Susiej

From my Newspaper Column for the SNP

She has removed the password from his Caring Bridge site, because she wants to spread the word. Seth needs prayers. The next 24 hours are critical. Feb 5, 2010 was supposed to be a day of celebration. The date would have marked the end of Seth’s 6-year battle with leukemia. Instead, Seth received more chemotherapy for the illness that was supposed to leave the 13-year-old alone by now. They also received the devastating news that not one of his 3 sisters is a bone marrow donor match.

Yesterday, a throbbing headache led Seth back to the hospital, where they learned he is now septic. He has no white cells to fight the infection. You can read the details and updates here.

All I can think about is the day, 9 years ago, when Seth was dressed like Robin Hood, running around the tree house in our backyard. Wendi, loving mom, made the costume. She made all of Seth’s costumes — including the Obi-Wan Kenobi , Buzz Lightyear, and Jedi Knight costumes. We were always impressed by her talent. The sun lit up Seth’s golden hair, and his blue eyes twinkled at me as he gripped his light saber, wondering if I was going to take away the light sabers because they were all hitting too hard. Our boys were so young and small then; we could pick them up with one arm, and hold them tight. All day long, I’ve been stuck on that day, trying to will it back. I just want to help my friend.

But we are not there. We are here. His parents want to help spread the word about bone marrow donations. I will do my part. Wendi says, “It’s one of the few organs you can donate without being dead to do it.”

Each year, we donate our blood to stock the blood banks, and this is as routine as filling up the car with gas. But how many of us have ever considered donating our bone marrow?

For some, fear is the reason we’ve never considered this gift. Fear can always be traced to unknowns. Here is what is known: No pieces of your bone are taken. Seventy five percent never need surgery; in most cases you’ll only need to give peripheral blood stem cells, which is similar to donating plasma. A bone marrow donation is a surgical procedure, done under anesthesia. Yet, both are treated as outpatient, and you go home the same day. Some donors are sore afterwards; some are not. In 2-7 days, most donors are back to normal. Most donors say they would do it again to save a life.

Thanks to advances in medicine, many of us will be hearing more about transplants; they’re increasingly becoming a path to save lives. Sometimes, it’s the only hope people have. Just like Seth, over 70 percent are unable to find a donor match within their family. Yet, even with a registry of millions, many patients still cannot find a match.

You can visit www.BeTheMatch.org to join the Be The Match Registry online. They’ll mail you a kit so that you can simply swab your cheeks at home and mail it back. Or, you can register in person February 20 at Premier Women’s Health, (614-459-1000 Ext 2007), from 8 a.m.– 1 p.m.

Since he won’t be getting a bone marrow transplant from one of his sisters, Seth hopes to get his marrow from “someone famous…. that would be cool.” Wendi wrote on Seth’s Caring Bridge web page, “In my eyes, the person who shares this gift of life with my son may not be famous, but will be truly heaven sent. An angel. A lifesaver. What more could you ever hope to be in this world?”

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Is having more time to look at the stars. I know Winter Solstice is bringing us longer days… but it’s still pretty dark around here. Here’s an article from my newspaper column.

I saw no stars on that cloudy night at the Perkins Observatory. Instead of stardust, the astronomers there sprinkled my mind, and the minds of the first- and second-graders there, with wonder.

They reminded me that when we look up, we see the past; the light is already billions of years old. They reminded us that our vast galaxy is just beginning its life. Our 4.5 billion-year-old sun is still less than halfway through its life. The future lying ahead is more prolonged than the past we’ve seen.

These concepts are staggering to comprehend, but the gem here comes from remembering what my seventh-grade history teacher used to repeat: “You can’t understand the future until you understand the past.” Four hundred years ago, Galileo turned his telescope away from the sea and began to look at the heavens, and thus 2009 is our International Year of Astronomy (IYA).

