A Cry in the Wind

When one writes a newspaper column in a city as large as L.A., the cries for help are almost deafening. People in need turn to traditional sources for relief, and we’re one of them.

They seek money, medical aid, legal assistance, career enhancement, prison reform or sometimes just a path through government bureaucracy.

No journalist, however well-intentioned, could ever satisfy all the demands of the people for redress or remedy. We isolate the cries, look for patterns and attempt to tell multiple stories through single individuals.

That’s true in this case. The cry comes from Downey and it isn’t a request I’ve heard before. Aaron Rejniak wants the people to pray for her son.

His name is Nicholas. He is 10 months old and suffers from leukemia. After months of chemotherapy, doctors have given him a 50-50 chance of survival. Aaron wants the odds tipped in her baby’s favor, and she wants God and the people to help her do it.

This isn’t the kind of column I usually write. I have problems with the concept of a supreme being and the idea of crying to the clouds for help. But I also have problems with watching a little boy die and doing nothing.

We live in an age where children are abused and murdered to an escalating degree. Two thousand a year die of abuse in this country alone. In a world gone mad, even toddlers pay the price of violence.

The problem seems too large to address but too awful to ignore, and I am unable to turn my back on Nicholas Rejniak, who is wanted beyond need and loved beyond adoration.

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The family lives in a cramped, three-room home behind a larger house occupied by Aaron’s grandparents. Aaron and her husband, John, a draftsman, also have a 6-year-old daughter, Brittany.

Theirs is a close and loving family, and when Nicholas came along he was bathed in a warmth that nature intends for small creatures just beginning life. At 24, Aaron is one of those natural mothers for whom child-raising is a primary and important occupation.

Nicholas’ development was normal until he was 4 months old.

“It was on a Sunday night last July,” Aaron says quietly, holding the infant in her arms. He is bright-eyed and alert, full of movement and happy sounds. “He began crying and cried all night. Nothing would stop him.”

The next morning, they noticed blood in his stool and urine and took him to Long Beach Memorial Hospital. He was checked into the hospital and, following extensive tests, was diagnosed as having a severe form of leukemia.

“When the doctor told us he might have it, I prayed day and night that he didn’t,” Aaron said, rocking him slowly in her arms. “When they said that he did, I was devastated. I felt that there was no God.”

Nicholas’ disease has responded to chemo and appears to be in remission. If it worsens, radiation treatment is next and a bone marrow transplant the final hope.

The stress of her baby’s ailment has given Aaron an ulcer. Long absences from home to be with Nicholas when he was hospitalized have caused problems with a daughter who feels ignored.

“I need help,” Aaron said that day in her home. “I need prayer.”

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A lifelong resident of L.A. County, Aaron is a pretty, dark-eyed woman with two years of college. Never excessively religious, she now keeps a Bible in Nicholas’ crib and crucifixes on the wall.

Her request for prayer from anyone who hears her plea is rooted in a story her grandmother read. “The article said if people all over the world prayed for one person it could cure him,” Aaron recalled. “I believe that.”

She stresses that it isn’t a call for money. Her husband has medical insurance, and although expenses so far have depleted their savings and are likely to go beyond any coverage, that isn’t Aaron’s primary concern. The life of her baby is.

“I know there are good people out there who always come forward to help sick children,” she said. “I ask now that they pray for Nicholas.”

There’s a saying among men at war that there are no atheists in a foxhole. In times of peril or need, we all reach out to someone or something to alter the bullet’s course or stay the shrapnel’s awful flight.

I came close to death many times in Korea and again a few years ago when only a cardiac bypass saved me. I figure I’m here to translate messages from people into prose and, regardless of what I may or may not believe, the request of Aaron Rejniak is a compelling one.

So I say a small child needs help. Let the vivid air carry your words to a house in Downey where prayer may ultimately be the only hope they have left.

Al Martinez can be reached online at al.martinez@latimes.com