{"id":1957,"date":"2021-05-12T14:34:00","date_gmt":"2021-05-12T12:34:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kreftforeningen.no\/stafettforlivet\/?p=1957"},"modified":"2024-10-10T11:42:37","modified_gmt":"2024-10-10T09:42:37","slug":"do-they-have-beds-in-heaven","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kreftforeningen.no\/stafettforlivet\/aktuelt\/do-they-have-beds-in-heaven\/","title":{"rendered":"Do they have beds in heaven?"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

The question from the five-year-old in the back seat on the way home from the hospital has etched itself into dad Rune\u2019s memory forever.<\/p><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\"Barnefoto
Foto: Desiree Photography Stavanger<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

One night in September 2017, Rune Lunde is walking slowly round a running track in Randaberg. It\u2019s a mild night in late summer, with not a breath of wind. The moon has risen, you can hear quiet voices murmuring here and there, and see firebowls and lights twinkling, making the night feel even milder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A man comes up alongside Rune. He\u2019s also out walking \u2013 maybe for himself, maybe for someone else. They get chatting, lap after lap, forgetting the time and place. The man tells his story, but would also like to hear Rune\u2019s. What load is he carrying? Why is he taking part in the Norwegian Cancer Society\u2019s Relay for Life?<\/p>\n\n\n

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\"en<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

It\u2019s 8 May 2001.<\/strong> Liberation Day. Norwegian flags are everywhere. Everyone who is old enough remembers the feeling of relief on that day in 1945, the realisation that life was slowly but surely going to get back to normal, that they would be able to relax and breathe out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Today there\u2019s a car driving through these memories. With a little four-year-old boy sitting in the back seat. He knows nothing about the war, but he knows that something is ravaging his body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His name is Vegard, and he is sick. Mum Ellinor and dad Rune have suspected it for quite a while. They\u2019ve been to the doctor so many times, but their questions have never been answered. But now their suspicions have been confirmed. The listlessness, the swollen abdomen, the thin arms and legs now have an explanation: cancer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The contrast to the joy, peace and freedom in the flags waving outside the car windows is stark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vegard has cancer<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

When they went on holiday to a cabin at Easter, Vegard had to lie down more or less the whole time. After endless appointments, Ellinor had to take her son to the doctor once again. That was on 8 May; she was carrying four-year-old Vegard on one hip, and his eight-month-old little sister on the other. After the appointment, Ellinor received a phone call telling her to drive straight to the hospital in Stavanger. She arranged a childminder for the baby and tried to get in touch with Rune, who was at work in Oslo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the back seat, Vegard asked why it was everyone\u2019s birthday today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Things started to move quickly. The following morning, the family was flown to Haukeland.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 We handed the two girls over to some nurses, Ellinor explains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 Vegard went straight onto dialysis. If he hadn\u2019t got that treatment, he would have died, Rune said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

All through that spring and summer, Vegard went through gruelling chemotherapy. At times he got better, only to get worse again. The following summer, he received a bone marrow transplant from his little sister at the Rikshospitalet in Oslo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n