Thursday, December 22, 2011
There's An Angel In My Pocket
There's an Angel in My Pocket
December, 1999
In selecting the appropriate title for this book I could choose “The Many Perils of Sheila Anne.” As I continue on in my journey of finding Joy in all things there are some days when there is so much pain in my heart that I can’t feel the Joy. Life’s challenges continue to rock my fragile state of mind.
The title for this book came from a personal revelation. On Friday, December 17, 1999, right in the middle of the Christmas season while I was deeply saddened by the number of children with cancer that have crossed my path I sighed and said to the morning air “there’s an angel in my pocket.” There must be an angel close to my soul whispering words of encouragement so that I can continue helping children with cancer. In spite of my battle with depression I still get caught up in their plight.
Angels are significant in my life and have been for quite some time. When Jason was receiving chemotherapy in 1987 I would pray for his protection while he was lying in the crib and the anti-cancer drugs were being infused into his blood stream. I would call to God for an army of angels to guard his bed and protect him from further harm. Today I say that same prayer for all the children. I believe there is an army of angels protecting children with cancer.
In the fall of 1994 I had an encounter with an angel. I was sleeping and my soul encountered a presence that was very pleasing, all knowing, peaceful and calm. My soul had a conversation with the presence. I whispered, “Mary?” The presence assured me that everything would be all right. The presence kissed me. “Jesus” I exclaimed. The presence told me to pray and left me. I began feeling a void as it left. I received another message, Little House on the Prairie, Wednesday, nine and ten.
As I lay there in bed I wrestled with the idea that I was to get up and check the television listings. I knew there would be a message for me but I was reluctant to acknowledge what had just happened. My human mind tried to reject the idea that something spiritual had taken place. Eventually restlessness got the better of me and I went to check the television listings. I nervously checked the columns in the weekly television guide for Wednesday at 9:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. This is what I saw listed for both time slots: Touched by an Angel (Season Premiere).
Oh, boy I thought, great. Why me? I’m not an expert at this sort of thing. I have depression and I can’t stop crying. How am I to interpret this event?
It has been five years since that experience and I believe the angel came to me as a sign of hope. Even in the darkest hours of depression I managed to visualize myself holding onto a tiny corner of the robe of Jesus. Faith is difficult to hang on to when you have depression. Because your mood is so low it’s impossible to believe in anything. Depression is an all-consuming illness that has the mind spiraling inwards on a journey into a black hole. There are no thoughts of brighter tomorrows. There is no feeling of optimism, serenity or peace.
I am writing a story about faith in God, angels and kids with cancer. These are not easy subjects to write about. I want my writing to be credible. I don’t want people to dismiss what I have to say. Because I have a mental illness it would be very easy for someone to say, “Ah well, she believes in angels, she had a nervous breakdown you know, very sad the way the mind plays tricks on you.”
I have to speak to you directly from the heart. I share with you what I know from my own experiences. It’s not very scientific work. There’s really nothing concrete to measure. It’s all just rather vague and obscure assurances based on words from an ancient book they call the Bible. How do you test the words revealed?
I believe it is called blind faith. Surrender to another power; Surrender to God. A friend’s quote is “If you look at all the intricate details involved in the design of every little thing it is easier to believe in God than it is to not believe.” Believing in God gives me peace. My faith has been tested mightily over the past twelve years and I could have turned away from God many times. But my faith in God is what has helped me through the difficult times.
There is a story inside me waiting to be told. I can feel the words on the edge of my soul, creeping out bit by bit longing to be released and shared with you. The heaviness of my past lingers on my shoulders and I am not sure when days will be better spent. I want to be free of past burdens. Unhurried free of worry any clutter. Faith, hope and love keep me moving forward.
(Written in the spring of 1999)
Fast forward to today:
Tuesday, November 16, 2011
Today I am sitting in an Italian café in downtown St. Albert. The café is across the street from the old Grabbajabba location where I wrote the first pages of my book “Count It All Joy.” The Grabbajabba café is no longer open and I still like to walk through the main streets of St. Albert. Luckily for me there is this little Italian bistro called Stella Blu. The café is actually located on the old Bruin Inn site, which was the local pub for St. Albert for many years. The original hotel was called the St. Albert Hotel and was first built in 1885. After the hotel was destroyed by fire in 1928, a new hotel was built in 1929 and was aptly named The Bruin Inn. Growing up in St. Albert everyone knew the Bruin Inn. As a child I knew the café for chips and pop and when I turned 18 I was allowed to cross the threshold into the bar that literally had atmosphere of an old town saloon. I spent many a fun adventure in that old pub. Right now I believe I am sitting in the spot that was the parking lot. Let’s leave the old pub stories for now.
For me this spot holds a lot of memories and even as I sit here looking out the window I have a view of the street that I use to live on. The street is named St. Michael Street and the houses are long gone. In my mind I can still remember all the neighborhood kids coming to our yard to play childhood games. The laughter and the fun we had are memories I will treasure forever.
I nudge myself out of my longing for days gone by and remind myself why I came here today. I am here with a vision, a purpose and a plan. It is time for me to start writing again. For years now I have felt compelled to share some of the memories that continue to move me in a profound way. Each time I made an entry into my journal I would get lost in my thoughts and my mood would not allow me to go back to that time, the childhood cancer days. I would question why I needed to go back in time and tell myself to live in the present moment. Don’t look back, keep moving forward. No good can come out of reliving that painful time in my family’s life.
In September of this year I asked God for a sign that I was to write this story. I felt I needed a tap on the shoulder or a whisper to my soul – write the story Sheila. I waited, I prayed and I waited some more. Nothing and I felt confident the story was mine and mine alone.
Thanksgiving weekend the 24th anniversary of Jason’s diagnosis with T-Cell Leukemia was approaching and I marveled at my calm present moment moods. I had no painful memories, sad songs didn’t make me cry and for the most part I felt life was good.
On Sunday, October 9, 2011 the day my family was celebrating the Thanksgiving holiday had arrived. One of my good friends who knows the challenges of being an oncology mom called me that morning and asked how I was doing. I recall telling her I was having a good day and that I was not experiencing sadness or emotional pain. I told her I felt like it was a full circle moment for me in that I was not associating the thanksgiving holiday with Jason’s battle for life. It took me 24 years but I felt like I was sitting on top of the world. I was actually looking forward to the feast of turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie and sharing good times with family.
