Archive for March, 2006

Watching

Tuesday, March 28th, 2006

I found this recently and included it with some baby gifts I mailed yesterday.

If I had my child to raise all over again,
I’d build self-esteem first, and the house later.
I’d finger-paint more, and point the finger less.
I would do less correcting and more connecting.
I’d take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I’d take more hikes and fly more kites.
I’d stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars.
I’d do more hugging and less tugging.
~Diane Loomans

I keep looking back at this passage, thinking about how important it is. The message is so simple, so right. I’ve known since Joey was born that I wanted to appreciate every little moment — even the frustrating ones — because life is short and one day, my kids may not want anything to do with me. So I tried to enjoy the clinging boy who was always by my side and rarely socialized with other kids. He kept me from visiting with moms at playgroups because he needed my full attention. He kept me distracted at activities and events with his shyness and refusal to participate. While overwhelmed by this sensitive, stubborn personality, I tried to also love these moments when my baby boy wanted only me.

It’s hard to be completely in the moment all the time. It’s hard to offer undivided attention always. It’s hard to stop correcting behavior that seems so disruptive at times. It’s hard to seriously play — especially at the end of the day, after ten whole hours of togetherness with my boys, when they want to run around as dinosaurs. With me as Stegosaurus. But it’s so important. I know that.

So today, for a moment, I took my eyes of my watch and I watched with my eyes. I ignored the pile of unfolded clean laundry that had been sitting in the laundry room for hours and I sat outside in the back yard and watched Joey and Danny play. I really watched. I absorbed their actions and their sounds and their peace.

Joey sat on a small plastic chair at a small plastic table. He had covered the table with trucks — both big and small — and a pile of dirt and a stack of grass blades he plucked out of our yard that has just started returning to a nice shade of green. Joey loaded his trucks with dirt and grass and he told me he was making a salad — a dirt salad with grass. He asked me if I wanted some. I told him I did.

Danny sat some distance from Joey near his sandbox. He too had a collection of trucks and he filled each one with sand. He was silent in his play — focused and intent and looking very official wearing a crown made of teal-colored wrapping paper. He later joined Joey, asked if he could sit down, and was delighted when Joey allowed him to play. My boys don’t always play nicely together and seem to spend more time fighting than agreeing. But for this moment, they were happy and content and beautiful. I am glad I was watching.

I don’t want to look back years from now and wish I’d done things differently with my kids. And I’m glad that I can now appreciate the close bond I had with my clingy little guy. Because just yesterday when we went to the park, he accepted an invitation to play with a little boy and he never looked back at me. I watched him, though, aware of his every move. Aware of my own sadness about my boy who is growing up and away from me. Aware of my joy that he is thriving now in ways I could never have predicted. Aware that I need to keep watching and connecting and playing and hugging. Even when Joey gets out of bed four and five times each night and tests my patience. Even when Danny rattles me when he shouts at the top of lungs to get my attention. Even when both boys go crazy at the same time each time I try to talk on the phone and when Joey tells me “you’re mean” when I don’t buy him a toy and Danny calls me “stinky butt” when he doesn’t get what he wants. I know I will miss these moments one day — funny as it may seem.

So for these days I have now — with two little boys who fill me with love and joy and frustration like I’ve never known — I will cherish these moments. And I will always be watching.

Jacki Donaldson

Posted in Inspiration, Kids, My story, Resources | 23 Comments »

Immortality

Wednesday, March 15th, 2006

I heard a woman in the Cancer Center waiting room today say to a man I assume was her father, “When I was 18, I thought I was immortal.” I thought the same thing, that I was immortal, at age 34, just before cancer flashed in front of my face and reminded me that I am not. And today, looking at the man I think was this woman’s father, I felt deep in my gut a sad realization that life passes by so quickly. I know this from watching Joey grow in no time from a chubby, cuddly baby into a long, lean five-year-old who is about to perform in a school musical this weekend. And from watching Danny, my second chubby, cuddly baby who asks each day, “Am I three now?” I tell him, “Not yet. In two months.” He asks, “Is it a long time?” and I tell him, “Yes, for you, it’s a long time,” all the while knowing that for me, two months is nothing bu a just quick passage of time that will end with Danny’s third birthday and will make me long for the days when my babies were babies.

Life moves at a fast pace. I’m sure it did for this man in the waiting room. I heard him reminiscing about his younger days. I heard him say, “When I was the captain of a DC-3,” and he talked about flying planes and landing planes and airports. Today, this man is elderly. His skin is wrinkled; his posture slumped. He looked fragile, and it made me sad to witness an image of aging, knowing this is what happens as time ticks on. And it made me sad to see him in the pink infusion chair, receiving treatment for an illness that is undoubtedly threatening the life that is already passing him by. But I am also inspired by this man who is fighting for those precious moments in life. He had no sadness about him. Perhaps with age comes a wisdom that the passing of time is an OK process, the way life is meant to be. And mortality comes with life (cancer or no cancer) and being reminded of it is not such a bad thing but a wake-up call to appreciate the teeny tiny moments that pass by so quickly. Like when Danny said to me last night at the dress rehearsal for Joey’s musical, “Mommy, you are pretty.” Or when I poured his cereal into a bowl the other day and he said, “Good job, Mommy!” So while I regret that my boys are growing so quickly and I am aging right along with them, I also would not trade these phenomena for anything. So when I have moments of sadness about mortality, I will focus on the gift of life that allows me to watch my babies grow up, however startling and swift the process may be.

