Zach Sobiech was already gone by the time I found out he existed, which means I’ll never get to thank him for the reminder he gave me – and so many others – about attitude and life.
It was late Tuesday night when I came across his story. Two Green Bay Packers players – offensive lineman Greg Van Roten and rookie cornerback Micah Hyde – had Tweeted links to a 22-minute Soul Pancake mini-documentary about Sobiech, whom I'd later learn had died Monday. Even though it was approaching midnight and I still had more to write about the Packers’ first open full-squad practice of the offseason, I clicked. (The video is posted below. You will cry.)
Now, one of the occupational hazards of keeping Twitter open as I write is that it is a distraction waiting to happen. Earlier tonight, for example, I found myself watching a clip of comedian Frank Caliendo impersonating ESPN NFL Draft analyst Mel Kiper Jr., which led to me watching a clip of Caliendo’s send-up of Jon Gruden’s quarterback school, which led me to Caliendo as Jim Rome and Mike Ditka. Which meant I’d just wasted almost 15 minutes I should’ve been spending on my story about the Packers’ safety position.
The time I spent watching Sobiech’s story was anything but a waste.
The day before, I had been interviewing Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers for a story for the annual Packers Yearbook on his relationship with Midwest Athletes Against Childhood Cancer, and after we were finished, I’d mentioned that someone had emailed me recently saying that his It’s Aaron videos, in which Rodgers spends a day with three different MACC Fund kids, were self-serving.
It led to a conversation about attitudes. The quarterback is a smart, deep guy, and he talked about scientific studies of emotions and brainwaves and insisted that the one thing we all can choose to do each morning is decide what kind of attitude we’re going to have that day. Many of us choose to be positive and optimistic. Some of us go the other way.
And then, there was Zach Sobiech. Inspiring seems like too small and inconsequential a word to capture his spirit, considering the impact he’s had on total strangers like me and clearly on those closest to him.
Diagnosed with osteosarcoma – a rare cancerous bone tumor that develops in children, most frequently teenagers and adolescents – in 2009, he underwent multiple surgeries and rounds of chemotherapy before being told in May 2012 that the cancer had spread and was terminal. Sobiech, who turned 18 on May 3, turned to music and wrote the song “Clouds,” which became a YouTube sensation. His story went far beyond the Twin Cities, with CNN, Billboard Magazine and other news outlets featuring him.
Based on the YouTube video and a lengthy takeout on him in the Minneapolis Star-Tribune by Jeff Strickler, Sobiech was “upbeat, optimistic and fun” before his diagnosis. On his CaringBridge site, he was described as being “the same joyful soul he has always been.” Even “Clouds,” which contains some dark lyrics, is sung as an upbeat, bubblegum pop ditty that doesn’t feel like a sad farewell.
So it was on Wednesday morning that “Clouds” was playing on my laptop in our kitchen. I do a fair amount of writing at the counter, which keeps me in the mix for when our daughters Madison and Sydney do something fun. (Or, as has been the case of late, naughty.) The girls heard the song, and Maddie quickly asked, “Dad, what are you listening to?” She and Sydney didn’t wait for an answer, heading straight for their dress-up bin. Unhappy with their options there, they emerged a few minutes later with their nice dresses, which they’re set to wear to a wedding on Saturday.
An impromptu dance recital ensued, which of course required a restart of the song. But it didn’t end there. The show turned into a lesson, with Madison telling me to follow her instructions and learn several of the moves she’s picked up in her 3-year-old YMCA dance class. So here I was, in the middle of our kitchen, doing plies and Bourrée turns in boxers and a t-shirt. I was wiping tears off my cheeks when the girls requested the song be played again. And again. And again.
It was one of those incredible dad moments I cherish, especially with the knowledge of how quickly such moments can be taken from us.
Our involvement with the MACC Fund and Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin has led us to meet some incredible kids – most of them success stories. And after having our own scare with Sydney – the uncertain time we spent waiting to get test results on whether she had Leukemia or something far less daunting was the worst time of my life – helped give us even greater perspective than we already had.
But that perspective always needs reinforcement, and Zach Sobiech delivered more than anyone could ask for in that department. At the beginning of the Soul Pancake video, he says, “You don’t have to find out you’re dying to start living.” He’s right. At the end, he says, “It’s really simple, actually. It’s just, try and make people happy.” And he’s right about that, too.