Galileo’s shift of his telescope changed the world not simply because he looked, but because he observed the sky night after night while meticulously filling in the details in his observing log. He saw that the stars do shift positions, and when one star vanished, he discovered not a star, but a moon hiding behind Jupiter.

Because our word shares the same sky, astronomy is a great unifier, and may even hold our potential for world peace. Satellite pictures of our earth show us the geographic boundaries of our continents, while the political boundaries vanish.

This revelation led astronomers in Iran to create StarPeace, a project of IYA to hold joint public star parties near the borderlines of two neighboring countries. On Dec. 4, people from Indonesia and the Philippines came together to make a peace bridge on South China Sea, with teachers and astronomers offering free public viewings of the stars through high-powered telescopes.

The amateur astronomer George Eric Deacon Alcock discovered five comets on his own through meticulous viewings and recordings in his observing log. Backyard astronomers, like you, can use their eyes, telescopes and binoculars to create their own observing logs. Binoculars provide a wider field of view than telescopes.

In the winter, no other constellation is more distinct or bright as Orion, the Mighty Hunter. This month, if the sky is clear — a minor  miracle — look for three bright stars that form Orion’s Belt. One of the brightest stars in the night sky, Rigel, represents Orion’s foot. His two shoulders are made of the stars Bellatrix and Betelgeuse.

Orion will wait for you; he will remain recognizable in the night sky for the next 1 to 2 million years, making it one of the longest observable constellations.

As we stand solidly on earth looking up, we can barely fathom our place in a galaxy that is showing us our billion-year-old past. But imagine, for a moment, looking at earth from space, where there is no solid footing. An astronaut once revealed to me the universal secret astronauts hold: They are homesick. Not for earth, but for space.

He described the familiar heavy pull of gravity as the carrier sped back toward earth, and he instantly felt a longing for the lightness he knew in space. With tears in his eyes, he also added, “The earth looks beautiful from space. The earth glows, and it pulsates with energy.”

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So far, this post has generated more personal comments to me than any other of my newspaper columns. People tell me this one is clipped, and hanging on their fridge.

We start out by identifying clear boundaries: You cannot hide on the roof (anymore), inside of cars or, definitely, in the house. Warmer Octobers, unlike this one, have, in the past, led us to impromptu games of Ghost in the Graveyard.

While summer traditionally holds hosting rights to this game, October offers an enticing venue for this nighttime version of hide-and-seek for two reasons: primarily because it’s a frightful game, tying in perfectly with Halloween, and secondly, and more importantly, October features short days, making the official start time of the game much easier to accommodate in our lives.

Still, despite this early nightfall, I find myself resistant to embark on this game. I feel the strings of domesticity and the demands of homework, and quite frankly, I’m just too tired to summon the energy to play at this hour. But there are nights when I catch a glimpse of the moon, sometimes obscured by the branches of a tree, and I see that the moon is staring right back at me.

Now, I think I’m missing out on something. We gather the kids and venture outside in the dark to play. Don’t underestimate the power of the moon; just look at what it does to the ocean.

From home base, the ghost starts the countdown — 1 o’clock, 2 o’clock, 3 o’clock — while everyone else hides. Once the ghost reaches “midnight,” he is free to leave base and search for us; our goal is to sneak back to base before the ghost finds us first.

As I hear the ghost approach “7′o’clock,” I panic because I have not yet found a spot. I start to run, I feel my blood start shooting right up to my toes and I’m breathing heavy. Soon, I’ve broken into a sweat. “This was effortless,” I whisper to myself under my breath.

Funny how this nighttime run fails to invoke the monotony that often accompanies those forced runs I try to take. Yet, it seems to have the same effect on my system.

A small hand grabs my own, and a voice says, “Mom, I want to hide with you.” We take off running, and I stumble on the perfect spot — the railing of the deck creates safe roof access to a hiding place where the floodlights do not reach. Just as the ghost yells, “midnight,” I lift my son over the railing, sit back against the wall of the house and wait.

