Tuning Out...

It must be a sign of age that I've started to be very sensitive about what my eyes see and my ears hear. When I was younger, I used to avoid horror movies. They seemed to slither into my subconscious, their raking claws and glowing red eyes appearing when least expected. Usually at 3:17 a.m. when I was all alone and in the dark. Eventually, this avoidance progressed to movies with any kind of cruelty or abuse to animal or human. Then it evolved to include even a good suspense. Now I watch mostly animated movies with the odd rom com and special effects superhero movie tossed into the mix. Some might think me a bore. But I've come to embrace my delicate psyche. 

Recently, I've noticed this fragility has expanded to include my sense of hearing. When I first moved to this area nearly twenty years ago, I listened to EZ Rock 104.9. They played music from the seventies, eighties and today, which happened to be the nineties back then. Great tunes. Easy on the ears. I even enjoyed the banter between the early morning hosts. My listening life was good. Then someone mentioned a new station called, Magic 99. I abandoned tried and true for new. Their programming was similar to EZ Rock so I settled in to their wavelength. I even won Leonard Cohen tickets and his complete CD set through one of their contests. Life was humming along. Until suddenly, without notice, they became UP 99. I didn't like what I heard so I said, "Up yours.", and tuned out. 

I searched the dial and eventually found Lite 95.7. Jamie and Dan, a young married couple hosted the morning show. I liked how they talked about life and what it's like to be a couple, have kids, work together, juggle everything. I joined them on Facebook and often commented on their posts. Once again, my listening life was good and I was content. Then in January of this year, without warning, Lite 95.7 became CRUZ 95.7. Gone were the familiar deejays and playlists. I was incensed. How could they??? I was in search once again. Press seek and ye shall find. 

I tried Capital FM with Rob and Audie. As much as I enjoy the oldies, that's not all I want to hear. I tried CISN but I can't overdose on country either. I even tried CBC. Gack!!! So I tuned in to 104.9 again, hoping to find an old friend. Instead, I found Virgin radio. The morning show is hosted by Dylan and Pepper. That should've been my first clue. They talk about commuter dating and when was your 'first time'. If you're a virgin when you started listening, you won't be for long. Ryan Seacrest provides some reprieve from ten until two but he's miles away from where I am and what matters to me. The playlist is a little edgier too and I'm not fond of rap. So once again, I'm left without a station to call home. 


Mornings will be quiet. Maybe I'll do some yoga and write more. Goodness knows I could use the practice in both. But wait. I hear there's a new station in town. It's called, Fresh 92.5. An optimist by nature, I should give them a try, see what they're all about. If I don't get Fresh, I might have to dole out some cash and get Sirius. 

An Unlikely Friendship...

I have this ache. Sometimes it’s like a knot stuck in a spot that makes it tough to swallow. Other times it feels soft and watery and makes it hard to speak. The first time I noticed it was when I was sixteen and abruptly left home. I didn’t realize until then the power of heartstrings. I was so young, a new bride and I needed my Mom. But circumstances prevented us from communicating. The resulting ache had a mind of its own and made for tear-filled nights and leaden bed-covers every morning. 

I lived with that ache for almost a year before Mom and I were finally reunited. Our meetings were clandestine; stolen moments in her yard on a sunny afternoon or Saturday’s at Kresge’s lunch counter. Sometimes we met over laundry and folded and talked. She wasn't just my mother she was my best friend.

I did have other best friends. I still do. Two of them - so precious now because they’ve known me for a lifetime. But back then, they were going to school and dating. I was married and working full time. We just didn’t have as much in common. When I was excited about getting a vacuum cleaner for Christmas that first year they thought I’d lost a screw. Thankfully, the years have been kind to the three of us and we remain as close as sisters. But miles separate us and the ache insists I visit at least twice a year. The ache is nothing if not persistent.

Recently the ache has plucked a forgotten friend from memory and danced her through my heart’s corridors. We became friends through our spouses and that friendship kept us sane when our lives were less so. We traveled as couples. Even better we traveled as friends. But best of all we saw each other every day. We talked on the phone. We walked. We laughed. We shared everything. She was my rock after I gave birth to a breakable baby and a comfort when I lost precious family members. She was the sole witness to my crumbling marriage and even provided a safe haven when it ended. 