I hope we all can live the way he did. I feel like I owe it to him. It's the least I can do.
The one television show from my formative years that had the greatest impact on me was Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. As much as I loved Ernie and Bert and Big Bird and the Sesame Street gang, it was the soft-spoken, thoughtful Fred Rogers who reinforced on a daily basis the importance of being considerate and kind, about believing the best in people. The show helped me develop my imagination – with daily trips to the Land of Make Believe, where Daniel Striped Tiger, X the Owl, King Friday XIII, Henrietta Pussycat and Lady Elaine Fairchilde lived – and amplified the lessons my parents taught me.
In short, the show helped make me want to be the best me I could be. I’d like to believe that those who know me best would say that I live my life in a way today that exhibits the lessons I learned then.
Since Madison and Sydney arrived in our house, PBS Kids has been a TV staple. While we try to limit their TV time, we also believe that certain shows’ educational value makes them well worth the time to watch. And the show we absolutely love in our house these days is Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood.
Raving has never been my forte. For instance, on those rare occasions these days when we find a babysitter and go out to dinner, Paula has stopped asking me how my entrée was, since she knows the refrain. (“It was OK.”) The way I figure it, it makes those times when I am enthusiastic about something actually mean something. And I couldn’t be more effusive in my praise for Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. (After all, it even got me to write something for my long-neglected parenting blog.)
What I find remarkable about the show is how applicable it is to our daily life with a pair of toddlers. Because Madison and Sydney are only 14 months apart – and Sydney is hell-bent on catching up to her big sister in every way, oblivious to the age difference – they can be an overwhelming duo. But they are also at those fun ages where every day is an adventure in learning and growing, and as a parent, I find that exhilarating. (And, admittedly, sometimes exasperating.) My good intentions to spend more time writing about parenting have been overwhelmed by the time-consuming challenges of parenting. (That, and folks are more interested in the Packers than my parenting travails.) But many of those challenging parenting moments are addressed on the show.
For instance, Sydney has faced her share of health challenges over the past year (as I have written about previously), and Daniel’s trip to the doctor proved helpful as we tried to reduce the fear factor. (Disney Junior’s Doc McStuffins has also helped.) But it’s in the everyday lessons that the show teaches where Fred Rogers’ ethos shines through, with his teachings as an ever-present driving force behind the show.
The other aspect of Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood I enjoy is the brief musical ditty that accompanies every life lesson. (Those who hear me warbling bad karaoke on the radio on a semi-regular basis understand why that would be important to me.)
As Sydney follows in Maddie’s potty-training footsteps, the familiar refrain of When you have to go potty, stop – and go right away is heard a lot around our house. When there are daily sisterly disagreements over sharing and taking turns, either Find a way to play … together or You can take a turn, and then I’ll get it back is sung. When someone is upset by something, they are reminded that, When something seems bad, turn it around – and find something good. And in the constant process of reminding the girls to use their manners, Thank you for everything you do is the song of choice. And yes, the songs are catchy enough that I can be heard singing them even when the girls aren’t with me.
Having grown up on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, watching Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood with the girls brings back a rush of memories for me. The characters I remember have been replaced by their descendants, Prince Wednesday, Katerina Kittycat, O the Owl and Miss Elaina. (Although Mr. McFeely does make a surprise cameo.) I love that Daniel talks to the girls the same way Mister Rogers talked to me, breaking through the fourth wall. And there’s even an episode in which Daniel takes a trip to the crayon factory, which I still remember Mr. Rogers doing when I was 9. (Having a brother five years younger kept me watching the show even after I’d seemingly outgrown it.) I find myself looking forward to new episodes the way my grown-up friends get excited about the next Game of Thrones episode on HBO.
While my degree from UW-Madison is in journalism, I took as many child development electives as I could, not only because I spent many of my high-school and college years working with kids (coaching t-ball at the YMCA, working as a playground supervisor for the city of Greenfield) but because being a dad was something I wanted to be for the longest time. (It only took me until I was 37 for it to happen.) I am learning more about kids every day – and am frequently reminded of how little I know about them or about parenting – but if there’s a more effective way to teach kids these lessons than Daniel Tiger’s approach, I have yet to see it.