My son’s body shakes against mine, heaving from the giggles he is trying to contain. “A spot like this could keep me winning this game for years to come,” I think. But before the ghost even takes three steps, my son yells triumphantly, “You’ll never find us! We’re on the roof!”

After a few rounds, we have exhausted all hiding spots and, unanimously, we are ready to call it a night. I catch a glimpse of the moon again, this time lighting up the flushed cheeks of my children. “Is that a glimpse of stillness I see coming over their faces?”

What originally started as the kids’ “great idea to delay bedtime” seems to have had quite the opposite effect. This evening run in the fresh air, accompanied by the adrenaline rush, seems to have flushed out the tensions of the day, unknotted my own worries about tomorrow and effortlessly moved us through that awkward transition time between day and night; between doing and being.

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The best part about writing the article for Columbus Monthly was Ray Paprocki. As the magazine’s editor, he has a way of gently coaxing words out, so they tumble onto the page like melted butter. This can be a double-edged sword; suddenly you realize there are now 500 ways to say that one thing you’re trying to say – deciding which strand to pick up and weave your story is part intuition and luck. Ray gives the writer the freedom to choose, which is a grand act of faith and confidence, making any writer feel privileged to work with him.

Secondly, I loved talking with the great mom bloggers in Columbus; amommystory, doobleh-vay, momo-fali, pepperpaints, thiswomanswork, revelry, Sundayswithstretchypants, lifedownourlane , and carrymilkweed. Hats off to the dad bloggers who unfortunately ended up on the editing floor.

And thanks to all of my editing friends who willingly read it “one more time” for me.

The sad part about writing the article is, of course, not being able to tell my Mom. So, if my friends haven’t yet bought every last copy — go get that August issue.

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By 9 p.m. Thursday, I had not a drop of inspiration for my newspaper column, due at 9 a.m. the next morning.  Then, a snippet from a conversation that night carried the article –all she said was, “And we have graduation parties next weekend…”  Then it hit me.  I was looking for a way to share Maya Angelou’s quote about focusing on what you love, and doing it well, and realized it was the the perfect news for any new graduate; and for the Moms, like me, who are saying goodbye to preschool for the last time. We need something hopeful in response to the sadness we feel for the years we have left behind.

So at midnight, the house finally quiet, I began to write. I finished by 2 a.m. Friday morning, and checked for edits at 8 a.m. before sending the final copy to my editor.  Then, I got my little preschooler ready and took him off to school for his last day of preschool.  Here’s my recent newspaper column for the Suburban News Publication.

Spring is that season we associate with new beginnings. Yet, it is primarily a time of endings.

The flowering of the crabapple trees heralds graduation — whether it is from colleges or preschools. Time is moving. Lives will change and familiar faces and places will be banished from our established daily routines.

This migration affects everyone, from the grocery store that looses its high school senior grocery baggers to the preschoolers who migrate to the public school system. Spring means life changes everywhere for everyone.

We’re careful to take snapshots of the faces that mean the most to our hearts. We promise “never to forget,” to “stay in touch,” while we exchange e-mail addresses and post notes on our Facebook walls.

We do forget. This is unintentional, of course. Our lapses are merely a byproduct of the new lives we have stepped into; we make friends with new faces, we have new routines and divergent pathways unfold in front of us.

We have new choices to make; and suddenly we seek advice from new sources — people who know what we’re going through now. This allows us to form bonds quickly with people we barely knew a month ago.

But before the new friendships are made, there is that awkward, uncomfortable transition phase. The part where one foot is stuck behind, as in cement, in the old life, while the other foot is stretched forward, ready to leap into the new world. Except, there is nothing solid there to form a sure footing — yet.

In his book, Stress and Mental Health of College Students, M. V. Landow found that students rate moving away to college as being more stressful than severe traumatic events they experienced within the same year. For many, it’s the first day of high school or middle school that creates the trauma. For me, it will be that day this fall when I send my last boy to kindergarten.

