Count It All Joy

There's An Angel In My Pocket

2011-12-22T15:39:00.001-08:00

There's an Angel in My PocketDecember, 1999In 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, 2011Today 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 BibleI 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.

Be A Santa

2011-12-21T18:12:00.000-08:00

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

Looking for ordinary days.

2010-12-26T19:07:00.000-08:00

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.

Journal 1999 - Angel In My Pocket

2010-12-07T18:34:00.000-08:00

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.

Journal Entries from 1999 (Angel In My Pocket)

2010-11-24T12:56:00.000-08:00

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.”

A Bit About Depression

2010-11-24T12:16:00.000-08:00

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 Face of Courage

2010-10-01T14:04:00.000-07:00

The early morning breeze caresses my face as I pedal my bike on the familiar pavement that will take me to downtown St. Albert. The journey through the small city is pleasant as I cruise toward the main street. Shop keepers are getting storefronts ready for a new day of business and I see someone putting up a sandwich board listing the daily specials for lunchtime goodies. Further down the street at a café bar, tables and chairs are being set out for folks who want to sit outside and enjoy today’s sunny skies. I hope my mood allows me to savor the pleasures of this day.

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?

If I am out and about in the community and able to chat with a friend I might run into, or actually complete my list of errands, one could assume that I am feeling better. That I am cured of this insipid illness of grey fuzzy days and profound sadness; I can now live a life with purpose and go back to work. What you don’t know when you see me in the mall, or the café bar is that by lunchtime my mood will be very low and my desire to be with people or do anything for that matter will have vanished.

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.

I was the happy friend with lots of giggles, smiles and jokes. Now I am reclusive and you rarely see me out and about in the late afternoon or evening. Friends and family have grown accustomed to my hibernation but, do not understand the tumultuous emotions that render me helpless and fill me with a sense of anxiousness and restlessness.

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.

Quest to meet Oprah Winfrey

2009-12-28T08:01:00.000-08:00

Monday, October 19, 2009

There is a chill in the air and a grayness of sky that reminds me that winter is just around the corner. The days are getting shorter, colder and darker. I am talking about both the weather and my mood. I face challenges with depressive illness and today I don't really have the desire to write this blog about "My Quest to Meet Oprah Winfrey."

But here goes: Oprah Winfrey, that girlfriend is my sister. Not in a biological way but in a spiritual way. She speaks the same language of love and service that I speak. I always feel compelled to watch her program, read what's she's reading and yes, find a way to meet her.

Today as I write this I am overwhelmed with the enormity of my goal - to meet Oprah Winfrey. There are millions of people all over the world who would pay top dollar to meet this remarkable woman, this kindred spirit, this make-belief friend of mine. You see I regularly tell people I am going to be on the Oprah show and it's remarkable how many people tell me that they believe that I will be. I hear comments like - if anyone can do it, you can, or let me know when so I can tape the show. I like the way their comments make me feel, little pieces of hope in my somewhat gray foggy thoughts.

I have been a fan of Oprah Winfrey since the early 90's when she launched her Angel Network program. Since that time I have written her letters telling her about children with cancer and how they have transformed my life. I have called Harpo Productions asking if Oprah could come to Edmonton, Alberta and be a motivational speaker for a Gala we would host for childhood cancer research. I have written to Omni hotels the place where her guests stay and asked them if they could get in touch with Oprah for me. I have filled in numerous online request forms "Be on the Show" on her Oprah.com website. I have every issue of the O magazine that Oprah publishes. I am starting to run out of space to store the stacks and stacks of O magazines I am collecting. I follow Oprah on twitter and also follow several of her staff at Harpo Productions.

Do I ever consider that this quest of mine has perhaps become a little out of control? Not most days, only on the mornings when I remember in my night time dreams, there she is right in front of me, shaking my hand and smiling like only Oprah can smile. Not bad dreams to have in the grand scheme of things and considering some of my dreams are about children dying and some are of my son Jason.

You see in 1987, my son Jason was diagnosed with T-Cell Leukemia. He was two years old at the time, today he is 24. Jason received 3 years of chemotherapy to his blood system and 12 radiation treatments to his young brain. Now as a survivor he faces challenges with a brain injury, sterility, and receives monthly hormone injections. Jason and other children like him inspire me to be a voice for them; to improve their quality of life.