Later that day while my family was giving thanks for all of our blessings I did not feel compelled to throw in “and thank you God for saving Jason’s life.” I left the family gathering early and went to bed early as I was scheduled to work the next day, Monday, October 10th. As I fell asleep I was nursing thoughts of working a 12 hour shift. Not long after I drifted to sleep Jason came to my room and asked for my help. He had been having bouts of abdominal pain the last few weeks and told me he was having another episode of severe pain. I sleepily told him to take an antacid, go home to bed and see a doctor soon. I went back to sleep.
At 3:30 in the morning I woke up for my usual bathroom trip and when I returned to bed I began planning my day at work. I tried to stop the planning and was trying to count sheep when the phone rang. I flew out of bed and heard a panic stricken voice. It was Nicole and in a panic stricken voice, she said “Jason is here at the hospital, he’s in a lot of pain, the doctor did blood work and his liver enzymes are elevated. The doctor said he needs to have an ultrasound and Jason wants you to come to the hospital.” I don’t remember what I said. I just remember thinking, Oh my God; he has liver cancer from all the chemotherapy he received as a child. I reminded myself to calm down. I showered, called work to report off sick and I woke up my father to drive me to the hospital.
I arrived there around 4:10 a.m. and the first thing I saw was Jason lying on stretcher, groggy from no sleep and pain medication with his hands holding his stomach. My heart did a flip flop and I reminded myself to remain calm, now is not the time for hysteria. Within minutes the ER doctor came into the room and gave me his findings and then proceeded to tell us that Jason needed further blood work and required an ultrasound. He also added that because of the holiday the radiology department was closed so we would have to wait until later in the morning.
Whispers of the past were creeping into my mind as I listened to him. The past was becoming the present and I was remembering 24 years ago, when on October 9th the pediatric oncologist on call was telling me because of the thanksgiving holiday Jason would have to wait until Monday morning for his spinal tap. I shake my head and bring myself back to this moment. This moment where Jason is 26 years old, and he is married and his wife is at his side and the two of them are looking to me for answers. I don’t tell them of my fears of liver cancer. I just tell them “let’s just wait for the ultrasound.”
I try to relax, I sit and wait. I stand and pace the hallways. I make calls and I pace the hallways again. The hallways are familiar hospital hallways, paths that I walk as a mother and as a nurse.
Finally at 8:05 a.m. Jason is wheeled in a stretcher to the radiology department. By this time Nicole’s mother has arrived and we all agreed that Nicole should go home for some rest to prepare for the day ahead. In the dark little room that we were in the technician was collecting images of Jason’s stomach. Jason and I are used to the routine of ultrasounds to his heart as he goes for yearly echocardiograms to rule out cardiomyopathy. The images I was now seeing on the screen looked different somehow. There appeared to be numerous small marble like round shapes; tumors, I thought. The technician must have read my mind because she said “this is his gallbladder and those are gallstones.” Ah, I sighed, safe diagnosis, cholelithiasis. We can deal with this.
The ultrasound took about 30 minutes and Jason was rolled on back to the ER department. There was a shift change while we were in radiology so Jason had a new doctor. The new doctor came in the room and said he would like to call the surgeon on call to review Jason's ultrasound results. He read the report to me and the results were "multiple gallstones".
By 9:30 a.m. the surgeon was in to see Jason, asked him when he last had something to eat or drink and indicated he would like to take him to the OR within the hour to remove his gallbladder. The next minutes went by very quickly as consent for surgery was signed, stretcher moving fast down the hallway to the OR and OR staff obtaining information from Jason. I felt I needed to tell the anesthesiologist that Jason had a previous intubation when he burned himself in the fire mishap. I reported that the intubation was done as Jason's airway was swelling with fluid and toxins from the burn and that the intubation had caused bleeding to his trachea and lungs. I then indicated that Jason was also on a ventilator for 2 weeks with Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. The anesthesiologist was very nice and said I will take very good care of him during his surgery.
Then the surgeon came by and I told him Jason was being monitored for cardiomyopathy from Adriamycin, one of the chemotherapy drugs Jason received when he was a child. I pointed out that on one echocardiogram Jason's heart had an ejection fraction of 19%. He looked at me and said I will check his latest result on the computer, he added, this is a complicated case. I said nothing.
The surgery went on without a hitch and the patient is a month into recovery from his cholecystectomy. Jason had to take 4 weeks off from work to heal and the whole ordeal added extra stress to his already stressful life. How Jason deals with his challenges is truly remarkable and I am very proud of him. And it should be noted that I am also very proud of his brother Brandon. I do feel a measure of guilt writing this story about Jason and with hardly a mention of Brandon. It doesn't seem fair and I need to express my love for both of them. It is equal love, no one is favored, and they are both wonderful sons. I will have to make a point of adding little anecdotes of Brandon and his funny thoughtful nature.
……….
I have taken a pause from writing. The writing and the reliving of painful memories is making me nervous. I packed up my pen and paper and took a 20 minute walk to another destination. All the while I am feeling nauseous and there is a vice hold of tension around my neck, shoulders and back.
I am sitting here at Chapters questioning why? Why do I have to write this story? Why do I feel compelled to share? Was Jason's diagnosis with cholelithiasis on thanksgiving weekend the sign from God I had been praying for? Did God nudge me and say "This is your sign Sheila, you must write the story? I feel somewhat sure. If I don't tell the story who will? Jason, Brandon, Nicole and my family don't know the details like I do. The medical history, the recording of the chemotherapy, the cranial radiation and all the tests are neatly recorded in Jason's chart at the Pediatric Oncology Late Effects Clinic. And I have long since learned that there is no shortage of specialists who come and go into Jason's life, each with there own special expertise in cardiology, endocrinology, sterility, and oncology. But they do not know the story like I do.