I lost custody of so much in that ordeal. My children, my home, my belongings. But in retrospect, one of the greatest losses was that friendship. Neither one of us realized it was chattel. The continuation of our friendship was not mutually beneficial because circumstances made it uncomfortable. So it was severed. Like a rotting appendage.

It’s been nearly twenty years and I still miss her like I would my right arm. I realize now that I took our friendship for granted. I was cavalier in thinking I’d make another friendship just like it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made acquaintances I thought were friends, and I have arm’s length friends and people I consider friends, but not the true-blue kind, like the one I had but lost. Maybe I’m too needy or expect too much. It could be I was just lucky to ever have found that ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ friend. 

Mom told me that it wasn’t easy to find a good friend as you got older. She was right. People have their families and well established friendships by the time they reach middle age. Demands on life and time just don’t make new friendships feasible or practical. I get that. The ache doesn’t. It’s a bit thick as aches go. It’s also moody, demanding and a royal pain. It’s always there, replaying fond memories, making me laugh, reminiscing. 

I can’t imagine life without it.

The Best Match...

Sometimes in life you get the opportunity to do something really good for someone else; to make a difference to the human family. I was lucky enough to do that. Today marks the sixth anniversary of my unrelated stem cell donation. It's an experience I will never forget. One that connected me with someone I would never meet, yet with whom I would share my precious DNA. It made the world smaller and my knowledge of what matters most, greater. This is my story.

I registered with the international stem cell donation network OneMatch, shortly after I moved to Edmonton in 1996. I attended a lunch and learn session at work and was impressed by the speaker's account of her own experience as a stem cell donor. I thought, 'how cool would that be to have the chance to save someone's life'. So my name sat in the database - waiting. 

In mid-June of 2007, I was navigating rush hour traffic when a seemingly random thought popped into my head, 'I wonder if OneMatch will ever call me?'. At the beginning of July, not two weeks later, they did. I was a potential match out of three candidates. They asked if I was still interested in being a donor. Of course I was interested! I told the caseworker right then, they needn't look further - I knew it would be me. The standard qualification process began. 

I was interviewed and sent for blood work. Once again, I waited. Finally, on November twentieth I was advised that I was indeed, the best match for the recipient. Blood stem cells were required by the recipient and the risks and collection process were explained to me. I would be required to administer growth hormone (GCSF) injections for five days prior to the donation in order to generate enough stems cells for the recipient. The over production of stems cells would likely cause me some discomfort and flu-like symptoms. The stem cells would be harvested via apheresis which involves removal of whole blood using an instrument designed as a centrifuge. The desired cells are extracted and what remains is re-transfused. I was told this would take four to five hours. A physical, more blood tests and in depth interviews followed.

At every juncture the caseworker asked if I was still willing to donate. Just a few weeks prior to the donation when the recipient was in isolation undergoing a radical treatment to destroy his/her immune system to enable his/her body to accept the donor stem cells, she asked again. She informed me that if I changed my mind now, they wouldn't survive. But still, the choice was mine. I forged ahead.

On January fourth, 2008 I caught the train to the University Hospital where I picked up the supply of growth hormone. The pharmacist handed it to me in a paper bag and said, "Look both ways when you cross the street, the contents of that bag are worth about sixty grand." I mustered a weak smile and thanked him. From there I walked gingerly to the Cross Cancer Institute for a self-injection tutorial and my first dose of GCSF.

I arrived around eleven a.m. and was directed to the chemotherapy area. There was no vacancy. Every seat was occupied. All of these people were in various stages of treatment for a life-threatening illness. I thought of my recipient and everything they must've gone through to battle their disease. Now I was their last hope and it was humbling. I felt more than a little overwhelmed. The nurse assigned to show me the ropes quickly found me a seat and my tutorial began. Thankfully, she was both patient and thorough. By twelve fifteen p.m. I had administered my first injection. I thanked the nurse, bundled myself up against the winter weather and headed back to the train. 