For 22 years I have been advocating, fundraising and helping children with cancer here in Edmonton. In 1988 I founded a family camp for children with cancer and their families; that same year we held the first annual Christmas party for children with cancer. I continue to be a parent volunteer of the Kids with Cancer Society. Doing so helps me to deal with my own pain and helps me to make sense of Jason's ongoing challenges. It is good to be connected to people who know your pain, and parents of children with cancer all over the world, they know my pain.

I take time to thank God everyday. My son Jason is still with us, but over the past 22 years I have come to know many brave children who fought the fight the best they could and in the end the cancer won and they passed on to be with God. I continue to pray for the families who have lost a child to cancer.

I am still on a quest to meet Oprah Winfrey, but in the event that I don't get a chance to meet her, my journey to help children with cancer continues. I keep volunteering, I keep advocating and I keep praying. I pray for advances in chemotherapy and radiation that cure the cancer, but don't damage the child. I pray for cures for the many different types of childhood cancers. I pray for an Army of Angels to guard and protect children with cancer all over the world.

God thank you for the journey, it's been remarkable and if you have the time, can you introduce me to Oprah Winfrey?

from the desk of: Sheila Ethier

Where's the Healing

2009-12-14T16:08:00.000-08:00

I face challenges with Depressive illness and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I take my meds faithfully, I eat well, I get plenty of rest, I exercise, I am in Cognitive Behavior Therapy. I look for good things in each day. I try to count the JOY.

And in spite of all this, their is a sadness and pain within me that does not escape nor surrender itself. I have a choke hold pain in my neck, pain down my spine and a dull ache in the back of my head. There are tears in the corner of my eyes.

Each day I pray to God for healing. God heal me and make me whole. Remove my sadness and let me feel OK.

Don't let depression ruin your life. Seek medical attention, talk to a friend, go for a walk, and know that God loves you.

Christmas is a joyous season. Let's look for the JOY together.

warm regards, Sheila Ethier

A Christmas Angel

2009-11-22T17:33:00.000-08:00

Christmas is fast approaching and there is a sadness within me that does not escape nor surrender itself. Over the past 22 years I have come to know many special children with cancer. Some of these special friends passed away during the month of December, making the season unbearable for their families. I light candles and remember them with great fondness. The following is a story from my journal in memory of Ashley, a true angel.

Tuesday, November 16, 1999

Jason and I are ill with the flu. Brandon is feeling rather well so, he is the designated cook and errand boy. Whenever we need anything we just call out his name and he gets us what we want. Right now he is gone out with my little white car. I guess we made him tired and he needs a break. Jason is finally sleeping. He has been awake since 4:00 this morning with the stomach flu. Needless to say the washing machine has been cleaning towels, sheets, blankets and clothes for several hours now.

The routine was easy for me to complete and it reminded me of chemo days and sleepless nights. My patient is now the size of a grown man but he still calls out for mom when the pain bothers him. Jason was in tears at one point and I felt the familiar panic in my gut. I quickly acknowledged the emotions and told myself not to worry because this is only the flu.

Christmas is just around the corner and there is much to prepare for the kids with cancer Christmas party. Common sense warns me not to get involved in organizing the party. But my passion to see sick children happy over rules common sense. So guess who’s going to the 12th Annual Christmas Party?

I can still remember that first party at the Garneau Community Hall. The party was initiated, to help one little girl know the Joy of Christmas. Her name was Ashley and she was 2 years old. Ashley and her family came to the party that was held in her honor. There was a blur of activity with clowns and Santa Claus, music, laughter and good food. The afternoon went by very fast. All of the families that were there enjoyed the event.

Sadly, Ashley passed away that evening, Sunday, December 11, 1988 at the University of Alberta hospital. Her parents had thought she would be with them to celebrate Christmas Day. They had no idea that would be their last party with their beautiful little girl.

Ashley must be an angel. Why do I say this? One day, Ashley’s parents invited the boys and me over for supper, for me it was a remarkable visit.

In a spirit of love, Ken and Dawn gave their daughters Ashley and Carley an early Christmas. It was November and they had decided to put the tree up early. Dawn handcrafted most of the delicate ornaments. They were delightful little creations Dawn and Ashley made to help Dawn deal with the news the doctors had given her. That Ashley had relapsed again and this time there was no other treatment to offer her.

Ashley loved her tree and kept pointing to the ornaments, I picked her up and she reached toward the top of the tree where Dawn had carefully placed a beautiful angel. With bright sparkling eyes Ashley kept saying over and over, Ashley angel. With a lump in my throat, I replied, Yes Ashley, you are an angel.

