The School Nurse Calls

I got a call this morning from the school nurse.  While "There's nothing wrong with either of your children..." is always a good way to start the call, when that's followed by "but", you hold your breath, swallow the lump in your throat, and wait for her to finish.

"...but I just got Catherine's medical form here in the office and I see that she has a history of seizures."

Although Cathy's history is never far from my mind, I am never certain how much of it I need to share.  She's been off her anticonvulsant for nearly two years now; the risk of a break-through seizure is minimal.  But, I included it in her health history anyway.  I wrote instructions detailing what needed to be done in the very unlikely event that she should have a seizure during the school day and I emailed Cathy's kindergarten teacher to make her aware of the situation. 

The nurse and I talked about the type of seizures Cathy had, the duration, the treatment, when they began, when she had her last one.  Without hesitation, I told her September 26, 2006.  Reflecting back, it's sometimes hard to believe that it's been almost five years since I last watched my little girl
have one.  While at the time it felt like the end of the world, it wasn't. 

I've been following a blog by Mary Tyler Mom (not her real name).  Because September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, Mary Tyler Mom has posted daily (each post covers one month in time), reliving the 31 months her daughter, Donna, was treated for papillary meningioma, an aggressive brain tumor.  In her very first post, she shares that Donna's story does not end with happily ever after.  And yet I am captivated by the story, by a family's struggle with something so deeply personal and heartbreaking, by the extraordinary courage with which they face and publicly share it. 

Every time I finish another chapter of Donna's story, I am reminded how fortunate we really are.  Our story ends well, every day.   Cathy gets on the school bus every morning and comes home every afternoon.  She's excited to be learning the Pledge of Allegiance.  She enjoys recess, P.E., and lunch.  She's learning sign language.  But most importantly, every night, I can hold her in my arms.  I feel blessed.

Were her seizures scary?  Of course.  Did we worry when testing began that the doctors would find something unimaginable?  Absolutely.  But I can look back on it now with a perspective I didn't have five years ago.

And, stories like Donna's remind me that every day is a gift.  Thanks, Mary Tyler Mom, for sharing.