I am thankful today for the glimpse of the man in the waiting room. I am thankful for the life I have with two little growing boys and one big boy who takes care of them while I receive my Herceptin treatment. And I am thankful for my Herceptin treatment and the fact that it is likely giving me more life than I may have had without it.

Posted in Death & dying, Herceptin, Inspiration, Kids, My story, Survivors | 3 Comments »

My heart

Monday, March 13th, 2006

“In a small number of women, Herceptin alone or in combination with chemotherapy can lead to serious heart problems including ventricular dysfunction and congestive heart failure . . . Women considering Herceptin should have their heart function evaluated by a physician before beginning treatment. Once on Herceptin, women should be closely monitored for any heart problems that may occur.” (From: http://imaginis.com)

Today I had my heart monitored for Herceptin-related problems. I first had this done in July, prior to the start of treatment. I learned at that time that my heart was normal and healthy and strong. Today I learned that nothing has changed. My heart is still normal and healthy and strong. Herceptin has not affected my heart. From what I understand, if my heart has not suffered up to this point, it is likely that nothing will happen as a result of my next seven treatments. A victory. A relief. The good part of my day.

The not-so-good part of my day involved multiple attempts at effective discipline with my “spirited” Joey — attempts that leave me frustrated and angry and full of questions about how to best guide a five-year-old with such stubborn tendencies. Today Joey teased Danny, refused to listen to much of anything, talked back to me, laughed at me when I spoke firmly with him, slammed doors, and told me more than once, “Mommy, I am mad at you.” None of these behaviors is odd for Joey — they are sprinkled into many of our daily moments — but there were more of these moments today and they drove me to the edge of my emotional capacity.

And then I distracted Joey with arts and crafts. Joey said to me the other night, “Mommy, what do you know a lot about? Arts and crafts?” I told him, “yes, I guess I do.” This came right after he asked me to tell him a story about space — like his Daddy does every night before bed. I told him I really don’t know much about space. Arts and crafts I can handle, though. So I dug out two shoe boxes — one for Joey and one for me. We tipped the open shoe boxes so they faced us and we made three-dimensional type scenes. We cut and glued and taped and talked. Joey is still proud of the boat he made — complete with steering wheel — and the ocean he made from blue paper and the rocks he made with kidney beans and the fence he made with white ribbon. And I am still proud that for one hour, I was able to engage Joey is an activity that kept our threesome mostly calm and quiet and focused.

I am not sure that distraction is the best discipline method — but I’m not completely sure about any other method I’ve tried either. Distraction does work in the short term — it stops the behavior and allows us to start fresh with a new activity. I don’t know if it teaches anything, though. But I don’t know either if Joey is capable right now of learning the life-long lessons I want him to know. Sometimes I think, “the kid is five — he should know better.” Other times I think, “he is only five — maybe he can’t know better.” And so goes the dilemma of parenting. There is always a different perspective, another opinion, a new way of thinking. I think for now I will go with the philosophy that says, “Don’t try to fix everything — just get through it!”

So get through it I will. With my heart full of love for this guy who makes me both crazy and proud. With my heart that is healthy and normal and strong. Thank goodness for that.

Jacki Donaldson

Posted in Herceptin, Kids, My story, Side effects | 3 Comments »

In the spotlight

Monday, March 6th, 2006

Danny

I don’t know whether or not the Cure by Design fashion show last night was a success — because I didn�’t get to see the show. I spent all my time behind the stage where I dressed and undressed, had make-up applied and touched up, mingled with the other models, ate snacks, and mostly did not partake in the free-flowing champagne that was offered to me every time I turned around.

This is what I do know: My family tells me that the show was great and touching and powerful. Some of them cried. Some took pictures and video. Some escorted little people outside when their attention spans faltered. All of them told me I did well (they have to say that!) and all of them report that many of the models did obviously partake in the champagne! Perhaps I should have too. Maybe the distractions would have been not so distracting.

I have never known the experience of standing on a stage and looking out into an audience. Now I know. The lights on the stage are bright. The lights in the audience are dark. The result: I could not see anything but total darkness when I looked into the crowd. I could hear people screaming and clapping and responding to me, but I could not see a thing. Combined with the arrows that were taped on the stage that I had to follow and the three stops and turns I had to make, I am sure I looked a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. I felt like one. I think I loosened up a bit on my second and third appearance on the stage (I modeled two different outfits and then had a grand finale moment too) but overall, I now know that I am not a spotlight type of person. Not without champagne anyway.

I also know that I will always remember this experience, not for the momentary discomfort it may have caused me, but for the life-long effect it will have on me. I will remember the 100 cancer survivors who walked with me on that stage and the individual stories of some of them. I will remember the children, some as young as two, some bald, and some with newly growing hair, who marched on stage with more courage than I will ever have. I will remember my family and friends in the audience who cheered for me. I will remember that I cried when I got home after the show. And I will remember that all money raised will help others with cancer so that they can one day showcase their survivorship on a bright stage with a dark audience.

I don’t know if I will do the show again. I do know that Danny has more of a knack for modeling than I do. And that’s why his picture appears here and not mine. I can’t compete with this guy, who incidentally was one of the little ones escorted outside to play by this fountain of water while I fumbled my way across the stage.

Jacki Donaldson

Posted in Family, Inspiration, Kids, My story | 7 Comments »