Dawn and her two daughters, Carley and Erin still come to the Christmas Party to remember Ashley. Ken, one of the sweetest fathers I know, just can’t bring himself to return to the party. He usually spends the day keeping busy and he remembers his baby in his own special way.

Quest to meet Oprah Continues

2009-11-07T17:39:00.000-08:00

Saturday, November 7, 2009

I was at our local Chapters bookstore today looking for a new book to read. I love to read books that inspire my soul and that nurture my gentle nature. Novels are often difficult for me to read especially if they are sad stories.

Today with the tingly energy running through my veins and contrary to my pact to read only happy stories I bought Oprah Winfrey's latest book club selection "Say You're One of Them" by Uwem Akpan. I know from reading little pieces of the book in the past few weeks the book is going to bring me to my knees. I know the stories are going to be compelling and they are likely to enrich my life in some profound way.

Just holding the book I tremble and I feel my eyes moisten with tears. I walk around the book store carrying the book carefully in my arms. Should I buy the book? Will I read the book? Will I cry uncontrollably when I read the book? These are questions I ask myself as I pace up and down the rows and rows of books. I stop, look at the cover of the book and I remind myself to calm down; it's only a book, I can read it slowly and I can take as much time as I need to learn what it is that God wants me to learn. And in the same instant my thoughts remind me that I have seen so much suffering in children with cancer.

As the witness of many precious children battling childhood cancer, including my own son's battle I tell God, I have plenty of lessons learned. My journey so far has included lots of challenges and my experiences can be directly attributed to the nervous edgy feelings I get when I am out and about. My Psychiatrist tells me I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I buy the book anyway, because for some strange reason I am in awe of Oprah Winfrey and I love all things "Oprah." It's not that my life revolves around Oprah, it's just a deep sense of I really, really need to meet her. For years now I have felt that I needed to meet Oprah to share childhood cancer issues with her. Today I am not sure why I am so drawn to her spirit, I just am.

Will I meet Oprah Winfrey? Not sure, but I'll keep on with my quest. The following is an excerpt from my book "Count It All Joy" published in 1999.

Count It All Joy -
Sunday, June 1st 1997

Yesterday my tears were for children with cancer. As the tears poured forth without end, I recalled the special children who have passed away: Ashley, Kirk, Amy, Matthew, Shane, Marko, Matthew, Alex, Claire, Dylan, Nicholas, Amanda, Alex, Julie, Christie, Derek, Jeremy, Seth, Taylor, Amanda, Lindsey.

It is difficult for me to forget the battle they fought for life. After all of their suffering, the disease took them away. They suffer no more. Jesus said, "Let the children come for the Kingdom of God is for such as these."

Life goes on, time goes by. The mothers and fathers will heal. Life will take on a new meaning for them. They will occupy time and find new ways to feel Joy. But nothing will ever take the place of holding their child. The precious child that they rocked, cuddled, caressed and loved. They will never forget.

Blessed are the children. Did we do all that we could to make sure that they laughed, played and felt Joy while they were with us? Did they go to the park, splash in the water, feed the ducks, go fishing, go sailing or ride a pony?

I did what you asked me to do Lord. How much longer will I feel the pain? Help me, Lord, to occupy my time and to feel the Joy of living.

Days of Healing

2009-06-10T17:19:00.000-07:00

January 17, 2009

Half written stories with blank spaces in between entries. I can't finish the story because the pain is to deep too write, to remember, to fully express the ache in my heart. Drop the thoughts, stop ruminating and breathe. I remind myself I can come back to the story another day when my mood allows me to travel back in time.

I have said for several years now that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My doctors have never confirmed my self diagnosis. This week my psychiatrist said "you have classic PTSD symptoms."

February 23, 2009

I write this entry with purpose and prayer. I am literally on my knees, leaning forward, elbows resting on my bed. I am praying for calm ordered thinking. Please no panic, no fear, no hysterical thoughts threatening to produce tears, no profound sadness.

I am off to work the evening shift at our local hospital and I want to feel peace and calm as I do my work taking care of the sick. There are yellow and white striped flannel pajamas on my unit, as I am a Pediatric nurse. I won't let the memories of Jason's yellow flannel pajama days rise to the surface. Reliving those chemo days can reduce me to tears.

