to submit a child to in treatment world.  

We give them poison, we bemoan the fact they cannot have more poison because the counts aren't good. We watch the door close on the radiation chamber and are glad the protocol is going forward. We grind, conceal and give them endless amounts of drugs and potions.  We do anything anyone suggests to save them.  To let their lives continue. To let them return to normal.  Does it ever?


Done, when are we done?  I don't think we ever are done.  Done is an illusion. We just reach the end in different ways. Some return home and try to return to normal

. Some stop all treatment. Some watch a child slip away.  Some bury their child and try to go on with life.  


I don't know even what to say at this juncture. I just know what I can do.  I can try and be as supportive and listen to those at different stages and maybe be a shoulder.  I will try never to pass up an opportunity to do something positive for someone in pain.  I will never forget that we are all done at some point and we need to make this time of value.   

Two Worlds

So there is a big movie coming out this summer. "The Fault is in Our Stars".  Young adults, cancer, love, death. 

Cancer just keeps popping up and I feel like I am playing gofer game.  We see it all around us.

You can't ever win. They are everywhere and there are more and more of them coming.  I am sure the Hem/Onc docs and researchers feel the same. Just as they solve one problem, another pops up.  No matter how prepared you are, they keep coming back.  Never ending. 

As many many know a number of us are working on founding a Non-Profit named the Wishing Rock Project.  It is mixed group.  Friends, relatives, neighbors, Cancer Moms.  All working to make a connection to the new families.  I was meeting with one of the moms tomorrow.  I received a message from her apologizing she could not meet.  Scans were done last week and they found cancer again.  Again. Again. Oh Crap.... Again. 

It took my breath away.  A moment of terror.  Then I realized I need to send one of the Wishing Rock Bags to her.  Sometimes it is all you can do.  Reach out, let them know you are listening and try to give them a place to leave a bit of the pain and fear and endless anxiety. 

Here is a family trying to regain traction in the "real world".  Moving forward, working on catching up and trying not to look back too much.  Starting to think it was over.  And then....  It has been my experience that no matter how much time has passed and no matter how good things appear a bit of you remains in Cancer World.  Just a tiny finger or a wrinkle or a bit of gray hair.  It remains.  It is stretchy and can seem to be a very very very long tether but a tether it is. No matter what, it is there. It may be invisible to the "real world" eye but it is there.  

Given this is our dual reality, we are going to pull at the tether a bit.  I am amazed that ME is willing to go the distance.  She was not even willing to go to Eugene until Dr. Belle promised to be there, just in case.  Some how she is at a place she is willing to test the tether.  We are headed to places with no doctors, no internet and no good coffee.  It will be a challenge. We are taking a book to read on the road.  I hope to be able to needlepoint for a few days. 

We both understand this is only a temporary escape but we are going to find a bit of respite. A bit of joy, a bit of adventure and a bit of fun.  We expect to find these guys. 

Promise, I am leaving the mallet home. 

Sunning Turtles

Reminded me it was important to take a few moments, when the sun arrives.  

I am sure 93% of Seattle is out soaking up some much needed vitamin D.  I let myself spend a bit of time in the sun. 

Four Kinds of Cancer Moms in my life.

1st. There are the moms that are with their child 24 seven deep in the heat of battle.   They need coffee, a hungry listener and some someone to tell them it might be okay.   They need someone to nod at the right time and agree with them when they question their decisions.  They need to feel like there were decisions they had a hand in making.  Radiation, high dose Chemotherapy, surgery, another pint of red blood cells.  They have weird and often irrational outbursts.  I still feel bad about the guy just trying to take my order for a hamburger.  How could he know.  How could he know his little bit of push back was enough to make me a suicidal murder.  Again sorry about that. These moms cling to hope like it is oxygen. Often their child still has hair.

2nd:  They are me.   We have been in Cancer World so long we don't even know how not to be there.  Our DNA has been changed in such a way that we can walk through a crowd and find the other Cancer Moms.  Sort of like the Aliens finding each other in some horror movie.  We are a bit jaded.  We have hope. We live with hope. We know hope is not enough.  We have seen kids die, kids relapse, and suffer in so many ways we can often be numb. We have nightmares and little tolerance for lots of nonsense.  Really you are worried your child did not get into Harvard.  you have a child that is still fertile, did not loose 20 points of IQ because of Radiation and does not face guaranteed secondary cancer.  Quit being such self-centered whiners.   We too take off the heads of baristas on days it all comes crashing in on us.  We have some protective walls but they are thin.

3rd:  Mom's that loss their kids to this horrid disease.  The  rest of us are afraid of them because they have gone around a corner we don't think we can even imagine.  We know we don't understand their pain and their ultimate despair. We walked 24 miles of the ultra marathon but stopped before the climb into the Himalayas.  There is so much we don't understand about loosing a child but we often re-coil in horror from their pain.  We have to stay in touch, we have to listen, we have to respect the boundaries they set about conversation.  We have to keep trying to figure out a way to help.  It is not easy but their anger and sadness needs a home, a place to rest and be healed. 

4th:  Oh, these are the worst.  They are closer to the 3rd group with some 2nd thrown in the mix.  They have become the 1st group all over again because they are running out of options. Things are not going well, Cancer is winning but not clearly.  Maybe it will be okay, maybe they are going on alone up the mountain.  It is hard to say.  They face such horrid things.  Surgery, lungs being taken out, new transplants, unknown never used drugs on small bodies.  It is not a good place to be.

We are all just moms.  We do the best we can. We handle what comes our way. We look to each other for help and support and some understanding.  We suffer together, we find joy in things like bald heads. 

In no way does this club discount the help and support for those not in Cancer World.  None of us would escape with our lives without their support.

Just thinking about some of my favorite friends that in the midst of their struggles.  Will try and check in this week-end.  I am going to make some Pumpkin bread, because sometimes that is all you can do.   Especially since not everyone loves my brussel sprouts.

 

There has to be a better way....

HIPPA has made everyone very so closed mouthed.  If they even acknowledge there is another patient on the floor, they have to kill you.

It is sort of like being in seventh grade and the mean girls are keeping secrets. 

I am so tired of being blind sighted with finding out someone had died.  Last night it was in a college newspaper. 

I know lots of people, I see lots of people.  We talk and share stories but not always e-mail and Facebook and Caringbridge and blog addresses.  Sometimes we don't know the names or diagnosis.  We don't snoop but we have a story about each of them.  This was Nerf gun guy.  He would be admitted, and often have a very young roommate.  He had an arsenal of weapons.  He would gather the kids and there were endless wars. 

I often was bombarded by soft brightly colored foam.  It added a moment to the floor's frivolity.

Well another bright, caring, loving guy has fallen.   Osteosarcoma is a bad thing.  I have long memories of this disease because as a child I remember my dad's concern for Patrick Kennedy when he had it.  He was only 8 or 9 and so was I.  They took his leg.  There was no other treatment for it.  Dad expressed concern about how it spread.  It loves lungs and other bones.   Nothing much has changed in all those years. 

Nolan is gone.  I think I will give the floor some Nerf guns. 
http://dailyuw.com/archive/2013/01/08/news/former-uw-student-granted-posthumous-engineering-degree