Here I sit, still mystified by life and death, by Jason's remarkable journey for survival and the enormous responsibility I feel on my shoulders. What is the purpose of this story God? Filled with confusion I get up from my chair and start pacing the rows of books on display. I stop at a shelf of Christmas books on display. Ah, Christmas, the season of peace on earth and a silent holy night. Maybe I should read a charming Christmas story. A beautifully bound hard cover book in burgundy with gold trim catches my eye. I pick it up and the title of the book is "A Classic Christmas". I open the book and page 21 is the first page I see. This is what I read: The Angel Appears to Mary and the scripture verse Luke 1:26-38 is before me. Here is the verse that I read:
In the sixth month angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgins name was Mary. And he came to her and said, Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you. But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end. Mary said to the angel, how can this be, since I am a virgin? The angel said to her, The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God. Then Mary said, here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according your word. Then the angel departed from her.
Luke 1:26-38 NRSV of the Bible
I read the verse and I am suddenly filled with peace. I stand in amazement that God is awesome. There are angels in my life. I surrender all to God and say, "Thy will be done". I suddenly remember my encounter with the angel in 1994 and my mind goes back to that little hospital room and the little boy with the bald head and the yellow flannel pajamas. The tears, the agony of suffering, the fear of the unknown, and the prayers to angels to protect my son as the chemotherapy was flowing into his veins. "Cure the cancer chemotherapy, but please don't destroy the child.”
The only words for this moment are: Faith, Love, Angels, Hope, Joy and Peace.
My God is an awesome God.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Be A Santa
Christmas is the season of Joy, glad tidings and the birth of Jesus Christ. It's also the season of sharing gifts with our family and friends. Christmas is a celebration.
For me it's not always easy to celebrate. In 1987 my youngest son was diagnosed with T-Cell Leukemia. I was a single mother of two sons, my youngest son was fighting for his life. The medical team had advised me to leave the school of nursing program I was in and be at Jason's bedside. I did not hesitate and immediately took a leave of absence from nursing school. My two son's needed my attention.
Of course the situation put me in dire straits financially. I had no job, no student loan income and no money to buy a Christmas tree or presents for my two sons. The prospect of not having a gift for my sons devastated me. With a heavy heart I held out my hand and asked for help. I had to apply for Social Assistance to help meet our living expenses. It was not the proudest moment in my life. I was embarrassed and uncomfortable asking for financial help.
I never forgot that moment. And I made it my mission to always help other families at Christmas. Now through the Kids with Cancer Society we offer financial support to families in need at Christmas. We just simply give them a Christmas gift of finances so they can buy gifts and Christmas dinner for their family. I am so glad that we are able to help these families.
This year, if you have the resources, contact your local children's hospital and offer to buy Christmas for a family who is in need. If you need help with this, contact me and I will help you connect with the right people. Be a Santa and help others with the celebration.
Merry Christmas and Bless you all. regards Sheila Ethier
For me it's not always easy to celebrate. In 1987 my youngest son was diagnosed with T-Cell Leukemia. I was a single mother of two sons, my youngest son was fighting for his life. The medical team had advised me to leave the school of nursing program I was in and be at Jason's bedside. I did not hesitate and immediately took a leave of absence from nursing school. My two son's needed my attention.
Of course the situation put me in dire straits financially. I had no job, no student loan income and no money to buy a Christmas tree or presents for my two sons. The prospect of not having a gift for my sons devastated me. With a heavy heart I held out my hand and asked for help. I had to apply for Social Assistance to help meet our living expenses. It was not the proudest moment in my life. I was embarrassed and uncomfortable asking for financial help.
I never forgot that moment. And I made it my mission to always help other families at Christmas. Now through the Kids with Cancer Society we offer financial support to families in need at Christmas. We just simply give them a Christmas gift of finances so they can buy gifts and Christmas dinner for their family. I am so glad that we are able to help these families.
This year, if you have the resources, contact your local children's hospital and offer to buy Christmas for a family who is in need. If you need help with this, contact me and I will help you connect with the right people. Be a Santa and help others with the celebration.
Merry Christmas and Bless you all. regards Sheila Ethier
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Looking for ordinary days.
October 26, 2008
In search of quiet ordinary days I find the journey to be difficult and frankly a bit scary. As I write this my mood is calm and my thoughts are clear. But at some point during the day my mood will be low. I will feel lonely, frightened and possibly a bit desperate. To avoid the feelings I will search for activities to do that occupy time. Get through the day is my motto and I sure hope tomorrow is a better day. Sometimes just the simple act of tidying things up, putting everything in order can calm me down.
To everything there is a purpose……..
December 8, 2008
Today I literally pushed or pulled myself out the door. Not quite sure how to describe that place in time where you have your coat on, you look down and see that you have your shoes on, they are laced up and you realize you are ready to go somewhere. You look out the open door and you ask yourself where are you going? Why am I leaving the safety of my home? What is the purpose of leaving? Then you remind yourself you are moving forward, one step at a time. One step forward to get out of my lonely sad thoughts and find the purpose of the day.
Out the door I step, I see the sky that is darkened with a grey haze of cloud. Is that fog in the air or is that my mind playing tricks on me? I continue to walk forward to places that are friendly and familiar to me. Today I am listening to Christmas Carols on an old Walkman I have inherited from my son. O Holy night is playing and within seconds I can feel tears moisten my eyes. Oh, please let this be tears from waning female hormones and not the crashing down walls of depression.
I am now at the café writing this with my new favorite drink, a tall wet cappucion. I have in front of me a new book. Before I give myself permission to read I tell myself to write about this piece of the day. Keeping an archive of thoughts helps me to recognize the pattern of thoughts that need to change. Feel the pain, know the pain, and then release the pain and look for the Joy in the present moment. Smell the fragrant brew of espresso, listen to the gentle chatter of people sitting nearby and look at all the books. All the stories, all the knowledge.
I seem compelled to journal. Are my hands really shaking as I write this? Why do I feel so nervous? It’s time to stop writing and read a few pages of the book I am reading. I open the book, read a few pages and quickly realize I am not able to focus on the story. I close the book and remain seated in the chair and just stare into the space in front of me.
In search of quiet ordinary days I find the journey to be difficult and frankly a bit scary. As I write this my mood is calm and my thoughts are clear. But at some point during the day my mood will be low. I will feel lonely, frightened and possibly a bit desperate. To avoid the feelings I will search for activities to do that occupy time. Get through the day is my motto and I sure hope tomorrow is a better day. Sometimes just the simple act of tidying things up, putting everything in order can calm me down.
To everything there is a purpose……..
