Snow Day

"Is the school closed, mommy? Did we get lots of snow?" My daughter bounded down the stairs this morning, still in her pyjamas, optimism and hope oozing from every pore. Winter in southern Ontario has been MIA this year. Environment Canada had issued a winter storm warning for overnight, and teachers, children and the school custodian were all praying for a snow day. The snow came, but not in sufficient quantity to merit closing the school. School was business as usual.

I grew up in Montreal, and snow days were a part of life in a city where 3 feet of snow could fall over night. I can still remember sitting at the kitchen table to listen for school closures when I was a kid. "Baldwin-Cartier school board" was all I had to hear and I was set for the day. School was closed-time to play outside with my friends.

I remember one winter, either 1972 or 1973, that had so many snow storms that the snowbanks were almost to the roof-line. We were snowed in for 3 days because they couldn't get the plows out. Snow was up to my waist (now granted I was 9-10 but anyway) and people were skiing to get provisions. Now THAT was a snow event. I was surprised when I moved to Kitchener and they closed the schools for a couple of inches of snow. We could still walk, what was the problem?

 In  Montreal, there were machines that came around to cut back the snowbanks so people could see. We had a little sapling in the front yard, and my mother was a gardener. The force of the snow broke a branch, and I remember her standing in the snowbank with electrical tape, reinforcing the branch before allowing my dad to take her to the hospital with her asthma.

Our school had winter carnival every year, and there was a snow sculpture contest by classroom. Our class beat the whole school one year when we did Snoopy on his dog house, complete with Woodstock. Kids here don't usually have enough snow to do that.

My kid went to school today under protest. She will come home with sopping wet snowpants, mitts and tales of sliding down the hill at recess. It's all good.

New Blog "The Sandwich Chronicles"

I've started a new blog to help me deal with my added responsibilities as my mother battles dementia.
Come on over to The Sandwich Chronicles and visit.
I'll still be blogging here as well. I need to vent somewhere!
http://lisa-maccoll.blogspot.com/

Talking about Teen Suicide

In the Jan-Feb 2012 edition of Backpack Magazine, I have an article about talking to your teens about suicide. It's on p. 25. This article was one of the hardest things I ever wrote, and I'm really proud of it. One of my friends had the courage to tell her story. We were friends when she attempted suicide, and I had no idea she was considering it until she did.

Secondly, when I was 17. I was suicidal myself. I tried swallowing a bunch of pills, but my stomach rebelled. It gets better. It's hard to see that when you're mired in despair, but it gets better.

http://virtual.recorder.ca/doc/Brockville-Recorder-and-Times/jan-feb_backpack2012/2012010601/#0

Happy New Year!

It's a new year, and time to take stock. Since I just finished reading Gretchen Rubin's "The Happiness Project" (a book I highly recommend), my stock-taking has been inspired by some of the suggestions from Rubin.

Many of Rubin's points resonated with me, but one in particular was implemented at once. "Do anything that takes less than a minute to do." You know, things like file the paper, hang the coat in the closet, put something away in the cupboard instead of leaving it on the counter-all those niggling little jobs that can add up to a big pile of stuff on the kitchen table, the stairs or the counter. It has also proved to be a way of dealing with little annoyances-instead of complaining about leaving something on the counter, we now  "Request the 1 minute rule." Recycling now gets placed directly into the blue bin rather than left on the counter, Keurig pods are no longer left on the counter in front of the machine, and junk mail is dealt with immediately. Coats are hung up, mitts are put in the cupboard and cupboard doors and drawers are closed.

I've been taking care of everyone else lately, to the detriment of my own health and well-being. I have now started to fit in joy-writing every day, I'm finding time for things that rejuvenate my spirit, even if it's 10 minutes of knitting and watching junk television while my sub-conscious works away on the next task. I need to read at the end of the day-it turns off my head and relaxes me. If I need to go to bed 20 minutes early to accomplish that, so be it.  I'm also going to make sure my Playbook is always fully charged so that I can access Kobo when I'm waiting. My daughter may have to make do with Angry Birds on the iPod. Mommy is reading.

I've started running a laundry list of things I'm grateful for at the end of the day as I'm preparing for bed. Instead of thinking about everything that didn't get done, or needs to be done the next day, I spend a few moments reflecting on the good things in my life, even if it's for something as mundane as books, flannel jammies and a purring cat in a warm house with food and water. Reflecting on the positive helps keep the negative goonies at bay.

Here are some other things I want to be better at in 2012, in no particular order:

Don't be afraid to ask for help.  I will help anyone who asks, but I've always taken care of my own problems, thank you. A wise friend of mine once pointed out that by refusing to ask for help, I was depriving people of the opportunity to return the favour. I need to be more aware of that this year.