As I walked I began to experience a tingling sensation throughout my body and my mouth felt peculiar. By the time I boarded the train my neck felt stiff. I wasn't sure if these symptoms were real or imagined. When I left work at the end of the day, my legs felt like I'd had a rigorous workout. I ate supper, had a nap and awoke with a tremendous headache. The flu-like symptoms were upon me. 

Over the next few days between injections, I tried to maintain a normal routine. I shopped, got a haircut, even hosted a family dinner. The less I sat still, the better I felt. On walks my mind drifted to the recipient; what they'd gone through, what their age and gender was, whether they were married or single, if they had children, where they lived, was English their first language, what their passion might be. I knew nothing about them. All I really knew for certain was, they wanted to live. I felt the depth of responsibility as the bearer of such hope for this stranger and his/her family. I prayed for all of us and asked legions of angels to gather.

The day before I was scheduled to donate my stem cells I had to have another blood test to ensure I was producing adequately. The results showed I would need an additional injection. The extra dose put the flu-like symptoms over the top.

On the morning of January eighth, donation day, I could barely move. To stand from a sitting position and vice verse caused a pulsing pain in my large bones that took my breath away. My sister-in-law escorted me to the Cross Cancer Institute and deposited me in the expert hands of two nurses who took more blood to check my white cell count and the ratio of stem cells in my blood stream. They took my vitals and had me complete a standard questionnaire. Then, laying in a hospital bed with both arms outstretched on supports they connected the apheresis. The long needles were uncomfortable at first but I tried not to think about it. An anti-coagulant was administered to keep my blood from clotting. This leaches calcium from the body and soon I felt myself vibrating uncomfortably as a result. The nurses tried everything to boost my calcium. Ice cream, milk, copious amounts of Tums, but it was to no avail. So they quickly started an IV drip of calcium to counteract the symptoms or the donation would be halted. It was a moment of peril. Thankfully, the IV was successful.

Throughout the day the two nurses who cared for me and monitored my progress and the apheresis, scratched my nose, fed me the most delicious chicken pot pie I'd ever tasted, kept me hydrated and cheered me on. While they administered to me I didn’t move. They offered me a bathroom break but I declined. I didn’t want to do anything to risk the process. I’d had weeks of bladder training and it paid off. Seven hours later, the countdown began until the indicator on the apheresis showed we had reached the number of stem cells required. We counted out loud. At the golden moment, we cheered and cried. The nurses secured the donation and disconnected me from the apheresis. Another nurse came in to whisk the donation off to the waiting courier. The room spun when I was finally helped up. I tried to scratch my nose, but I couldn’t will my arm to bend. 

On January ninth while I recuperated at home, the recipient received all four hundred million of my stems cells. I took the time to complete the post-donation questionnaire, signed the consent form for a second donation, if needed, and enclosed an anonymous letter to the recipient with my best wishes. A few weeks later I received an anonymous letter in return, telling me how well the donation had gone and how grateful they were. We were all so hopeful. If the recipient survived for one year following the donation, we could meet if we chose. Sadly, they succumbed to their illness within that year. To console me, the caseworker who called, told me that I'd given them the most precious gift of all - the gift of time.

Aside from giving birth, caring for my aging parents, and jury duty, donating stem cells has been one of the most rewarding things I've ever done. I learned so much about myself and what I value in life. I also learned a lot about stem cell donation. For example;

• Family members are not always the best match. 
• It's important that people of all ethnic origins register with OneMatch 
• The recipient and donor must share the same ethnicity. 
• Whether blood stem cells or bone stem cells are required is determined by the illness. 
• After age fifty registrants are put on an inactive list. I was forty-nine when I donated.

Since donating, I’ve had to make one small adjustment. Every year, for the rest of my life, I am required to have a precautionary blood test because of the use of GCSF. OneMatch sends me a friendly reminder. It’s a small price to pay. 

They say you can't buy time - but sometimes you can give it away. 

Me and my 400,000,000 stem cells
1-888-TODONATE