December 8, 2008
Today I literally pushed or pulled myself out the door. Not quite sure how to describe that place in time where you have your coat on, you look down and see that you have your shoes on, they are laced up and you realize you are ready to go somewhere. You look out the open door and you ask yourself where are you going? Why am I leaving the safety of my home? What is the purpose of leaving? Then you remind yourself you are moving forward, one step at a time. One step forward to get out of my lonely sad thoughts and find the purpose of the day.
Out the door I step, I see the sky that is darkened with a grey haze of cloud. Is that fog in the air or is that my mind playing tricks on me? I continue to walk forward to places that are friendly and familiar to me. Today I am listening to Christmas Carols on an old Walkman I have inherited from my son. O Holy night is playing and within seconds I can feel tears moisten my eyes. Oh, please let this be tears from waning female hormones and not the crashing down walls of depression.
I am now at the café writing this with my new favorite drink, a tall wet cappucion. I have in front of me a new book. Before I give myself permission to read I tell myself to write about this piece of the day. Keeping an archive of thoughts helps me to recognize the pattern of thoughts that need to change. Feel the pain, know the pain, and then release the pain and look for the Joy in the present moment. Smell the fragrant brew of espresso, listen to the gentle chatter of people sitting nearby and look at all the books. All the stories, all the knowledge.
I seem compelled to journal. Are my hands really shaking as I write this? Why do I feel so nervous? It’s time to stop writing and read a few pages of the book I am reading. I open the book, read a few pages and quickly realize I am not able to focus on the story. I close the book and remain seated in the chair and just stare into the space in front of me.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Journal 1999 - Angel In My Pocket
Sunday, June 6, 1999
Some days are for writing. Some days are for getting things done. Writing days are days of reflection and healing. The days of getting things done are days of cleaning, running errands, keeping busy. If I keep busy doing things I don’t have to think to deeply or feel any sadness. Just do the job and get the work done. Don’t worry, just participate. I find that my thoughts are more hopeful and future focused. In the past I would ask God to help me occupy time until the healing was complete. Now I can find lots of ways to occupy time with a spirit of energy and enthusiasm.
Saturday, June 26, 1999
I still like to rise early in the morning. It is a routine that is hard to break. At 5:00 in the morning the city is quieter and my mind is less cluttered with worry. It is easier to get my paper work done. I also enjoy an early morning run along the trails of St. Albert or I like to pedal my new bike down to the river where the fresh scent of damp leaves and berries tickle my nose.
I finally have a mortgage for a home for my family. I purchased some land with a charming house and I can plant flowers in my garden. When I entered the nursing program in 1987 my goal was to get an education, get a secure, good paying job and buy a home for my sons and myself. The road has been long and very torturous but I have finally made it. This is truly a time for celebration and a time to count the Joy.
How is my mood? I am not crying as much but I still have a grumpy heart. I recognize that with the anger I have lots of energy. I can yell, stomp and scream or I can take a few deep breaths, change my thinking, make a few phone calls, write a few letters or start a new project. I try to put the passion from my anger to good use. The days go by quickly if I keep busy with these little projects. It has been said that I am a very persistent woman.
Wednesday, June 30, 1999
Today is the day I picked up the key for my new home. It was a small ordinary looking piece of metal that looks like most of the keys I have seen. But this one is different. This key is the symbol to security and stability. I will make monthly payments toward the purchase of my home. In two or three years time I won’t have to uproot my family.
Ashley has relapsed again. Ashley is the friend I have mentioned in “Count It All Joy”.
Tuesday, July 6, 1999
There is a light haze of fog covering the city this morning. Through the mist I can see a blue sky. The air is somewhat chilly and I had to wear a jacket for my morning bike ride.
My family and I have settled into our new home. This morning was the first morning I actually felt like smiling about the big event. On Wednesday, June 30th I should have been celebrating our move but instead I was in turmoil over the news that Leukemia has invaded Ashley’s blood for the third time.
Since that day I have cried many tears and cursed the air for letting this happen to such a beautiful girl. I cried for her parents, I cried for her. For 12 long years Ashley has faced this battle. Chemotherapy treatments have already begun and the goal is to get her into remission, find a bone marrow donor and go to Calgary for a bone marrow transplant.
It is beyond reasoning why this family has to face this nightmare disease all over again. To help me cope with the fear and pain of the days ahead I offered to set up a trust fund for the family to help them with the expenses over the next several months. There just never seems to be enough money to help these families. I know from personal experience that Ashley’s family is emotionally and physically exhausted with all of the challenges they have in their life.
Ashley and Jason are the same age. Ashley was born one month before Jason. Jason was diagnosed with Leukemia one month before Ashley. Then in the summer of 1996 Jason had the fire mishap and one month later we learned that Ashley had relapsed. The two of them seem to be on similar paths of survival.
Saturday, July 16, 1999
In general I think my soul feels more satisfied. When the feelings of doubt, fear and sadness creep into my mind I push them away with happy, optimistic thoughts. If I can’t change my mood with new thoughts then I go for a bike ride or a walk.
Thursday, July 22, 1999
Why can’t I have a passion for making pickles, or sewing pieces of fabric together and make quilts? Why do I have to have a passion for helping sick kids?
The gentle breezes of summer caress my skin and my grumpy heart asks is that you God blowing fresh air my way so, I can continue on with my journey. I am really tired Lord and I do need refreshments. It is very difficult for me to understand and accept the pain and sadness that I see in the lives of childhood cancer families.
There is no magic wand to wave over the cancer clinic and command cancer to disappear from the cells of the children. I can offer no explanation or words of comfort to my friends as they face their third experience with the disease. For the first time in a very long time I have nothing to say. I surrender to the Lord and exclaim, “You do the work. You put the light in my soul and I’ll shine for you. In the end we will give you the glory.”
Sunday, July 25, 1999
I like the light easy banter I hear at the coffee shop this morning. I don’t want to be deep in thought today. Reflecting on days gone by can still bring tears to my eyes and a tingle of sadness that seems to rest on my shoulders. I think, I think too much.
Some days are for writing. Some days are for getting things done. Writing days are days of reflection and healing. The days of getting things done are days of cleaning, running errands, keeping busy. If I keep busy doing things I don’t have to think to deeply or feel any sadness. Just do the job and get the work done. Don’t worry, just participate. I find that my thoughts are more hopeful and future focused. In the past I would ask God to help me occupy time until the healing was complete. Now I can find lots of ways to occupy time with a spirit of energy and enthusiasm.
