Trying to Find Perspective

I’ve struggled a little bit with how to try to put some of this into perspective. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it? To think of an actual GLOBAL PANDEMIC? One where thousands have already lost their lives in just a few short months, and where we are doing things we’d never imagined to try to keep the US lives lost to under a quarter of a million people in the next few months?

If you know me at all, you know I’m an advocate for pediatric cancer research. The idea that an entire classroom and then some of kids faced a diagnosis of cancer each day always was stunning to me. 43 children each day are diagnosed with some form of cancer. 12% of them, or 5-6 kids each day, do not survive. 60% have long term, lasting effects – infertility, hearing loss, heart failure, secondary cancers. That’s about 26 of those kids.

Our first confirmed US case of Covid-19 was January 21^st, in Washington State. As I write this, we have statistics, as shaky as they may be, through April 7^th. The US showed 400,335 cases.

10 days in January.

29 days in February.

31 days in March.

7 days in April.

That’s 77 days. 

That’s 3,311 pediatric cancer cases, which so many of us find abhorrent.

It is four hundred thousand cases of Covid-19.

Deaths in the US through April 7^th? 12,841. That is nearly four times the pediatric cancer diagnosis numbers.

Understand that this is in no way a competition, I’m not stepping away from the pediatric cancer fight. What I’m trying to do is help us collectively understand that we have a responsibility to our friends, our neighbors, our loved ones. If we knew that taking some time and limiting our activities would protect our kids from cancer, we’d do it. Shoot, for kids who did stem cell transplants, THEY DID THIS! With a stem cell transplant, they destroy the immune system completely, and rebuild it. As part of that protocol, there is a period of around 100 days of isolation. Social distancing on steroids.

We have the ability to do that for each other right now. We have the ability to protect someone we know, someone we love, from an illness that could kill them. Could put them in the ICU, intubated, sedated and alone.

Those same kids, the ones who fought the cancer and survived that? They are higher risk. Your parents or grandparents are higher risk. My husband is higher risk. More likely to be that one who is intubated, sedated, alone in an ICU. 

Yes, I know people are beating this thing. That’s AMAZING, and I’m so thankful for that. But this isn’t the flu, (In the last five years, Indiana has averaged 154 flu deaths each year, with flu season generally about 7 months long. In only a month, 173 Hoosiers have died from COVID-19, with many more expected.) It’s not a cold. You might be young and healthy and not high-risk, but you can be a carrier, and unwittingly pass it along to someone who is higher risk.

Is it worth it?

I guess, if it is, if you want to still behave as if all of this is normal, and that the scientists and the media are blowing it out of proportion, and that we’re just stirring up mass hysteria, I can’t fix that. We can call it a difference of opinion, but I hope your opinion doesn’t kill someone.

"You won't ever know if what you did personally helped. That's the nature of public health. 

When the best way to save lives is to prevent a disease rather than treat it, 

success often looks like an overreaction."

Credit to Mari Armstrong-Hough

via Twitter, Mar 11, 2020.

Sun & Skin

A few years ago, I got a strange phone call from my stepmother.

“Thank you for teaching your kids to be so diligent about sunscreen.” 

I was a little perplexed at first, but she went on to explain about the week that they had taken our children to Florida, and how the kids were adamant about making sure they were lotioned up before leaving the hotel each day. Then she dropped this bomb on me:

“They found some spots on your dad. He goes in to have them removed tomorrow.”

My dad had skin cancer. Two different kinds, in fact, on two different spots of his body. My fair skinned, red headed father, whose coloring I have inherited, and passed on to my kids. He’s fine now, thank goodness, but will have to be carefully checked for the rest of his life.

My oldest is the most like me – we tend to burn easily, and our skin is crazy stupid sensitive, his even more than mine. The wrong laundry detergent, lotion or bug spray results in a horrid, itchy rash. Sunscreen? Same thing.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to review a sunscreen, and we fell in LOVE with the brand. SmartShield is our go-to sun protection, and I have purchased several more bottles since that review. They’ve rolled out a new product, and asked me to give it a shot, and I couldn’t say yes fast enough!

Enter the SmartShield Rehydrating Face Cream with SPF 45. People, my face still struggles with 15 year old type issues. I break out, my skin tends to be oily, and heavy face creams? Oh my. So, this was going to be a big test! How would my face respond to a product that was first and foremost a sunscreen, but also was a moisturizer?

