Category Archives: illness

Every Three Minutes

May 29, 2009friendship, illnessKirsetin

My mom faced breast cancer like the trouper she is. She squared her shoulders, took the chemical beatings, and shouldered on. Did she falter? Did she cry? I’m sure she did. But as she has for all of my life, she kept her sorrow private, wiped her tears, and put the fighting gloves on for the rest of it.

Because my mom is like this, I knew she’d go in fighting. But I didn’t know how hard it would be to watch her fight. I didn’t know what it would feel like to see her lose her hair, select her scarves, draw on her eyebrows, and still make it to the grocery store. I didn’t know that even if she beat the cancer, the after-effects of the poison that killed it would linger, reminding us all of the silent stalker that came after her.

And it’s not just her. My mother-in-law’s dear, dear friend lost her battle recently, with my mother-in-law by her side. My friend Janet’s mom fought breast cancer over 10 years ago. Last year it returned, and she’s fighting again. Another friend – a mom of 4 young boys – is battling breast cancer right now. She’s not even 40.

Is it surprising that every 3 minutes someone in the United States is diagnosed with breast cancer? You know someone, right? Sure you do. We all do. It’s that scary. And yet in the midst of the fear, there’s hope. Hope remains because—like my mom, and Janet’s mom, and my mother-in-law’s friend, and my young girlfriend—there are a lot of fighters in this world, and some of them are doctors who are working hard to find a cure. As they fight that fight, they need our help. They need our funds.

There are a million different ways to contribute. You might recall that last year some friends and I walked in the Race for the Cure, with their pretty pink port-a-potties.

We walked our 5 miles and made our donations, and I hope we do it again next year.

And recently, I heard from my old college friend, Amy, whom I met when we were just 18 and full of certainty, and with whom I spent a semester of college trolling around Europe. Amy was planning to walk in Avon’s Walk for Breast Cancer in Boston and she sent out an e-mail letting friends and family know they could contribute. And my, oh my, did they!

On May 16 & 17, Amy joined 2,500 others who walked 39.3 miles to raise money for this fight. Her friends and family contributed over $3000—part of the more than $5.6 million raised and given as grants to Boston area organizations. Amy said that the most moving part of the experience came when she was randomly chosen, as one walker was every three minutes, and “draped with a large pink ribbon banner that read, ‘Every Three Minutes.’” As she continued her walk, Amy said that she “thought about the woman who had just learned of her battle ahead. I walked with new purpose for her,” she said, “and for all of the other fighters.”

Forget about trolling around Europe. This is my new memory of my friend, and I thank her from the bottom of my heart.

Trying to Remain Calm about the Swine Flu

May 1, 2009illness, kidsKirsetin

* Saturday update: The test from my son’s school was negative. Hurray for now! AND the school has been sanitized. Double hurray!

Last Monday, President Obama told the nation his administration was keeping their eye on the swine flu situation. He continued, saying, “But it is not a cause for alarm.”

Okay. I’m not an alarmist. I can go with that.

On Wednesday, my youngest son’s school announced that they were cancelling school for all students on Thursday. Another kindergardener had tested positive for Influenza A that afternoon–probably not the swine flu, but they had to send the culture out for further testing to be sure.

As a parent, I tried to remain calm. I appreciate that the school wants to put kids’ safety first, and that they’re going the “better safe than sorry” route. They’ll be spending Thursday completely sanitizing the school.

But as a parent, my mind also made those jumps. You know the ones. The cough that won’t quit. The too-fast ride on the scooter. The ocean, deep and strong. It’s the what-ifs that get us, isn’t it?

As I Googled away, I ran across this recent article in the Washington Post, and this article on CNN.com, which I decided to share with you. They provide us with a fairly good summary of what’s happening and what to watch out for. I decided to share these here not to incite alarm–quite the opposite. At the very least we can arm ourselves with facts, instead of rumors.

Keep washing your hands, friends. This whole thing is making me a little nervous.