Saturday, June 26, 1999
I still like to rise early in the morning. It is a routine that is hard to break. At 5:00 in the morning the city is quieter and my mind is less cluttered with worry. It is easier to get my paper work done. I also enjoy an early morning run along the trails of St. Albert or I like to pedal my new bike down to the river where the fresh scent of damp leaves and berries tickle my nose.
I finally have a mortgage for a home for my family. I purchased some land with a charming house and I can plant flowers in my garden. When I entered the nursing program in 1987 my goal was to get an education, get a secure, good paying job and buy a home for my sons and myself. The road has been long and very torturous but I have finally made it. This is truly a time for celebration and a time to count the Joy.
How is my mood? I am not crying as much but I still have a grumpy heart. I recognize that with the anger I have lots of energy. I can yell, stomp and scream or I can take a few deep breaths, change my thinking, make a few phone calls, write a few letters or start a new project. I try to put the passion from my anger to good use. The days go by quickly if I keep busy with these little projects. It has been said that I am a very persistent woman.
Wednesday, June 30, 1999
Today is the day I picked up the key for my new home. It was a small ordinary looking piece of metal that looks like most of the keys I have seen. But this one is different. This key is the symbol to security and stability. I will make monthly payments toward the purchase of my home. In two or three years time I won’t have to uproot my family.
Ashley has relapsed again. Ashley is the friend I have mentioned in “Count It All Joy”.
Tuesday, July 6, 1999
There is a light haze of fog covering the city this morning. Through the mist I can see a blue sky. The air is somewhat chilly and I had to wear a jacket for my morning bike ride.
My family and I have settled into our new home. This morning was the first morning I actually felt like smiling about the big event. On Wednesday, June 30th I should have been celebrating our move but instead I was in turmoil over the news that Leukemia has invaded Ashley’s blood for the third time.
Since that day I have cried many tears and cursed the air for letting this happen to such a beautiful girl. I cried for her parents, I cried for her. For 12 long years Ashley has faced this battle. Chemotherapy treatments have already begun and the goal is to get her into remission, find a bone marrow donor and go to Calgary for a bone marrow transplant.
It is beyond reasoning why this family has to face this nightmare disease all over again. To help me cope with the fear and pain of the days ahead I offered to set up a trust fund for the family to help them with the expenses over the next several months. There just never seems to be enough money to help these families. I know from personal experience that Ashley’s family is emotionally and physically exhausted with all of the challenges they have in their life.
Ashley and Jason are the same age. Ashley was born one month before Jason. Jason was diagnosed with Leukemia one month before Ashley. Then in the summer of 1996 Jason had the fire mishap and one month later we learned that Ashley had relapsed. The two of them seem to be on similar paths of survival.
Saturday, July 16, 1999
In general I think my soul feels more satisfied. When the feelings of doubt, fear and sadness creep into my mind I push them away with happy, optimistic thoughts. If I can’t change my mood with new thoughts then I go for a bike ride or a walk.
Thursday, July 22, 1999
Why can’t I have a passion for making pickles, or sewing pieces of fabric together and make quilts? Why do I have to have a passion for helping sick kids?
The gentle breezes of summer caress my skin and my grumpy heart asks is that you God blowing fresh air my way so, I can continue on with my journey. I am really tired Lord and I do need refreshments. It is very difficult for me to understand and accept the pain and sadness that I see in the lives of childhood cancer families.
There is no magic wand to wave over the cancer clinic and command cancer to disappear from the cells of the children. I can offer no explanation or words of comfort to my friends as they face their third experience with the disease. For the first time in a very long time I have nothing to say. I surrender to the Lord and exclaim, “You do the work. You put the light in my soul and I’ll shine for you. In the end we will give you the glory.”
Sunday, July 25, 1999
I like the light easy banter I hear at the coffee shop this morning. I don’t want to be deep in thought today. Reflecting on days gone by can still bring tears to my eyes and a tingle of sadness that seems to rest on my shoulders. I think, I think too much.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Journal Entries from 1999 (Angel In My Pocket)
Sunday, March 14, 1999
Tomorrow my book Count It All Joy goes to the press. The printing, binding and viewing process should take about 3 weeks. I am very pleased with the progress I have made in self-publishing my first book. I like to work on the project as it keeps my mind from meandering to the lonely, achy feelings I still experience. I seem to get stuck in the same cycle of thinking, especially in regard to Jason’s life. Why did he get sick?
Monday, March 15, 1999
My book is not going to the printing press today. The editors and I require two more days to complete the revisions. Hopefully everything will be in order by Wednesday. I have only one thought on my mind these days. Get the book published.
Sunday, April 4, 1999
Today is Easter Sunday. The book is finally at the printers and is being prepared for the press. This week I will go to the printing shop and do a color check of the book cover. All of this publishing knowledge came with research that I did on my own to make sure my story was published. Self-publishing my story seemed to be the route to take. It was always important for me to be sure that the Kids with Cancer Society would get a portion of the money earned from the sale of my book.
Memories of the past still haunt me. My mind carries thoughts of loneliness, and anxiety still cripples me with fear. Push forward, keep busy, and don’t look back. Today is a new day. I remind myself that my moods are more stable and peaceful. If I really concentrate on the good things in life, I know I will get through the day. As long as there are children around I will never be lonely.
Friday, April 30, 1999
I wake up this morning with tears ready to spill from the corners of my eyes. I get dressed and walk to the cafe bar. I am hoping that the busy atmosphere will distract me from facing a day with tears in my eyes. I push the feeling away.
My book is in the bookstores and people are reading my story. That is a good thing. I try to stay focused on the goals I have set for myself.
Sunday, May 2, 1999
Yesterday I was scheduled to sign books at a friend’s cappuccino bar. I was not able to stay and continue with the signing. The anxious, restless feeling emerged and I could not sit still. I had to get up and leave the cafe bar. The noise and the people were too much for me to absorb. I drove away from my friend’s place knowing that he would be disappointed. But I know my mood swings very well and I knew with the tingling in my face, neck and spine that I had better find another activity.