Sometimes it's okay to be selfish. Moms will get this. Sometimes, you just need to run away and do something completely selfish that is just for you. Earlier this year, I ran away to Stratford for an entire, glorious day and evening. I went to two of my favorite musicals by nyself, took myself out for dinner and came back restored, having fed my soul for a day.  

Cut myself the same slack I give others. I'm really demanding of myself. I'm much more forgiving of others' mistakes. I need to cut myself some slack.

The world will not end if I say no to commitments.  I juggle a lot of hats and a lot of responsibilities. This year, I need to be more judicious about choosing what I add on to an already full plate. The world will not end if I make rice krispies squares instead of sugar cookies to send with the kid for school. (I am not willing to push the limit so far that I actually BUY something rather than bake something. Not this year, anyway. )

So what are your promises to yourself for 2012?

Snowpants

According to my 6 year old child, I am the worst mother EVER....You see, I made her take snowpants to school today, AND I expect her to wear them.  And worse than that, they are navy blue snowpants, and don't confuse her with the fact that her snowsuit is navy blue and pink...navy blue are boy pants, apparently. So not only am I FORCING her to wear snowpants in the snow to keep her dry and warm, I'm dressing her in a boy colour, in something that makes her legs look fat. Serious mom fail.

On a certain level, I understand where she's coming from, because I remember. In particular, I remember a week-long school ski trip to Belle Neige resort when I was in grade 6 in Quebec. My mom really didn't know from skiing or ski wear, but she was positive that you only wore tights under snowpants, so she went ahead and packed all my jeans for the trip, a fact I didn't discover until it was time to leave. I had to wear tights with snowpants on the bus, and then pretend that I had to go use the bathroom as soon as we got to the room, so the rest of the girls didn't know that I was a dork who didn't know enough to wear jeans under the snow pants. I had to sneak a pair of jeans from the suitcase and smuggle it to the bathroom so I could get out of the snowpants. I still remember the embarassment and humiliation. I understand the snowpants aversion.

My kid's been having problems with another little boy in the class. There have been contributions from both sides equally, but from what I understand, my daughter has stopped, but the little boy has continued, occasionally enlisting the aid of some followers in the class. They have made fun of my daughter's lunch, her clothes, her drawing...and now, her snowpants. She's sensitive and has anxiety issues. I sent her to school with bright pink snowpants yesterday that are still a bit big, but they were PINK. They came home suspiciously clean for the state of the schoolyard, and she admitted this morning that she didn't wear them because she thought they would be too big. When I hauled the navy ones out instead this morning, she pitched a fit for the pink ones, and the fit then continued all the way into school.

School is tough for kids, and something like getting picked on for snowpants isn't a big deal in hindsight, but it sure is a big deal when you're 6. I guess I'll have to find some girly-girl snowpants if I have any hope of keeping her warm and dry this winter. I'm still drying the boots and the socks from yesterday.

And since I walk her to school when I'm able,. I have snowpants. They're navy. They just might be boy ones. They DO make my legs look fat. But I'm warm and dry, and I've learned that warm and dry and frumpy trumps styling and freezing every time.

I sent my daughter to school with snowpants today. She thinks I'm the worst mother in the world. I can own that...

Lessons from the Cancer Centre

Since mid-October, I've spent every weekday morning sitting in the regional cancer centre while my mom has radiation for squamous cell carcinoma that didn't take the hint and go away surgically. While it can be a tough place to hang out, because reality tends to stare you in the face, it's also a good place for basic reminders on the importance of little things in our lives. Here's what I learned:

• We are stronger together. When you hang out in the cancer centre, there aren't alot of secrets. Either you are fighting cancer yourself, or you are supporting someone who is fighting cancer. You don't have to make excuses why you are there, or go into detailed explanations. Cancer is the great equalizer, and there's something strangely comforting about the solidarity that builds as you start to recognize the same faces every day. Race, creed, belief, age, gender and sex don't matter. Cancer attacks everyone equally.
• Do unto others. The second day of mom's treatment, two of the gentlemen, and I use that in the truest sense of the word, shared information about the designated parking area and a monthly parking pass. Having this small piece of information took away two big stressors in my mom's daily journey. I have since passed the information on to others. None of us heard it from hospital administration (although hopefully that will change after my battle with the bureacracy over a parking permit)-it came from fellow patients. 
• Small things matter.  Small things can make a big difference when you're facing a nasty adversary. Patients receive a printout of all their appointments on the first day, so you can see the journey ahead, and you know what you are doing and when. Changing an appointment is not a hassle. There are lockers with keys that patients can use if they need to change into hospital gowns. The main waiting area for radiation has coffee and tea and comfortable chairs. Volunteers restock the magazines on a regular basis. 
• You have a name. Once you get into the treatment areas, you are not a chart. You are a person with a name, and people remember you and ask about you. They remember if you have a family, or grandchildren, they compliment you on a scarf or an outfit, and they treat you with respect. Efficiency does not have to be rude.
• Courage wears many faces. I interviewed Dr Craig McFadyen, surgeon and Regional VP of the Grand River Regional Cancer Centre a few months ago for an article about the Cancer Centre that unfortunately died  when Waterloo Openfile.ca was tanked. He said that he was always humbled and inspired by the courage of the patients fighting cancer. “Every day you see extraordinary examples of courage in the Centre. Cancer is a tough enemy and we use things that can hurt you to cure you. The perseverance that people have to continue on and keep fighting inspires me every day.” 