More veteran parents have told me repeatedly that this job will only get harder. Bigger kids, bigger problems, they say. And I believe them. (Watching the neighbors’ 15-year-old freshman son and two of his buddies chop down a towering tree this afternoon reminded me of how dumb we all are during our teenage years.) I can only hope Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood tackles learning to drive, overcoming peer pressure and prom night when I need them to.
Until then, we will continue to learn that Grownups come back, that Friends help each other, yes they doand that When you feel so mad that you want to ROAR, Take a deep breath and count to four. 1…2…3…4…
One of my all-time favorite movies is Big, with Tom Hanks. I was 16 when it came out in 1988, I saw it in the theater, and as I watched Hanks’ career take off, I always believed it was exactly the right role at exactly the right time for him.
I also could identify with his character, Josh Baskin. I had always wanted to be older than I actually was – as opposed to now, at 40, when I want to be younger than I actually am – and so Josh’s desire to accelerate growing up was something I felt, too.
During our recent trip to Florida, we day-tripped to Winter Haven and a wonderful place called LEGOLand Florida. Madison took a liking to LEGO early on – unlike her sister Sydney, who never met a choking hazard she didn’t try to ingest – and was very excited about our visit, even though the park is geared toward kids older than 2.
Despite some bad luck weather-wise – your typically inconvenient impending afternoon Florida thunderstorm – the early part of our visit went swimmingly. Maddie was impressed with the various oversized LEGO creations (she tried to take apart the dinosaur at the front entrance) and seemed to dig the cityscapes of San Francisco, New York, Las Vegas and Washington, D.C., in Mini Land USA (although she felt they would have been more fun if she had been allowed to stomp through them, Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man-style).
Madison is also an accomplished merry-go-round rider, having sampled the circular stylings of roughly a dozen carousels in her young life. The double-decker carousel at LEGOLand may very well have been her all-time favorite, given that after the rain stopped, she willingly and patiently stood at the front of the line at the carousel while the staff squeegeed off the rainwater to make it safe for riding again. We rode six more times before our departure.
Then again, and much to the chagrin of my inner Josh Baskin, it was also one of the few rides Maddie was allowed on.
Now, Madison is 2, and while her parents are convinced that she is well ahead of the developmental curve, she also has the misfortune to have been born to two diminutive parents. She checks in at a towering 33 inches tall, which according to the rules of LEGOLand, is three inches too short for most of their rides. Hopeful that my presence on the ride would mean we could go on one of the puny attractions together, we got to the front of the line and were promptly and unceremoniously Dikembe Mutombo’d by the young man in charge when Maddie’s ponytail failed to brush up against the height-requirement bar.
Two days after our LEGOLand trip, the whole Hee-Haw gang returned to Disney World’s Magic Kingdom, where both Madison and Sydney, who is not yet 13 months old and stands just 29 inches tall, rode on Dumbo. Sydney rode with Paula while Maddie, too short for such dangerous rides as Grannie’s Jalopies and the Big Rig Rally, rode with me in another flying elephant. I’m no expert in risk management or insurance premiums, but I am confused as to why Maddie was cleared for takeoff with the big-eared pachyderm but not for ground-based rides that are exactly like the ones at Bay Beach.
To Maddie’s credit, she didn’t care. Her dad was more crestfallen by the Big moment than she was. She simply redirected her energy toward the Duplo playground area, found a room with giant, rubberized LEGO building supplies and happily enjoyed the rest of her visit. Not once did she say, “I wish I was big.”
I, on the other hand, did some sulking, disappointed that being vertically challenged had been held against her. Then again, maybe there was a lesson there for Dad, too: Don’t be in such a hurry for her to grow up. After all, from where I’m sitting, she’s already getting too big.
If you know anything about me – well, other than my affinity for pink shirts and the fact that I talk about my kids entirely too much – then you know that I’m not really a fan of any teams. While I cheer for certain people (Dick and Tony Bennett, Mike Sherman, Joe Philbin, etc.) and against certain people (I’m looking at you, Roy Williams, in your Carolina blue), I don’t cheer for teams. My affection for the University of Oregon, for instance, is rooted more in my friendship with people from there than any real emotional investment in whether the Ducks win or lose.
This mentality confuses some folks to no end, as they wonder how I can cover the Green Bay Packers but not cheer for the Green Bay Packers. I could try to explain, but I’ll end up with a headache and you’ll still think I’m weird.