Beautifully.

No breakout. No rash. No greasy feel. It wore beautifully under my  makeup without causing running or caking.  My skin feels smooth and well hydrated, and I get the bonus of knowing it’s protected!

I’ve now been using it daily for a little over 2 weeks with the same results. I’ve worked in the yard, sweating it out, with no running of the product. I’ve not experienced any negative reaction, and I haven’t burned!

The cream is just that – it’s a creamier texture than I typically used as a moisturizer, but it doesn’t apply heavy. It goes on smoothly, and disappears instantly. It comes in an easy to use pump bottle, and 1-2 pumps is plenty to cover my face & neck, as well as the tops of my ears. It’s quickly becoming part of my morning routine, as sun protection should be!

Check out the SmartShield website for more details on this and their other products, including self-tanners, insect repellent products and more.

Disclosure: I was provided a bottle of SmartShield Rehydrating Face Cream with SPF 45 at no cost to facilitate this review. All opinions are my own. No other compensation was received in connection with this review.

Cheers!

It’s about that time again! Tax season is officially knocking on my door.

This year is already different, as some staffing changes have meant some shifts in responsibilities. We’re adjusting and adapting, but it’s different. Knew it would be, but until you’re really in it, it’s always hard to know for sure.

I’m feeling really glad still that I decided to take the semester off from school – I think it just would be too much. I’m starting to feel like I’m actually finally recovering a little bit from the overwhelming fall that I had. I’m afraid that if I tried to take on a couple of classes during this tax season, I’d likely push myself right over the proverbial edge!

I’ve been doing some reading, and will have a couple of book reviews up soon.

I’m not one who typically does New Years Resolutions, but I’m trying hard to make me a focus this year. I spent a great deal of 2013 feeling spread very thin. I took on a LOT, even for me, and I felt it. I was tired – exhausted really, a lot of the time. I didn’t do as well as I should have with some of my course work, missing a couple of (very minor) deadlines, which was out of character for me. I accomplished a lot, but did so at the expense of time with my family, and taking care of myself. SO. I have decided that I really have to do a better job of focusing on myself and the relationships that I treasure. One of the first things I’m doing is making it a point to drink more water. I’m going to just take each thing a step at a time and work on little habits to make me a better Megan!

Oh!! I nearly forgot! Last spring I told you guys about Jeep participating in a St. Baldrick’s Event – this year it will be the ladies’ turn!! My daughter and I will be shaving our heads for pediatric cancer research in May!! You can scope out some of the details here, and I’ll be updating on the blog as well.

Happy New Year, Momsensers – here’s to 2014 being our best year ever!

Gold with Envy

I was never a girl who was in to pink anyway. These days, I have to really fight to not be bitter about it.

I don’t begrudge them their month. I’m even continually impressed by how many organizations step up and promote the pink.

It crushes me, however, to watch it push into September.

September is for the kids.

September is gold.

Where are those organizations when the kids are involved? Why isn’t my soup can gold, and why aren’t  my favorite receiver’s gloves gold, and where are the gold ribbon displays at the grocery, and the convenience store, and, well, dammit, where is the gold?

I see it here and there, in part because I am looking. Because much of my social network is looking, and we share the images. We celebrate the businesses that support the kids that are fighting. We hunt it out, the gold.

The pink? It’s everywhere. My emails are full of it, my stores are flooded with it. They’ve worked hard for that, and I know we all know someone who has been touched by breast cancer, but I know so many who have been touched by pediatric cancer! I know how drastically underfunded research is where the kids are concerned. I know what the ramifications can be of the limited treatment options that exist for our kids. I’ve seen the young athlete battling his way back from a wheelchair to a walker. I’ve seen the aspiring singer suffer such dramatic hearing loss.  I’ve visited the grave of a little girl who spent more of her short 10 years on this earth fighting cancer than she did living without it.

So, I try to not be bitter, I know that cancer is hard for anyone, but I cannot help but want the gold to be as recognizable as the pink. For it to be as supported as the pink.

I at least want it to get to use its whole month, without being crowded out by the pink….

First Day of School, First Impressions

Today was our first day of school. I celebrated by promptly screwing up the bus schedule, and as a result, had to drive my brand new middle-schooler to school.