God bless the patients, the caregivers and the families. Together we are stronger.

The Silo Mentality

I've just spent the last few days running through bureaucratic hurdles to get a piece of paper that is now sitting on the dashboard of my car. What should have been a simple process turned into a 3 day, blood pressure increasing, stress inducing nightmare because too many people were caught into a "not my job" mentality.

In a nutshell, here's what happened. Since the middle of October, I have spent every weekday morning at the Grand River Regional Cancer Centre with my mom as she has radiation for recurrent sqamous cell carcinoma. It's a particularly nasty and rapid growing skin cancer that has a habit of spreading elsewhere if you don't deal with it. Since it's been surgically evicted 4 times and came back, this time the surgeon suggested frying it instead.

Parking at the hospital is tricky and expensive. On the second day of treatment, two of the patients in the radiation centre told us about the designated parking area for outpatient oncology, and about a monthly parking pass which worked out much cheaper than paying by the day. My mom can't walk very far, and since the radiation has progressed, some days she's holding on to my arm for dear life. Having a designated area and the parking pass took one less stress away on what has been a tough grind. We have 6 appointments to go, and I still have to convince her 3 days out of 5 to tough it out and finish.

Everything went along smoothly until last Thursday. We were running a bit late and arrived in the designated parking area, only to encounter a security guard who was issuing tickets right, left and centre. I pulled out mom's schedule to show that she had daily radiation, only to be informed that I needed a permit to park in the area, and if I remained, he would ticket me $25. It was the first I'd heard of a permit. All of the spots in the area were designated for outpatient renal and oncology patients. Most of the spots required permits, but not all of them did, and I was always careful to park in ones that were not permit designated. When I told him if I moved my car, my mother would be late, he pointed out that it wasn't his problem we were running late, but I couldn't stay there. I asked him where to get one of these permits, because it was the first I'd heard of it, and he told me to go wherever she was having treatment, but "he didn't work in that area and it wasn't his problem." I sent mom ahead, praying she got there without tripping (she almost did.) and moved my car.

I asked at one desk and was told I needed to go to a different desk. I asked at THAT desk and was told to go back to the first desk. I asked about the parking permit and was told that the permits were only for patients who drove themselves, so my mother wouldn't qualify. I could either "drop her at the door" or she would have to walk from wherever in the parking lot. When I questioned the policy, and I'll state for the record that I was a tad irate and angry at this point, the person I was talking to refused to talk to me any further, and another person helpfully waved a piece of paper with the policy on it under my nose. I was so angry I was incoherent and shaking, my mom was stressed, and so we left.

I then fired off a complaint letter. When it wasn't answered, I contacted someone that I had dealt with when I wrote a story about the centre for the now dead OpenFile Waterloo Region. Five minutes after I contacted THAT person,I got a phone call, followed by another phone call. After I outlined what had happened, including the lack of communication and the disconnects, I received the permit, which is all I was trying to get in the first place. Turns out, the policy had been misinterpreted somewhere down the line.

Policies and rules are in place for a reason. However, there are larger rules that trump any piece of paper, and those are "do unto others..." and "use common sense."  Common sense seems to be sorely lacking these days. I remember having conversations with a lifelong friend of mine when she was going through the Customs College at Rigaud, QC, on her way to be a border guard. I told her that there was no substitute for common sense on the line. For example, back when I worked at Passenger Ops at Toronto's Pearson Airport, we would often have a flight from Florida arrive around the same time as a flight from a drug-source country. According to the letter of the law, anyone who had bought more than they were supposed to were legally required to pay duties and taxes. So you could tie up the customs hall charging people $20-$30 extra dollars because they bought the bag of oranges and the mouse ears, or you could concentrate your efforts on the high risk flight.It's all about choices, and sometimes common sense trumps legislation.

"Not my job" and "not my department" seems to be common responses these days, and nothing can escalate a situation faster than being shuffled around from place to place. While it may be true that the situation is not in the job description, taking a couple of minutes to help out another human being is in our life job description. How different would life be if we didn't need a "random act of kindness" day because we were all just looking out for each other. 

Hopefully, my battle with bureacracy will help some other cancer patient or family member down the line. We're all in this life together.