My car automatically took me to Debaji’s Fresh Market. I immediately felt comfortable in the familiar environment. Even though I am still unable to buy groceries I followed my routine of looking at the produce and baked goods. I selected bananas and bagels. Maybe one day I’ll step out of the routine and buy a shopping cart full of fresh produce, fish and pastries. But today I’ll just stick with my simple purchases and cheer my soul with a bouquet of fresh flowers from the market’s flower shop.
I spent the rest of the day running errands and went to bed early with a good book. I am very pleased with the fact that my mind lets me absorb the contents of the book without the restlessness I use to feel when I tried to read. Right now I am reading a big fat book written by an Irish author. Her style of writing is just right for me. She brings in lots of characters and her writing moves in and out of several story lines.
Saturday, May 8, 1999
Survival, that’s really what my journey has been about. I made a choice to share my story so I could feed and clothe my children. I made a choice to recover so my soul would know the pleasures in life. Survival, I wake up every morning with a passion to make a better life for my sons and myself.
I must have written this in my journal before. Very basic words of what must be done, but very difficult goals to accomplish when your mind is weary and your heart feels broken.
Today is going to be a busy day. I have two book-signing sessions scheduled. This morning I will autograph books for the Mother’s Day run sponsored by the Running Room in St. Albert. After lunch I will enjoy a latte at the Second Cup and sign books for friends who want my signature added to their copy of Count It All Joy. It sounds like a fun day. I hope my mood doesn’t wreak havoc on my ability to have a good time.
I am going to go for my morning run and release any negative thoughts I might be feeling. As my feet touch the pavement I visualize the anger leaving the soles of my feet. I run with a purpose, to leave the pain behind me with each new step forward. I love my daily runs and marvel at my ability to run, instead of sleeping and resting with my quilt.
The last few weeks have been very busy for me as I promote my book. I do all the promotion, interviews, book signings and distribution. It takes a great deal of courage on my part to look at the person in front of me and say here’s my story, I hope you are inspired by my words.
Monday, May 17, 1999
Take me to the market. Please! What a glorious place Debaji’s market is for the soul. The sights, sounds tastes and smells are very uplifting. There is an eclectic mix of people sampling fresh fruit, gazing at the yummy pastries and smelling the fresh cut flowers. With the gentle buzz of activity throughout the market your soul knows it won’t be lonely if you hang around for a bit. I love to order a latte, sit on the high stool at the bar and drink in the delights of nature at its finest. Always, bring me to the market, please.
Thursday, May 27, 1999
So what have I learned in the last ten days? I have been told that I am a good writer and that my book is very compelling. People are amazed at all that I have been through. I am in awe of the praise I am receiving. I have never considered myself a writer. I am surprised when people refer to me as an author. Enough said of that.
I am still facing incredible challenges as a single mother. Even though I have said I am emotionally and mentally exhausted I am still expected to supply the health and safety supports my sons require.
Give me something practical and tangible to work with, like money to pay for a caregiver that can assist Jason with his daily living needs. Someone to help him with his homework, help him with his nutrition and fitness skills, introduce him to the community and let him play in a manner that is safe for him and for those that are around him. If I hold out my hand and ask for help in raising a child who has long term side effects from a medical treatment that was necessary to save his life, who is going to help?
Thursday, June 3, 1999
We see what we want to see. We hear what we want to hear. This thought keeps popping up in my mind over the last few days. Kids with cancer, is a phrase that says it all. People don’t want to see pictures of the sick kids, nor do they want to hear the details of the disease. There’s just something about the title kids with cancer that can make one feel queasy and uncomfortable or sad and teary-eyed.
A special young boy who fought a yearlong battle with Leukemia passed away last night. One of my friends telephoned me and told me the news, just as Jason and I were leaving for the Cross Cancer Clinic for an appointment. I was expecting a call any day now but was still very upset to hear the news.
God called another one of his children home. The child will suffer no more. The child is in a better place. These are nice phrases to say to help us cope with loss. But I have seen the agony of parents holding their child and witnessing the horror of the last breath. Those pictures in my mind will be with me always.
After I heard the news of my young friend’s death, I told Jason I didn’t feel like going to the clinic for his appointment. He said Mom “I need to go.” So Jason and I went to the Cross Cancer clinic. Jason met with the neuropsychologist and I went to the quaint little gift shop to look for a sympathy card for the family. Usually the little shop cheers my soul with its cute little teddy bears, and charming gifts, but not today. Today I stood in the shop and felt the pain of childhood cancer on my shoulders.
For a few brief moments my thoughts took me back to the days when I was the mother of a two-year old son who had Leukemia. I started to cry. I knew this wasn’t going to be a good time to look at cute things. I quickly purchased a card and walked down the hall to the pediatric clinic. Let me see a colleague I know and we can offer each other some support.
Echoes of the past reverberate through my skin as I recall the voices and faces of the children who ran down the long corridor to get to the playroom that offered childhood muses. The parents always walked at a slower pace with heavy hearts and their mind a buzz with worry. What will the check-up reveal? Has the cancer returned? What’s the blood count? Do we go to the hospital for chemo? Will I walk out of here with a smile on my face? Try not to think about those things, smile at the receptionist and say hello, pick up the requisition for lab work and take your child for the weekly finger poke. Drop by drop the blood slides into the plastic container.
Jason’s voice nudges me out of the shadows of the past and I hear him say, “I’m finished mom, can we go to McDonalds on our way home.”
Tomorrow my book Count It All Joy goes to the press. The printing, binding and viewing process should take about 3 weeks. I am very pleased with the progress I have made in self-publishing my first book. I like to work on the project as it keeps my mind from meandering to the lonely, achy feelings I still experience. I seem to get stuck in the same cycle of thinking, especially in regard to Jason’s life. Why did he get sick?
Monday, March 15, 1999
My book is not going to the printing press today. The editors and I require two more days to complete the revisions. Hopefully everything will be in order by Wednesday. I have only one thought on my mind these days. Get the book published.
Sunday, April 4, 1999
Today is Easter Sunday. The book is finally at the printers and is being prepared for the press. This week I will go to the printing shop and do a color check of the book cover. All of this publishing knowledge came with research that I did on my own to make sure my story was published. Self-publishing my story seemed to be the route to take. It was always important for me to be sure that the Kids with Cancer Society would get a portion of the money earned from the sale of my book.