*Footnote update: My son’s school decided to close today, also, until they get positive confirmation on the flu strain.

I’m Cheering for You Nic Sheff.

April 16, 2009book club, books, celebrities, illness, Parenting, perspective, tweens and teensKirsetin

Nic,

I don’t even know you and you’re breaking my heart. I’m not your mother, or your friend, or your mother’s friend. I don’t live in the same town or the same state; I didn’t go to the same schools; I don’t have any experience with drug addiction. We’re not even close in age – you weren’t born until the year I started high school. There’s really no reason for me to feel connected to you, other than the fact that I have sons. But I do. I do feel connected. And my heart is breaking, all over again.

– Me

About a year ago, I read David Sheff’s book, beautiful boy. In it, he describes the joy he and his wife felt at having their son.

“We are among the first generation of self-conscious parents. Before us, people had kids. We parent. We seek out the best for our children – the best stroller and car seat recommended by Consumer Reports – and fret over every decision about their toys, diapers, clothes, meals, medicine, teething rings, inoculations, and just about everything else.”

He goes on to describe Nic as a toddler:

“Nic is a natural architect and builder, constructing sprawling block, Duplo, and Lego Lilliputs…He scoots around the house on a big-wheeled tricycle and, on the red-brick front patio, in a plastic sky-blue convertible, a gift from my parents, which he powers like a Flintstones car with high-top sneakered feet.”

David Sheff describes reading books to his son over and over again – so often that he memorizes them. He describes a trip to Yosemite and playing board games, and all of the other parent-child interactions we fit into our lives, all of those things, big and little, that we do to help our children grow up into strong and secure adults.

Except Nic didn’t.

David Sheff continues:

“I tried everything I could to prevent my son’s fall into meth addiction. It would have been no easier to have seen him strung out on heroin or cocaine, but as every parent of a meth addict comes to learn, this drug has a unique, horrific quality…Nic claimed that he was searching for meth his entire life. ‘When I tried it for the first time,’ he said, ‘that was that’.”

As you can imagine, I am sobbing before I get through Chapter 1. Sheff does a beautiful job of describing his beautiful boy, and in his description, I see not only Nic, but all boys. I break down in a river of tears, thinking of all of the life and energy and love I have poured into my own three boys. I am reading the now blurry words and wondering if this could happen to one of my sweet babies, too.

Nic Sheff got clean, for awhile, and also wrote a book, in which he tells the story from his point of view. I read Tweak shortly after I finished beautiful boy. In Tweak, Nic describes a childhood spent careening towards addiction, starting with this incident when he was a year younger than my oldest son.

“When I was eleven my family went snowboarding up in Tahoe, and a friend and I snuck into the liquor cabinet after dinner. We poured a little bit from each bottle into a glass, filling it almost three-quarters of the way with the different-colored, sweet-smelling liquid. I was curious to know what it felt like to get good and proper drunk. The taste was awful. My friend drank a little bit and stopped, unable to take anymore. The thing was, I couldn’t stop.

I drank some and then I just had to drink more until the whole glass was drained empty. I’m not sure why. Something was driving me that I couldn’t identify and still don’t comprehend.”

He goes on to vividly describe his fall into the dark underbelly of San Francisco, a city I love like no other. Listening to him struggle, listening to him describe the pain, and ecstasy, of his experience—his life—with such raw emotion, made me weep all over again.

Long after I turned their final pages, these books have stayed with me, haunted me, almost. I have thought about David and Nic and their lives and their struggles; I’ve thought about the whys and the hows and the what ifs; I’ve thought about choices and genetics and fate; I’ve wondered if he’ll ever really be clean.

And today I read this. Nic relapsed last May, and again in December. These are not, by far, his first two, or his worst two, relapses. But the news is discouraging and disheartening. Still. Still relapsing. The whys re-emerge, they grab me and force me to look at my boys with fresh eyes. I am vigilant, fighting for my boys, watching and praying and hoping that they remain unscathed by this horrific mess called meth.

And I’m still cheering for you Nic. Still cheering.