He was up & dressed, teeth brushed and bag packed in plenty of time. We were hanging out outside, snapping a few photos when the bus went by at the end of our road. Our Wednesday schedule results in students having a later start time than the rest of the week, allowing for collaborative teacher meetings. For the elementary kids, school starts an hour later. For the secondary kids, it’s only 45 minutes. I assumed it was the same hour, thus  the missing of the bus. Oops.

After I got him safely delivered to school, I returned home, sent my husband off to work, checked on the elementary kids (and verified their bus schedule!) and then uploaded a photo from my phone to my Facebook, sharing his “First Day of School” image with friends and family.

It was then that I noticed his shirt.

He’s a Minecraft fan, and we picked up several t-shirts featuring Creepers a few weeks ago. I assumed one of those would be his first day shirt.

I was wrong.

Today, my son wore his St. Baldrick’s shirt.

His first day in a new, much bigger school, his first chance to make impressions on potential friends and his new teachers, and he quietly made the statement that Childhood Cancer Sucks.

He’s got a gold ribbon on his bag, too. (It’s right under that Chewbacca. Chewie stayed home though.)

It’s enough to burst my heart from my chest. That boy will make waves in the fight against childhood cancers. I’m proud to be his mom.

---

Linked up with Pour Your Heart Out! Check out the other posts at Things I Can’t Say

Pity Party

I’m having a bit of a pity party today. Part of me even has the audacity to feel guilty over my pity party, because really, in the grand scope of things, my stuff is pretty trivial.

But the “my” stuff isn’t really “my” stuff at all. It’s bigger than me, and not something I have a lot of control over, or say in. I’m just along for the ride, and right now the ride SUCKS.

So many of my friends are hurting over so many different things. Last week involved 2 different kids being diagnosed with cancer. This week includes some big changes where a number of my friends work. There are huge, scary, lingering unknowns out there for all of these folks, and I’m hurting and frightened for them. I want to fix things, and make it all be better, and I can’t. And I hate it.

I want to look each of them in the eye and say “It’s all going to be fine!” but you can’t do that. You don’t know that. It’s scary, and overwhelming, and consuming me from the inside.

I’ve cried a lot today. I’ve also had a 3 Musketeers and a Cherry Coke. I’ve used about a million tissues, and undoubtedly look like something even the cat wouldn’t bring in. And none of that is going to change anything. None of that is going to help any of the people who are hurting, and who need some support, or answers, or whatever they need. It’s certainly not making me feel better. But it seems to be all that I can do right now. Cry.

So, I’m going to push on for now. That’s all I can do. Be thankful for the good in my life, do my best to hold up my friends, and push on. What else is there, right?

Yesterday

It should be such a good week.

It WAS such a good week.

I finally treated myself to a DSLR camera, which I had wanted for a very long time, and just couldn’t justify. It was a want, not a need, and let’s face it moms, wants aren’t typically at the top of our “get” list.

It was finals week, and I was feeling good about my classes, and getting to take a few weeks off before summer session starts.

School is nearly over, and it’s time for the fun, year-end stuff. We’ve been planning a fun trip to an amusement park for the 6th grade, and we’ve had a blast with fundraising. We go on Tuesday, and I’m super-excited.

And then? Yesterday happened.

Part of yesterday I cannot yet talk about specifically. I know that I have friends who are hurting, and that there will be more hurt before healing comes. I’m hurting. A relationship, one that we hoped would grow and flourish, and be wonderful for so many people, is being pulled apart. Not by the parties in that relationship, but by others, higher up, who don’t know. Who don’t understand. It’s painful, and going to get worse.

And after spending time with some of those most directly impacted, wounded by what is coming, I came home and found more bad news.

Naomi, a sweet two year old little girl who lives in my community with her mom, dad, her four year old sister and one year old brother, was just diagnosed with neuroblastoma. Another baby, whose life is now forever changed by the monster that is childhood cancer. Another family, stopped in their tracks, and entering a new normal, on that involves oncologists, MIBG, CT, TPN, DX, stem cell rescue, chemotherapy, radiation, and hopefully sooner rather than later, NED.

It was enough to destroy me last night. I lost it.

Today? It’s enough to strengthen my resolve. Reaffirms for me that, no matter what, I cannot stop fighting for these kids. All the kids.

Tomorrow is a new day, with new challenges and new successes.

I need a few successes for a minute, though. Please.

The “Why”

Friday night, I was as proud as I could possibly be of my boy.