Those days are gone, today is a new day and I pray to God:

Lord, heal me and make me whole. I want to live in a spirit of wellness.
If I have any tears, allow me to accept the tears as a healing cleanse. Don't let my mind wander to places of pain or sadness. Please no worries about things I have no control over.
If I feel anxious, let me know peace. Lord, let me feel your love, comfort me as I need.
Thank you Lord, I will go take care of the patients assigned to my care.

God you are awesome, and I love you so.

2009-06-09T20:29:00.001-07:00

Greetings, here is an excerpt from Count It All Joy by Sheila Ethier

In the quiet shadows of the morning I take journeys in my mind to the happier times of my life.
The days of packing up the car with little treasures from home -- toys, pillows, blankets, peanut butter sandwiches...and my sons, Brandon and Jason. The three of us created adventures and fun as we traveled to city parks, nearby lakes and sometimes the rocky mountains of Alberta. In the compact "Limited Edition" car that I bought for my family, I felt the Joy of being a single mother.

I felt the bond that ties mother and son would never be severed by poverty, illness or death. My white car offered freedom to seek the pleasures of life that I wanted my sons to experience.

Pictures of our journeys are tucked away in my mind, but they begin to fade as I remember my illness: the reality of shattered nerves, weary mind and restless spirit. Today, the journeys of happiness are shorter, and the challenges of living appear larger than ever before. For the past four years, I have been recovering from a chemical imbalance in my brain caused by chronic stress, called major depression. The illness has taken control of my moods, my energy and my sense of well-being.

When I was first diagnosed with depression, I denied that I, a registered nurse with a good attitude and a positive outlook on life could be depressed. It took several months before I could see that the symptoms my body and mind were experiencing were those of depression. I accepted the illness then and worked with my psychiatrist toward recovery. That was the summer of 1994.

My recovery has been very slow, due in large part to the fact that I am a single mother of two sons, one of whom is chronically ill. During the past several years I have experienced some of the darkest hours I ever hope to encounter. The profound sadness, the loss of interest in living and the anxious, restless energy have been very frightening. Throughout my recovery, the tragic events in my life would continue, so the healing was very difficult.

In the spring of 1997, I decided it was time to write about my illness and my life's experiences. I chose to write my story in the form of a journal. When I began, I knew that my story had to be told but I had no idea where to begin or how to get all my thoughts on paper. Initially, I hoped someone would write my story for me. I was incredibly ill and not overly excited about learning how to write a book.

One morning I selected a notebook and pen, went to the Grabbajabba in St. Albert and wrote my first entry. This was the beginning of a routine that allowed me many opportunities: to express myself on paper, to get out of the house, to meet new people and to chat about the simple pleasures of life. I still continue with my routine. I work toward being a better person, being a great mother to my sons and sharing my story.

Many of the entries in this journal come from the deepest corners of my heart and soul. Some were very painful to write. There are breaks between the dates of the entries, and some entries are very short. Some days, I had no energy or desire to write and could only sleep or do small errands or tasks that required little thinking.

Writing this journal has kept me focused and given me a sense of purpose. Writing about my illness has literally helped me to heal, to feel better about myself and to learn how to accept the challenges I continue to face.

I carry the sadness that is in this book. Cry if you must, but please don't carry the pain. Take what you have learned and be inspired to love more, care more and give more.

If you or someone you know has depression and needs help, please contact your local Mental Health support agency. A family physician can also provide assistance in obtaining proper medical assistance. You don't need to face the illness alone.

A secondary theme of this book is children with cancer.
Dr. Giulio J. D'Angio of the University of Pennsylvannia School of Medicine notes that, with increasing survival rates for children with leukemia, it is now time to look as ensuring that these children do not become "chronically debilitated and handicapped adults." Successful management has assumed new dimensions," says Dr. D'Angio. "The focus has been properly placed not only on the impact the disease and treatment might have on the the child, but on the entire family unit."

My youngest son was diagnosed with T-Cell Leukemia when he was two years old. That was in the fall of 1987. Since that time I have passionately devoted my time to improving the quality of life for children with cancer and their families. Many children have died because of this illness. I therefore dedicate this book to the children who suffer no more and to the families who grieve the loss of their child.

Watch for further Blog updates on "Count It All Joy." Contact Chapters, Amazon or Barnes and Noble to order a copy of "Count It All Joy."

warm regards, Sheila Ethier

Thanksgiving Prayer

2009-06-09T20:27:00.001-07:00

On October 10, 1987, after I had cried for 24 hours because I was informed that my son had a very aggressive and advanced form of T-Cell leukemia, the pastor from my church gave me words of encouragement from the Bible. Little did I know that these words would become the foundation for my survival for the years to come:

Count it all Joy when you fall into various trials. Knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing" (James 1:2, NKJV).