We naturally just want life to revert back to the way it was; when we were so comfortable, life was predictable, and familiar faces dotted our view. Yet this life of certainty never really existed. Just as we have become unaware that the Earth is constantly spinning on its axis, we forget that our lives run like a river, constantly flowing form one phase to the next. The only constant is change.

In the face of so much uncertainty, there is one way we can carve out some power and comfort for ourselves. We can create rules, or specific constants, that we can carry through our lives, regardless of where we spend our days, and with whom. Mother Teresa has a great rule, and it’s one that I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you stole: “Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier.”

It’s a remarkable feeling to remember that we do have the power to make choices, and we are not victims of transition and change. Life is not happening to us; we are creating our life all day long. We need constructive life long rules to get us through life’s transitions.

Another rule to incorporate is Maya Angelou’s wisdom: Don’t make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off you. All the other tangible rewards will come as a result.

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Today was the big race; the pink wigs, the survivor signs, and the “in memory of” signs. The Race for the Cure that started more than 20 years ago, with a promise between two sisters; and yet there is still no cure is in sight. Breast cancer continues to take our sisters, our friends, our daughters and our mothers. But for one day, this race symbolizes the survivor spirit that glows behind every woman.

This post is adapted from my newspaper column.

Cancer is that dark subject we try to avoid, especially when it comes to our own health. We’ve been know to delay scheduling that screening appointment because we’re just too busy. We believe that what we don’t know about can’t hurt us, so we stall, despite the public service announcements that clearly state, early detection saves lives.

On one day this month, our perspective will change. May 16th is the Komen Columbus Race for the Cure. This event give us a forum to honor and celebrate lives, and release our hope for someday finding a cure. The motivation we’ll need to give our time, buy the raffle tickets, run the race and give our dollars will come from within our hearts.When we reflect on the tragic ways cancer has touched our own lives, we can’t help but privately promise ourselves to eat better, find more time to exercise, and schedule those screening tests, whether they’re for skin, colon, or breast cancer. Knowledge truly is our power.

Ten years ago, I walked the race pushing a stroller with a friend. “I don’t need a mammogram,” she said. “My aunt died of breast cancer, and it skips a generation.”

No, it doesn’t, my friend. “When I call you Monday at lunchtime, give me the date and time of your first mammogram.” The conversation may not have happened, and the appointment may not have been made, if not for the time we shared at the race that day.

Out of all the uncertainties and unknowns that come with a cancer diagnosis, one thing is clear: treatment will be expensive. Global sales of cancer drugs will reach $80 billion by 2012, according to Norwalk, Conn.-based consultant IMS Health Inc. A 2006 survey conducted by the Harvard School of Public Health, 33 percent of cancer patients have trouble paying medical bills and 43 percent report skipping treatments or not filling prescriptions because of the cost.

Statistics like these prompted Stefanie and Chris Spielman to create the Stefanie Spielman Fund for Patient Assistance, which allows families to buy groceries, nutritional supplements, Wendy’s gift cards, wigs and transportation to appointments.

On a global level, the cost of finding a cure for cancer is staggering. The reality that we still don’t understand what causes breast cancer led Dr. Susan Love to create www.armyofwomen.org. Her goal is to eradicate breast cancer by linking patients with research scientists and clinical trials. They’ve already created a low-cost band-aid-like test strip that indicates cancer risk.

The Spielmans hoped to raise $250,000 for breast cancer research, but have instead raised over $5 million — so far. The dollars allowed the creation of the Spielman Breast Cancer Tissue Archive Services and the Spielman Breast Cancer Tumor Bank that allow scientist to test discoveries on human breast cancers.

Cancer is a frightening disease that comes with little answers. Hope, sometimes, is all we have. Whether the medicine does its job or not, cancer always gives us the opportunity to show our love.

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