This guy:




Became this guy :

And donated this:












to help a child who has lost their hair to a medical condition. He went ahead and raised money for St. Baldrick’s while he was at it, raising over $3,200.
(I gotta be honest. Right now? Still pretty proud.)
I forget sometimes though that people don’t know why we care this much. Why my son, at 9 years old, decided to grow his hair until it would be long enough to donate. Why he smiled through three years of being mistaken for a girl, and endured endless questions about when he was going to cut that hair.  I hope it helped him that his dad and I were so supportive of what he was doing, that we never hesitated to explain to people that we were incredibly proud of what he was doing and why.
You see, our awareness of the reality of childhood cancers began in 2005, when Jeep was just 4. A little girl in his Sunday School class was diagnosed with Stage IV Neuroblastoma, an aggressive cancer of the adrenal system. Her diagnosis came just days before her fifth birthday. Her name is Morgan, and she was our friend. And so? We talked about it. Morgan was sick, and the doctors were going to have to try to make her better. It was going to make her hair fall out, and there would be lots of Sundays that she wouldn’t be at church with us.
When Jeep started kindergarten a little over a year later, Morgan was a first grader at our school, and we saw her after school every day, when she was well enough to be there. You see, the treatment protocol for neuroblastoma involves several rounds of chemo, surgery to remove as much of the solid tumor as possible, maybe more chemo, some radiation, then a bone marrow aspiration in the hopes that they can get clean marrow. Why do they need clean marrow? Because they then attack the body with enough chemical to kill off the marrow still in the body of an innocent child, and then they return the “clean” marrow to the child and hope it sticks.  Then there are days, weeks, months of isolation. The fear of contracting an illness before the marrow has fully recovered is overwhelming. Your bone marrow is what provides you with your immune system, and for a child who is already weakened by chemo, and who has no immune system, a simple cold that inconveniences you or I? It could be a death sentence.
Morgan’s cancer wouldn’t give up, but neither would her family. Her mom and three younger sisters packed up and they went to New York to be part of a clinical trial, hoping that it would be her cure. Lots of times, her scans would show improvement, things would look better and better, and then? A new spot. Another tumor.
Eventually, after fighting for more than half of her life, on October 2nd of 2010, Morgan passed away.
Early in Morgan’s treatment cycle, we connected with another family whose 2  year old was diagnosed with the same cancer, about 2 weeks after Morgan’s diagnosis. The girls underwent essentially the same treatments, just a week or two apart. Colette is a survivor, but the impact of the treatments on her body are still very much an unknown. Her hearing was severely compromised, and she wears hearing aides now. She’s still to young to know for sure what the impact may be for her in regards to her reproductive system, and the risk of secondary cancers as a direct result of the treatments she received are very high.
In 2011, another friend’s son was diagnosed with medulloblastoma, a brain tumor. Again, treatments, surgery, more treatments.
The part that crushes me is that when you see marketing from cancer fundraisers, you frequently will see young kids. What you don’t see, the reality of it is this:

• There are 12 primary forms of pediatric cancers.
• 1 in 330 kids will be diagnosed with some form of cancer before they are 20.
• Most pediatric cancers are treated using lower doses of adult treatments. Research is needed to provide kids with safer treatment options, providing them with a better future.
• Less than 5% of the federal government’s total funding for cancer research is dedicated to childhood cancers each year.
• In 2009, the American Cancer Society spent $22 of every $100 raised on fundraising expenses, $6 on management, $14 on research for adult cancers, and spent $0.60 of that same $100 raised on research for childhood cancers. Sixty cents.
• Worldwide, each day another 720 children are diagnosed with a form of pediatric cancer, and 250 kids lose their battle.

No one asks for cancer. Some make choices that they know carry a higher risk – smoking, sunbathing, etc, but kids?
Kids have done nothing.
Think about the people you know who have been treated for cancer. Think about how sick they were with chemo. The pain in their bodies. The surgeries. The recovery.
Now, imagine that they’re two.
THAT is why we fight. The reality of it is why I’m passionate about it, and Jeep embraced it early on.
Possibly my most favorite part of Friday night was much later, in the quiet of our own home, as we prepared to say goodnight, as I rubbed his fuzzy shorn head, I asked Jeep if he was glad he’d done it.
“Oh yeah.”
Would you do it again?
“Over and over.”

Home Stretch!

I know I wrote about it a little bit before, but I wanted to throw this out there – we’re just 5 days away from shave day, and have $400 to go to hit our final goal of $3,000!