As I read the words, I refused to accept them. I cried out loud and said, "There is no Joy in cancer, God. I have enough strength and courage. My faith been tested enough. Please, not now Lord, not when I am finally happy. I am in nursing school. You whispered to my soul, Lord, and said, "You will be a nurse". I am doing a good job. How could you let this happen to my son? He has leukemia and I don't want him to die. Please, not this in my life now.

One week later, on a Sunday evening as I rocked my baby whose blood was producing abnormal white blood cells on the ward that made little kids bald, I surrendered Jason's life to God. I said, "Thy will be done. He is in your hands. I will accept whatever lies ahead. He is your son. If you want him, Lord, you can have him. But I hope you let me mother him for a while."
Thank you, God, for the gift. I am still rocking my baby!
For ten years my son's fight for life has inspired me to love more. I have been able to look past the pain and to find Joy.

warm regards, Sheila Ethier

Journal from Count It All Joy

2009-06-09T15:19:00.000-07:00

Excerpt from Count It All Joy by Sheila Ethier

Monday, April 14, 1997

Today I awake with pain in my heart. I want to scream!

Instead I hug my puppy, T.J. I then spend 30 minutes on personal hygiene. I try to look good on the outside, hoping I will feel better on the inside.

As hard as I try to feed, clothe and entertain my children.... despite the many kind people who have shared their prayers and gifts with us, there remains a pain within me that I cannot escape. I will look for beauty, romance and Joy today.

I have the pleasure of driving Ashley and Michael to school. Ashley is 12 years old and fighting her second battle with leukemia. She was two years old when she was first diagnosed. Last summer, after camp, she wasn't feeling well, and the doctors found that the abnormal white blood cells had invaded her bone marrow once again. Ashley is very quiet and brave as she faces the challenges put before her. The least I can do is drive her and her brother Michael to school when her parents need help. The two of them have been a wonderful gift to me with their teasing and joking natures.

Friday, April 18, 1997

After many months of crying every day and wondering what was wrong with me, I asked my psychiatrist to explain my illness. He had to repeat the theory for me several times. I have a chemical imbalance in my brain caused by chronic stress, called major depression. His explanation helped me to accept the illness. I need to write his statement down every once in awhile, to help keep me focused.

My psychiatrist prescribed a new antidepressant called Effexor. It took about a year to find the right medication for me. I fought the idea that a pill would help me feel better. But with my doctor's explanation of a chemical imbalance and with my nursing background, I hung on to the theory that the imbalance might be corrected by medication.

I take my medication faithfully, hoping it will take away the pain in my heart, my face, my neck and my spine. I occupy my time with my puppy, gardening, walks and naps. Every waking moment, I look for "feel-good" opportunities. there seems to be no rhyme nor reason to my mood swings of calm or madness, of Joy or pain.

I accept the peace when it comes. I fight the pain and madness in my mind, body and soul by writing. I write letters, I send cards and I journal. I receive kind words from people who admire my strength and courage.

My psychiatrist wants me to go to group therapy. I say, "who has the time?" I am a single mom looking for a quiet, normal life with my two sons and puppy. Who will care for them? Who will drive Jason to medical appointments? Who will clothe them, feed them and entertain them? Who will keep them safe and happy? Who will drive me to therapy?

Wednesday, June 4, 1997

There is a vicious cycle of annoying agony in my mind. I spin the thoughts over and over again. Then I say, "Enough. When will it end? Maybe if I write the facts down on paper the thoughts won't be so bothersome."

Over a period of ten years, Jason has had leukemia and received nine toxic chemicals in his blood system, radiation to his brain and 30 or more back pokes to extract bone marrow from his hip and cerebral spinal fluid from his spine. Chemotherapy has also been injected into his spine to stop the leukemic cells from invading his brain.

The treatment was given every three weeks for two and a half years. The goal was to kill the cancerous white blood cells, but chemotherapy also destroys health cells. So within seven to ten days of this chemo treatment, he had a supressed bone marrow count. He would develop a fever and we would have to go to the hospital for a ten day course of IV antibiotics.

Throughout the two years of treatment, Jason also developed several bouts of pneumonia and one severe blood infection. In March 1990, he was finished his protocol of chemotherapy.

