When Zach Lawton ran 45 yards to tackle a Columbia-Montour Vo-Tech opponent just one yard from the goal line, Selinsgrove fans roared their praise. It was a moment his parents would have thought impossible 18 years ago, when their infant son was diagnosed with leukemia.

"I knew something wasn't quite right," Tammy Lawton said, remembering Zachary's slightly enlarged stomach, decreased cooing, and pale skin. Doctors assured her he was fine. She shoved her worries aside, but when a woman commented that her 3 1/2-month-old son looked jaundiced, the uneasiness returned. She headed to the doctor's office, where this time they noticed an enlarged spleen, and did some blood tests.

"The doctor took my hand. He was very compassionate. I knew instantly that it was something bad," Tammy recalled. "He said, I'm 99 percent sure your son has leukemia.'"

Tammy called her husband, Charlie, and her mother, Thelma Nichols, and they rushed Zach to Geisinger Medical Center, in Danville.

"I was just numb," Charlie remembered. "In my mind, when we got to the Geisinger, it would not be as bad we thought." But as soon as they entered, "(The doctors) were standing there, waiting. They just grabbed Zach and, whoosh, through the doors."

Blood replaced

Zach's white blood cell count was 2,000,100 -- a normal count is between 5,000 and 10,000.

Most kids with leukemia have counts between 50,000 and 100,000.

"They were amazed that he didn't have a stroke or a heart attack because his blood was so thick," Tammy said.

"It had an orange tint to it, and it was stringy," Charlie explained.

Certified pediatric oncology nurse Barb Molesevich, remembered seeing Tammy carry Zach into the hospital. "He looked like a limp dish rag," she said. "His white blood count was the highest I've ever seen."

Before doctors could begin chemotherapy they had to do an exchange transfusion -- completely replacing the tiny boy's blood with donor blood.

"It was very risky. He had a heart doctor in there, a kidney doctor, the oncologist," Tammy recalled. "And that's when they told us to call the minister, because they didn't think he'd make it through the night."

"Leukemia is the commonest cancer we treat in children," said Dr. Jeffrey Lobel, associate professor of pediatrics in hematology/oncology, now practicing at the Kalamazoo Center for Medical Studies of Michigan State University. "But leukemia in young infants is a very rare subset of all the kids with leukemia. (Zach) had the highest number of leukemia cells in his circulating blood stream that I've ever seen in over 30 years of experience. I knew that the odds were highly against him." "Dr. Lobel said, If he survives the night -- and that's a very big if -- you can expect kidney problems, spleen damage, major organ damage,'" Charlie recalled.

But after three exchange transfusions in three days, they managed to get Zach's white blood count low enough to begin chemo.

A fresh fear

Tammy recalled holding him in the intensive care unit, scared of all the wires and tubes attached to him.

"He looked up at me. He had this little binkie in his mouth, under the oxygen mask." Zach stayed in the hospital for two weeks, under the care of Dr. Jeffery Lobel, Dr. Narayan Shah, and a host of dedicated nurses.

"One of us was there around the clock," Charlie said. "Mostly Tammy. And that was the hardest part for me." He used a week of vacation, but then had to go back to AMP, where co-workers were supportive but Charlie agonized over what was happening at Geisinger.

As scary as it was in the hospital, a fresh fear gripped the young couple when they brought Zach home. Tammy crushed his cancer pills in cereal and applesauce, dealing with the inevitable stress when he'd spit it out and she'd have to try to get the full dose of lifesaving medicine into him.

Even worse than that were the spinal taps he had to endure every other week. The nurses had to hold him still while he screamed in pain. Charlie helped once.

"One time. When it was done, I told the nurses I'll never do that again," Charlie said.

"We took turns being the strong person," Tammy said. "And see, I had to be in there."

"He would be a slippery seal, we always used to say. He was sweating so much," Molesevich recalled. "Now we sedate the kids. At that time we just held them."

A sensational example

"Everybody loves Zach. He was the cutest kid in the world," said Becky Sneidman, a nurse practitioner in Geisinger's pediatric hematology/oncology clinic. "He did not hold it against us. Once the treatment was done, he was up and smiling."

The spinal taps lasted about a year, and it was about the same amount of time before Zach could receive a Broviac catheter or a Mediport for his intravenous medications.

"To him it was normal living. We would take him for blood work and he would just hold his little hand out," Tammy said. "One of the nurses said it's a blessing that he's so little and won't remember this."

The only clear memory Zach has of his illness is when his last Mediport was removed when he was about 4 1/2 years old.

"I remember them putting the mask on my face because I hated that. I tried pushing it away," the 6-foot, 240-pound offensive tackle said with a little grin. "And I remember waking up in the recovery room." And that's it. That's the sum memory the young man has of the unpleasant procedures of his baby days.

"There's always a little what could have happened' in my head," he said. And at Camp Dost in Millville, at the annual campfire ceremony in remembrance of kids who have passed away, "There's always that, I could have been one of them,'"‰" he added quietly.

Wedding dances

"He's a miracle. He really is," Molesevich said. "We grew up with him. Oh my God, he's a big bruiser now.

"My next thing is, I can't wait to dance at his wedding. That's what Dr. Lobel used to say, Zach, I can't wait to dance at your wedding.'"‰"

"Zach is a sensational example of the potential success of treating cancer in children," Dr. Lobel said. "He has allowed me to have even more hope for every patient I've had since him."

Recently, the slippery Selinsgrove seal had to deal with the heartbreaking end to his football team's quest for a state championship in the semi-finals. But while he deals with that disappointment, as well as school, a part-time job, graduation plans, and a steady girlfriend, his parents understand just how precious a gift it was to see him play at all.

"It put a whole bunch of stuff in perspective," Charlie said. "There's times we forget about how fortunate we are." Like Zach, his parents always have that little what could have happened' in their heads.

"When I'm watching him play football or other sports," Charlie said. "That's when I think about it."

n Cindy O. Herman lives in Snyder County. Send e-mail comments to her at Cindyherman1@yahoo.com.