Incredibly proud of this boy.

www.StBaldricks.org/participants/JeepM

Such a proud momma…

So…

That boy? The one that just turned twelve?

He has insisted on stealing my heart.

I mentioned in his birthday post that he was growing his hair out to donate it. Today he told me this:

On April 26th, we’re going to join some students at Indiana University and he’s going to take part in a St. Baldrick’s event, shaving his head to raise money and awareness for pediatric cancer.

This decision was not one he took lightly, and I’m so impressed with him, I can’t begin to describe it to you. His hair has become such a big part of his identity, and let’s face it, it’s tough being a tween/teen. This was something he slept on, thought about, and decided he was willing to do.

I am so proud of him. I can’t begin to explain it.

Anyway – if you would like to donate, we’d love that, but if you can’t donate, would you consider sharing his donation site via your social media  of choice? Each tweet or FB post reaches out to someone else, and if we raise nothing more than awareness for the kids who are fighting cancer, that’s one more step.

Jeep’s St. Baldrick’s Fundraising Page

Thanks!

Tapestry

I can’t even find the right ways to say it.

It’s the circle of life. A life begins, another ends, it’s how it works.

Right now, though? Those I see ending are so young. It’s so tragic.

Yesterday, as we gathered around our tables, a family gathered around and wept at the tragic loss of a little boy, barely more than a toddler.

Last night, a sweet baby girl came into the world.

For many months now, I’ve prayed for Ian, the oldest child of Alison. He’s been battling cancer, and recently completed his course of treatment. Alison is due to deliver any time, but dampening that joy is the knowledge that her 4 year old nephew’s time is short, as he is losing his battle against (a different) cancer.

My sister-in-law apologized for store-bought cookies at our gathering, as she spent the day before with the family of a young lady as they laid her to rest.

The loops, the threads weaving in and out. I know it is all part of the tapestry, that there is a design far larger and more beautiful than I can see from this seat. My view of this portion of the loom is so small in relation to the whole piece.

I just wish that the threads could be longer. It’s the short threads that leave the frayed ends.

Tears

Today is the first day of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month.

My first goal was to not simply repeat all the things I’ve posted about childhood cancer in this space, so I was re-reading things I’ve posted about childhood cancer.

And then?

I found this post, a Pour Your Heart Out from almost two years ago.

And I was brought to tears again. So? Instead of repeating the things I’ve written about childhood cancer? I’m just going to ask you to read this again. Read it knowing that nearly two years later, it still is powerful enough to ME, to the person who put those words to the page, to bring me to tears.

Because it’s still so true. And raw. And real.

Interrupted

I started this post a few weeks ago… Unfortunately, much of the basis of the post continued to stare me in the face, and I didn’t finish it. Here’s what I had at that point :

Adversity.

Merriam-Webster defines it as  : a state, condition, or instance of serious or continued difficulty or adverse fortune.

We’ve all faced it on many varying levels.

Sometimes, it’s something small at work, sometimes it’s something big. Other days it’s a personal challenge.

And sometimes?

It’s all of the above.

Sometimes, it’s a tax season working with an IRS that has systems so backwards that they don’t know what to do.

Sometimes, it’s family members facing health issues, and you know that time is slipping away faster than you’re ready for it to.

It’s hard, when you’re used to being able to just fix it. When you have always been able to make it better. And now? When it’s all beyond your control, and you can’t fix it?

It breaks you.

It breaks your heart.

I’m glad I didn’t finish it. Instead, what I did was tweet out, and Facebook out, and I asked for prayer. In some places, I had to be a bit cryptic about my request – much of this story is not mine to share, and I did not want to overstep lines. Despite that, many of you replied that you were praying. I prayed.

And you know what?

God is still in the business of answering prayer.

That’s pretty sweet.

It’s not over yet – the challenges we were staring down just a few weeks ago are still there, but they aren’t nearly as intimidating as they were. Instead of rapid declines, we’re seeing steady ascension. Positive movement, positive attitudes, positive spirits.

Just a few weeks ago, I sat at this keyboard broken. My spirit crushed, my heart heavy. Today, I am renewed, refreshed.

And I am grateful – I am grateful to all those who stopped and prayed, who lifted me and my needs up. So grateful.

Thank you.

A little follow-up

I must extend my thanks to the folks over at BlogFrog -

I tweeted to them, crushed, when voting closed early on the Hero Mom Contest. It was, however, the weekend, and they weren’t on hand immediately.