Three years after the treatment for cancer, Jason had a severe case of chicken pox that required hospitalization. It was determined that his immune system was weakened by the chemo and that IV antiviral drugs would be required to fight the chicken pox virus.

In the fall of 1995, Jason fell while skating and the blow to his head caused a four-inch skull fracture with bleeding to his brain. He was admitted to the pediatric intensive care unit.

The summer of 1996 brought the fire mishap. Jason was experimenting with fire and gasoline, and the results were catastrophic. My son was on fire. He had second and third-degree burns to his face, hands, abdomen and chest. His airway closed from the swollen tissues, and he developed pneumonia and his lungs filled with toxins and blood. He was on a ventilation machine in intensive care for two weeks. The burned skin peeled off and new skin from his thigh was applied to his abdomen.

Jason is a survivor of many life-threatening incidents. Today, he continues to be challenged by the brain injury from the radiation treatment and skull fracture from the fall. The brain injury manifests itself in the form of cognitive impairment and learning difficulties. Another long term side effect that is being monitored is heart damage from the chemotherapy. The heart damage can lead to congestive heart failure.

It is absolutely unimaginable how one young boy could suffer so much in such a short time. Maybe one day Jason can write his own story.

Thursday, June 5, 1997

I wonder what the normal recovery time is when people experience traumatic events. What are the physiological processes that occur in our bodies in reaction to stress? I remember learning in nursing school about stress and the body's adaptation response. I can't recall the details, but I feel the symptoms. That deep pain in your gut that can trigger nausea, spine-tingling fear and draining of energy from head to toe.

I experience these sensations almost daily as my mind takes me back to the traumatic events of my life. I try to erase the memories with thoughts of the happier times in my life. Today might be a rough day. I will try to keep myself busy and remain calm as I organize educational and medical appointments for Jason.

Yellow and White Striped Flannel Pajamas

2009-05-30T11:56:00.000-07:00

I have just realized that all of the entries I have written in my journal are leading up to the story of Jason's diagnosis with T-Cell Leukemia. I keep mentioning Jason's battle for life but I don't really feel strong enough to write about the story.
It is one thing to remember little pieces of the journey, the smell of the room on the unit in the hospital, the feel and shape of his little bald head and the feel of the yellow and white striped flannel pajamas as I rocked him to sleep while he was getting chemotherapy. The fleeting images are constant reminders and there is a story to tell but how do I find the right words to describe those days and how they crushed my spirit and continue to haunt my soul.
Yellow and white striped flannel pajamas can render me helpless and fill me with fear. Whenever I see them I return to those chemo days in 1987. They aren't pajamas you would find in a clothing store, they are hospital issue pajamas for children and they come in a variety of colors, green, yellow, blue and pink. Different colors for different sizes, I don't remember if the pink ones are for babies or teens. I do remember that yellow is the color for toddlers and that blue is the next size up. Jason wore the yellow pajamas for three years and for the last few months of treatment he wore the blue pajamas.
As I write this my stomach is feeling queasy, my eyes are moist with tears and my neck feels tense and achy. I stop writing, I look around the cafe and I get the sense that I should stop writing and try to read a book.
I do a walk about through Chapter's looking at all the books, all the stories. Which one is for me? I feel nervous about choosing a book. What if the story brings me pack to pain? What if the story speaks to my soul in a sad profound way? I am writing that story, I am living that story, and I don't really want to read about that sad awful story.
It is Boxing Day, and hard cover books are on sale. I choose a book I have been avoiding for weeks now, it's a book Oprah has selected for her book club. I have no doubt the book is well written and probably a good book to read but, I am afraid to read it.

More entries to follow. Leave a comment if you like. warm regards, Sheila Ethier

Blue Jay Days

2009-05-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

There is a new family in my neighborhood. Mr. and Mrs. Blue Jay moved in early this spring and built a new house in the Juniper just off my deck. As the slow days of spring settled in Mr. and Mrs. Blue Jay were busy adding twigs, grass and feathers to their nest. Each day we watched as the nest grew bigger and then they were gone. One day Mrs. Blue Jay was in the nest for long periods of time and Mr. Blue Jay was busy chasing away the Crow boys.

Two days ago I heard chirping sounds coming from the Juniper, I looked up and low and behold saw three little blue jay heads peaking out of the nest. The sight of this family of Blue Jays on my deck brings JOY to my soul. Thank you God for the blessings.
I hope there is something new in your neighborhood that can bring you JOY as well.
warm regards, Sheila Ethier