Memories of the past still haunt me. My mind carries thoughts of loneliness, and anxiety still cripples me with fear. Push forward, keep busy, and don’t look back. Today is a new day. I remind myself that my moods are more stable and peaceful. If I really concentrate on the good things in life, I know I will get through the day. As long as there are children around I will never be lonely.
Friday, April 30, 1999
I wake up this morning with tears ready to spill from the corners of my eyes. I get dressed and walk to the cafe bar. I am hoping that the busy atmosphere will distract me from facing a day with tears in my eyes. I push the feeling away.
My book is in the bookstores and people are reading my story. That is a good thing. I try to stay focused on the goals I have set for myself.
Sunday, May 2, 1999
Yesterday I was scheduled to sign books at a friend’s cappuccino bar. I was not able to stay and continue with the signing. The anxious, restless feeling emerged and I could not sit still. I had to get up and leave the cafe bar. The noise and the people were too much for me to absorb. I drove away from my friend’s place knowing that he would be disappointed. But I know my mood swings very well and I knew with the tingling in my face, neck and spine that I had better find another activity.
My car automatically took me to Debaji’s Fresh Market. I immediately felt comfortable in the familiar environment. Even though I am still unable to buy groceries I followed my routine of looking at the produce and baked goods. I selected bananas and bagels. Maybe one day I’ll step out of the routine and buy a shopping cart full of fresh produce, fish and pastries. But today I’ll just stick with my simple purchases and cheer my soul with a bouquet of fresh flowers from the market’s flower shop.
I spent the rest of the day running errands and went to bed early with a good book. I am very pleased with the fact that my mind lets me absorb the contents of the book without the restlessness I use to feel when I tried to read. Right now I am reading a big fat book written by an Irish author. Her style of writing is just right for me. She brings in lots of characters and her writing moves in and out of several story lines.
Saturday, May 8, 1999
Survival, that’s really what my journey has been about. I made a choice to share my story so I could feed and clothe my children. I made a choice to recover so my soul would know the pleasures in life. Survival, I wake up every morning with a passion to make a better life for my sons and myself.
I must have written this in my journal before. Very basic words of what must be done, but very difficult goals to accomplish when your mind is weary and your heart feels broken.
Today is going to be a busy day. I have two book-signing sessions scheduled. This morning I will autograph books for the Mother’s Day run sponsored by the Running Room in St. Albert. After lunch I will enjoy a latte at the Second Cup and sign books for friends who want my signature added to their copy of Count It All Joy. It sounds like a fun day. I hope my mood doesn’t wreak havoc on my ability to have a good time.
I am going to go for my morning run and release any negative thoughts I might be feeling. As my feet touch the pavement I visualize the anger leaving the soles of my feet. I run with a purpose, to leave the pain behind me with each new step forward. I love my daily runs and marvel at my ability to run, instead of sleeping and resting with my quilt.
The last few weeks have been very busy for me as I promote my book. I do all the promotion, interviews, book signings and distribution. It takes a great deal of courage on my part to look at the person in front of me and say here’s my story, I hope you are inspired by my words.
Monday, May 17, 1999
Take me to the market. Please! What a glorious place Debaji’s market is for the soul. The sights, sounds tastes and smells are very uplifting. There is an eclectic mix of people sampling fresh fruit, gazing at the yummy pastries and smelling the fresh cut flowers. With the gentle buzz of activity throughout the market your soul knows it won’t be lonely if you hang around for a bit. I love to order a latte, sit on the high stool at the bar and drink in the delights of nature at its finest. Always, bring me to the market, please.
Thursday, May 27, 1999
So what have I learned in the last ten days? I have been told that I am a good writer and that my book is very compelling. People are amazed at all that I have been through. I am in awe of the praise I am receiving. I have never considered myself a writer. I am surprised when people refer to me as an author. Enough said of that.
I am still facing incredible challenges as a single mother. Even though I have said I am emotionally and mentally exhausted I am still expected to supply the health and safety supports my sons require.
Give me something practical and tangible to work with, like money to pay for a caregiver that can assist Jason with his daily living needs. Someone to help him with his homework, help him with his nutrition and fitness skills, introduce him to the community and let him play in a manner that is safe for him and for those that are around him. If I hold out my hand and ask for help in raising a child who has long term side effects from a medical treatment that was necessary to save his life, who is going to help?
Thursday, June 3, 1999
We see what we want to see. We hear what we want to hear. This thought keeps popping up in my mind over the last few days. Kids with cancer, is a phrase that says it all. People don’t want to see pictures of the sick kids, nor do they want to hear the details of the disease. There’s just something about the title kids with cancer that can make one feel queasy and uncomfortable or sad and teary-eyed.
A special young boy who fought a yearlong battle with Leukemia passed away last night. One of my friends telephoned me and told me the news, just as Jason and I were leaving for the Cross Cancer Clinic for an appointment. I was expecting a call any day now but was still very upset to hear the news.
God called another one of his children home. The child will suffer no more. The child is in a better place. These are nice phrases to say to help us cope with loss. But I have seen the agony of parents holding their child and witnessing the horror of the last breath. Those pictures in my mind will be with me always.
After I heard the news of my young friend’s death, I told Jason I didn’t feel like going to the clinic for his appointment. He said Mom “I need to go.” So Jason and I went to the Cross Cancer clinic. Jason met with the neuropsychologist and I went to the quaint little gift shop to look for a sympathy card for the family. Usually the little shop cheers my soul with its cute little teddy bears, and charming gifts, but not today. Today I stood in the shop and felt the pain of childhood cancer on my shoulders.
For a few brief moments my thoughts took me back to the days when I was the mother of a two-year old son who had Leukemia. I started to cry. I knew this wasn’t going to be a good time to look at cute things. I quickly purchased a card and walked down the hall to the pediatric clinic. Let me see a colleague I know and we can offer each other some support.
Echoes of the past reverberate through my skin as I recall the voices and faces of the children who ran down the long corridor to get to the playroom that offered childhood muses. The parents always walked at a slower pace with heavy hearts and their mind a buzz with worry. What will the check-up reveal? Has the cancer returned? What’s the blood count? Do we go to the hospital for chemo? Will I walk out of here with a smile on my face? Try not to think about those things, smile at the receptionist and say hello, pick up the requisition for lab work and take your child for the weekly finger poke. Drop by drop the blood slides into the plastic container.