In the meantime, a kind soul stepped up and offered to cover the cost for Colette’s trip.

Tonight, I was contacted by a representative at BlogFrog.

They acknowledged that an error had, in fact, taken place. Time zone issues, changes from the norm, human error. It happens.

They obviously couldn’t give me that last 30 minutes, couldn’t put me into that top five spot.

They did, however, graciously and humbly apologize, and offer up a $100 gift card, which would have been our “guaranteed” prize for being in the top 5.

That card is, of course, going to be sent to Colette & Tammy, for Colette to use as spending money while in Nova Scotia. (That was our “back-up” plan anyway, just in case we didn’t win the whole enchilada.)

So, while that $2,500 would have been great, and having that nice, big donation for the folks over at Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation would have been AWESOME, we’re so blessed. Blessed. Colette’s trip is paid for, she has some spending money, we’ve raised some awareness for pediatric cancer.

Thank you again  to all of you who put up with all my tweets and such begging for your votes, and special thanks to each of you who voted and shared!

Losing. And Winning.

I went to bed crushed. Broken hearted.

Feeling cheated.

After all the tweets, the Facebook posts, the blog posts, I was watching the Hero Mom contest like a hawk. I knew the end time. I watched as we started out down 11 votes for that coveted fifth place spot. I saw the votes roaring up, and we grabbed it, leading by as many as 23 votes.

Then, in the last couple of hours, that sixth place person started sneaking back up.

And up.

And up.

With half an hour left until the 11:59 pm Central time deadline, we were down 2 votes. I went to resend the link and realized the page was… different.

Locked.

It was over. It wasn’t supposed to be, but the top five spots were locked in, and we missed it by two votes.

My Hero Mom wasn’t going to get a $100 gift card. She wasn’t going to be in the running for the $2,500.

Sixth place. By two votes.

I was sad, and truth told, I was angry. Angry that we didn’t get that last half hour. I felt cheated. I felt my Hero Mom had been cheated.

This morning was a little better. I was still sad, disappointed. Hurt. I tweeted with several people, Facebooked with others. I shared what happened, was comforted and supported.

My Hero Mom posted these words:

Honey, it's ok :) your friendship and care is worth more than money to me! ♥ I'm sure the money will come through for us, God owns the cattle on a thousand hills, after all :)

People? At that very moment, as those words were being written, God was providing.

I was contacted. The money for Colette’s trip?

Covered.

In full.

I’ve cried an awful lot this morning. I’ll probably have a sinus infection, because I am the world’s snottiest crier, but the happy tears? I can shed them over and over again.

For all of  you who voted, shared, tweeted, facebooked, and generally tolerated my internet harassment, thank you.

And for YOU?

There are not thanks enough.

Hit the Wall

I confessed to a friend today that I’ve hit a wall.

A physical & emotional wall.

I’m tired. My house is a full on disaster. I’m not pulling my weight at work. I have a ton of stuff that I should be doing, and could be doing, and I don’t want to.

I want to go to bed.

Halloween is one of my most favorite holidays – I am the pumpkin-picking, jack-o-lantern carving, costume shopping queen.

We bought pumpkins Saturday. The kids carved theirs on Sunday at my in-laws. Mine? Faceless.

Oh, and we didn’t even take them out of our van when we got back home. They never even saw a candle.

I don’t know what this is, but I’m over it. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I want to be happy, and love my job, and accomplish things.

I want to blog, and take pictures, and cook. I want to decorate, and celebrate, and enjoy. I want to make a pot of spiced cider and have it simmering on the stove all day, filling the house with its magical smells of fall.

I want to want to get out of bed.

(P.S. – We can still vote for my Hero Mom, Tammy, through Friday the 4th! You can vote every 24 hours. Thanks!)

Hero Moms, Flannel Sheets & Squeaky Toys

Time for 5 Question Friday with Mama M.!

First, though, my Hero Mom link!

And now, my not quite seven minutes of : Hero Moms, flannel sheets and squeaky toys! 

Complete with ridiculous frozen image. Thanks for that, YouTube.

Hero Mom

She’s no different from any other mom – when our kids are sick, we take care of them. We take them to doctors appointments, dispense medications, cuddle and comfort them.

