by Nanny Lowe
I awoke to the sounds of a household quite unlike my own. The voice of a
small child, the sound of a young man preparing breakfast, the soft
voice of a young woman engaged in a phone conversation, were all sounds
quite unlike that of my own home. Then the voice of the radio announcer
giving the traffic report of the ‘Deerfoot Trail’ slammed me back into
reality, making me aware that this was no dream, I was indeed back in my
daughters’ home in Calgary, Alberta, and not in my own home in Shoal
Harbour, Newfoundland. For a brief moment I lingered in that zone of
being awake and somewhat aware but not fully in the present. And to be
truthful I wished to stay there. But that was impossible. Work needed to
be done. Reality had to be accepted and life had to go on. It had
changed but it had to go on.
I prepared for the day; silently praying it would be better than
yesterday for my daughter. She was pale, still full of questions,
waiting for me to have our morning Ginger Ale together. Which we did.
Our lives and the comfort of our routines can change so abruptly. As a
mother, a daughter, a woman, and a nurse I knew exactly how it could be.
Now it was my turn to experience it. I had witnessed others going down
this road for years and years. Having experienced the good and the bad
of the human condition, being a student of human nature since childhood
into the days of being a new grandmother I knew that at some point my
turn would come. However knowing this did not lessen the blow, and the
shock and heartache are not diminished just because you know such things
can happen. The impact is the same as it is for any other who never
gives such things a thought. But we should always know that one day the
slings and arrows of outrageous fortune will aim at us, and we will reel
from the blow. We are adeptly geared by nature to accept the illness and
downhill health of our very elderly parents, but not our offspring. It
is hard to rebound from the shock.
A midnight phone call to our home in Shoal Harbour, Newfoundland from
Calgary, Alberta came just a week or so after we had returned from
holidays and a lovely Christmas in Calgary. We were visiting with our
twenty-eight year old daughter, son-in-law, three-year-old
granddaughter, with a two-day visit from our son as well. Little did we
know what lay ahead for us in the New Year, 2004. We had said our
farewells on January 9th, 2004, hating to go but looking ahead to
reuniting at a family wedding in the summer lessened the blow. The trip
home was uneventful and we all picked up where we left off before the
holidays and the e-mails and phone calls continued between us.
Then about ten days after returning home a late night phone call turned
our world upside down. Our daughter was ill. She was taken to the Peter
Lougheed Centre and after three days of uncertainty and experiencing
panic and anxiety, we were all given the diagnosis. Heather had
’Hodgkin's Lymphoma’. She was to start chemotherapy as soon as possible.
So without question I returned to Calgary to be with her and her family,
to lend support, to care for Kylee, to see that the household was
somewhat organized, that they had meals, that her fears were eased,
doing it all in the best way I know how. Balancing the Nurse and the
Mother, the Woman and Grandmother roles, and just doing anything
required. My heartache was and is beyond words.
Sitting with her in a room with seven other people receiving therapy of
different kinds, seeing a different side of the medical system, and
watching the pale faces of all the patients including my daughters is
heart wrenching. But they smile, make small talk, share their stories,
and it shows me a side of my daughter that makes me proud. She is strong
in her determination to win over this illness. She has just finished
reading the books on Lance Armstrong and Mario Lemieux who won over
their cancer and its’ treatment to go on to full and healthy lives. She
tells the others of these young men and how they persevered. She is
steadfast in her will to persevere also.
We take heart in statistics now, because we are a part of those
statistics. Hodgkin's Lymphoma has a high cure rate, Alberta has a
well-streamlined system for Cancer Clinics and treatment, the doctors
are caring and accessible, and the nurses skilled yet tender. Their
approach says “You will make it, you will be OK!” And we cling to that
in this time of distress.
We are on raft, feeling adrift in a confused sea. But I have a daughter
who is steering the course, with grit and determination. Her family,
friends, co-workers and neighbours are supportive. She continues to make
her plans, she continues to remain unwavering in the face of such
invasive treatments, and through her we take our lead. She will get
well, and we will be there to celebrate with her. Her courage in the
face of this sneak attack by a sinister enemy astounds me and gives me
strength to carry on.
Her medical office team leader said it best. He said with absolute
faith, “Heather, you will be well again. And always remember the only
thing permanent in life is change.”
He is so right. And it all can start with a simple phone call.
Godspeed my daughter as we ride the waves of these uncharted waters and
confused sea.
Advertising Information 