Jason’s voice nudges me out of the shadows of the past and I hear him say, “I’m finished mom, can we go to McDonalds on our way home.”
A Bit About Depression
I have come to know that depression is a biological disorder of the brain. There are chemical messengers in the brain that regulate our moods. Scientists have identified nor epinephrine, serotonin, and dopamine as three of the important chemicals that allow us to feel calm, happy and alert. There are various reasons why these chemicals may be out of balance. In my case it is believed that chronic stress caused the chemical imbalance. The chemicals were not able to enter the receptors, the brain’s neurons. Therefore my mood would drop to very low levels and I would cry excessively. Unless you have experienced the mood changes of depression you can’t understand how debilitating the illness can be.
The symptoms of depression are as follows: feeling worthless, helpless or hopeless, sleeping more or less than usual, eating more or less than usual, having difficulty concentrating or making decisions, loss of interest in taking part in activities, low energy level, decreased sex drive, avoiding other people, overwhelming feelings of sadness or grief, feeling unreasonably guilty, thoughts of death or suicide.
I remember as a student nurse that I had to complete a rotation on the psychiatric ward. There were several women admitted for treatment of depression. I remember thinking, why do you look so sad? Why don’t you take part in the activities we are offering you? Why don’t you fix yourself up with a little blush and lipstick and put some bright colored clothes on? Shake those silly blue feelings away. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. Because it is an illness of the mind it is easy to say, I can’t see your ailment or I don’t feel what you’re feeling, therefore you can’t be sick. I have since learned that depression is a real illness that requires medical treatment. Just like a diabetic requires insulin to keep blood glucose stable, a person with depression requires medication such as antidepressants to help regulate brain chemicals.
If you or someone you know face challenges with a mental illness and you feel like you can't move forward, seek medical help. There are many resources available to help you through this illness.
The symptoms of depression are as follows: feeling worthless, helpless or hopeless, sleeping more or less than usual, eating more or less than usual, having difficulty concentrating or making decisions, loss of interest in taking part in activities, low energy level, decreased sex drive, avoiding other people, overwhelming feelings of sadness or grief, feeling unreasonably guilty, thoughts of death or suicide.
I remember as a student nurse that I had to complete a rotation on the psychiatric ward. There were several women admitted for treatment of depression. I remember thinking, why do you look so sad? Why don’t you take part in the activities we are offering you? Why don’t you fix yourself up with a little blush and lipstick and put some bright colored clothes on? Shake those silly blue feelings away. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. Because it is an illness of the mind it is easy to say, I can’t see your ailment or I don’t feel what you’re feeling, therefore you can’t be sick. I have since learned that depression is a real illness that requires medical treatment. Just like a diabetic requires insulin to keep blood glucose stable, a person with depression requires medication such as antidepressants to help regulate brain chemicals.
If you or someone you know face challenges with a mental illness and you feel like you can't move forward, seek medical help. There are many resources available to help you through this illness.
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Face of Courage
The early morning breeze caresses my face as I pedal my bike on the familiar pavement that will take me to downtown
After parking my bike in front of one of my favorite café bars, I enter the busy little shop and the proprietor yells out, “Hey neighbor, how’s it going?” I chuckle and reply “Great, and how are you today?” I like the routine of chatting with the gals while my latte is being prepared, there is always something to laugh about and the merriment is good for my soul. With drink in hand I then chose a comfy chair, dig through my backpack for my day-timer, pen and stationary. In the charming little café I somehow manage to keep busy with my creative mind and lots of paper. After the last sip of steamed milk and espresso I pack up my backpack, head out the door and prepare for the next journey on my bike.
As usual I had to force myself to leave my house and take care of a few errands that I have put off because I haven’t been feeling well lately. To look at me you would never know that I face daily challenges with depressive illness. I always hear comments like “you look so good”, “you must be feeling better.” I generally have no reply and produce a quirky grin and scrunch up my eyes. What answer are they looking for?
In the morning when I rise to the new day I can sometimes feel the rhythm of calm ordered thinking. I have created a comfortable routine for myself where I go out in the morning while I have the energy and peace of mind to accomplish the small goals written in my day timer. Then as the morning passes fatigue and apathy engulf my spirit, and I know it’s time to make my way home. Sometimes fear of how I will get home causes me to panic; I’m filled with fear and riding my bike or walking home are impossible journeys ~ so I call my father to come an pick me up.
The ride home is quick as I never venture too far from home. My father backs the car into the driveway; I grab my belongings and make a quick dash to the house. A sigh escapes my soul as I enter the small room at the back of the house; my safe haven. The bedroom is cozy and quaint, filled with teddy bears, pictures of family, and little treasures that remind me of days gone by. Here in this room life is simple and I can usually escape from the pain of the past or the bothersome thoughts of the future.
Thirteen years have passed since I have heard the words, “you have major depressive illness” and I still ask myself – Where did I go? Where’s that young girl with all the energy and enthusiasm for life? I vaguely remember days of plenty of activity and lots of social contact.
Many people know of my battle with depression and they also know of the numerous obstacles that have made my journey to health and happiness extremely bumpy. People often say that I am a woman of great strength and courage. I used to argue that statement over and over in my mind; doesn’t anyone see the tears in corners of my eyes? Don’t you feel the perpetual anguish or hazy melancholy that wreaks havoc in my brain? Don’t you know how difficult it is for me to leave my home? Courage, there is no courage in this spirit; you’ve got the wrong lady.
And then one ordinary day while I’m out running my errands, I came across a print with the following inscription:
Courage doesn’t always roar, sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying –I will try again tomorrow. (Author unknown)
I wrote the words in my little day timer so I wouldn’t forget them. When the day has been incredibly rough; when I think I can’t take one more minute of living with the darkness of depressive illness, I hang onto those words, say a silent prayer to God, close my eyes and wait for sleep to come.
Now when someone suggests that I am person with courage; I say “thank you for the kind words” and smile, indeed I know the face of courage.
Living with a mental illness requires courage. I hope you find the courage to take care of yourself, find meaning in your life and seek medical help if you are really struggling with the illness.
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