The difference for her was that her child had cancer. The doctors were oncologists. The medications were injected through a port in her two year old daughter’s chest. Cuddles and comforts were in hospital rooms around IVs. A fever meant an ER trip, not another dose of Tylenol. Holidays were spent in isolation after a stem cell transplant.

That was six years ago now, and today that little girl is going to be nine soon. She’s cancer-free, and full of life. And she wants to share her story.

Allstate & The Blog Frog have an opportunity where we can help.

You don’t have to sign up. No emails, no linking your Facebook or Twitter. You just go to the page & click  the “Vote” button. All we need is to finish in the top five. You can vote once a day, and each and every vote is so valuable.

You see, one of the Hero Moms, one of the top five based on our votes, will win $2,500. My Hero Mom? She’ll get the money they need for her to take her daughter on a mission trip to share her story of faith and her battle with cancer, along with the after-effects of treatment. The remaining money will be donated to the Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation to help fund research grants so that in the future, kids will have better treatment options.

Please, click on this image to go vote for my post for my Hero Mom, Tammy, and her daughter Colette.

I’ll love ya forever!

Happy Birthday to Me!

It’s my birthday.

You can get me a present.

It’s easy, and it’s free, and I’ll love you forever.

You see, it’s also Childhood Cancer Awareness Day. But people don’t know that. The pink ribbon products for October have already begun creeping in.

Please, don’t misunderstand what I am trying to say. I think support for breast cancer is important, too, but September? September is for our kids.

Kids like Colette.

This was Colette in 2005. In May of that year, just about 2 weeks after Morgan, Colette was diagnosed with Stage IV neuroblastoma. She was two and a half years old.

Colette endured surgery. Chemotherapy. Radiation. A Stem Cell transplant.

Can I share a little something with you?

Typically, pediatric cancers do not have their own treatment options. What kids get is simply smaller doses of adult treatments. Sadly, these treatments can leave kids with lasting issues. Colette? She now wears hearing aides, as the treatments she endured saved her live, but stole much of her hearing. Secondary cancers are common. So is infertility.

The National Cancer Institute’s federal budget=$4.6 billion. Breast cancer research receives approximately 12% of that funding. Prostate cancer gets 7%. ALL TWELVE major groups of  pediatric cancers COMBINED received less than 3% of it.

Maybe I’m biased. That could be. And that’s ok – this area is my passion, my focus.

I believe our children deserve better. And I think, as we continue to raise awareness of the reality of the issue, there will be a shift.

This is Colette 6 years after diagnosis. This summer, she officially hit the “Five Year Cancer-Free” mark, which is huge.

I want more of our kids to see the five year mark.

I want there to be better options. New treatments. Less long-term side effects.

I want people to KNOW.

And that part? The knowing? That’s what I want from you, for my birthday. I want you to help others know. I’ve created a Twibbon that will let you add a gold ribbon to your twitter and facebook images. Would you consider that? Just for today.

It would be a pretty sweet birthday gift.

If you do, please leave me a comment and let me know, won’t you?

Thanks.

Gold

I touch on it when I blog in September.

It’s so very important to me. Especially now, as a mom.

Six and a half years ago, it became real. It wasn’t just a St. Jude commercial, distant and vague. It was Morgan. It was a little girl in our boys’ Sunday School class. It was a face we knew, they were parents we talked to, it was a little sister we saw.

It was cancer.

It was aggressive.

It was already stage 4, and they had just found it.

Literally two days before her fifth birthday.

As they told us in that service, I wept, clinging to my daughter. I shared glances with my friend Bethany, who also held her little girl, both of us afraid to let go. Afraid.

And it wasn’t our child. I can’t begin to fathom the fear in the hearts of Morgan’s mom and dad.

Chemo. Radiation. Stem Cell Transplant. 3f8. Central lines. So much to put such a little person through, and they face it. Every day.

It tears my heart out to think about kids having to face the monster that is cancer. It’s difficult enough for an adult, but adults can understand what’s happening. They can face the repeated sticks for blood draws, the injections, the scans, knowing that it’s to help them get better. How do you explain that to a child?

How do you talk about death, their own potential death, with your child?

We lost Morgan nearly a year ago now. She fought, with her family by her side, for 5 and a half years. She was ten years old.

Ten.

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month.

I wear the Gold ribbon for her. For our other friends, those we’ve lost, those still fighting, and those who are NED*.

*NED is “No evidence of disease. Many pediatric cancers are not declared “cured” until the patient has been NED for 5 years, the typical window of reoccurrence.