Instead, I have a much more important story I’d like to share.
As you probably read here on ESPNWisconsin.com or elsewhere, former Packers backup quarterback Blair Kiel died Sunday at age 50. I had never met nor covered Kiel, but I was saddened when I learned of his passing. And the reason is, I think, illustrative of why sports is so important and why I believe it’s such vital fabric woven through each of our lives. (Those of you who follow me on Twitter already read this story late Sunday night in 140-character increments. I apologize for the repetition.)
On Dec. 9, 1990, at Milwaukee County Stadium, Kiel rallied the Packers in the game I remember most vividly of any I ever attended, watched on television or covered as a reporter. The rally was ultimately meaningless – the Packers would lose, 20-14, to the Seattle Seahawks that day – but it means a lot to me.
The reason I remember Kiel's comeback against the Seahawks is I was there at County Stadium with my best friend Steve. Well, we were there until shortly after halftime.
I was a freshman at the University of Wisconsin at the time, and Steve had been my best friend throughout high school. We’d actually met in fifth grade at Vacation Bible School at Oklahoma Avenue Lutheran Church – he was the kid who brought the Nerf football every day to play catch -- and then reconnected at Martin Luther High School four years later.
I remember it being reasonably warm for early December – the official NFL game book says the temperature at kickoff was 45 degrees – but it was windy, making it feel colder than it should have been in our seats behind home plate.
After watching Lindy Infante’s team bumble to a 20-0 third-quarter deficit, we bailed and went back to Steve’s parents' house on 77th and Oklahoma on Milwaukee’s southwest side to thaw out and watch the last part of the game on TV. We got to their house just in time to see Kiel throw fourth-quarter touchdown passes to Perry Kemp and Ed West, pulling the Packers to within six points with about 3 minutes left in the game.
On the ensuing kickoff following West's TD, Seattle fumbles and the Packers recover at the Seahawks’ 24-yard line. Steve and I curse leaving.
On fourth-and-6 from inside Seattle’s 10-yard line, Kiel, who had replaced Anthony Dilweg in the third quarter, drops back with a chance to win the game with a touchdown pass and the extra point. Instead, he misses Jeff Query, the ball is incomplete, Seattle runs out the clock and the Packers lose. We laugh about nearly missing one of the greatest comebacks (in our minds, anyway) in Packers history. I never leave another Packers game early again.
Steve gives me a ride back to Madison, drops me off at my dorm.
Why do I remember all this?
Three weeks later, Steve is killed by a drunk driver.
That wasn’t the last time I saw Steve – I got to spend time with him at our high school’s annual alumni basketball tournament a few days before he died – but it remains one of my enduring memories of him. And, in large part, I have Blair Kiel to thank for that.
See, that’s the thing about sports. Certainly, it’s about wins and losses. It’s about championships. It’s about figuring out who’s going to play right outside linebacker opposite Clay Matthews next season and if Nick Collins is going to be able to resume his career and who’s going to play left tackle in 2012.
But what makes sports such a special part of our lives is the emotional connection we have to teams, or players, or games. And that’s why, while I'm not a "fan" anymore, I understand why the Packers mean so much to so many. It's the memories they create for us.
As for me, losing Steve certainly shaped the person I am now. It’s the reason I don’t drink alcohol, it’s why I am as a dad and as a husband an over-the-top kisser, hugger and I-love-you’er.
It’s also why I still have those Packers-Seahawks ticket stubs on my bulletin board, more than 20 years later.
I completely understand that life is a competitive sport. While I am a big proponent of what is often derided as the “everybody gets a trophy and a juice box” mentality that’s prevalent these days in kids sports and activities, I realize that, at some point, our little ones will grow up and will have to rise to competitive occasions. Whether it’s getting into college, earning a valuable internship or entering the work force, they’d better not be afraid of competition if they want to succeed.
But c’mon … do we have to start with Easter egg hunts?
Paula and I took Madison and Sydney to their first community Easter egg hunt Saturday morning in De Pere. There was a lovely woman with a bullhorn shouting instructions to the assembled masses, a reasonable facsimile of the Easter Bunny (albeit a bit creepy-looking one), a De Pere Fire Department ladder truck, a De Pere Police Department squad car, some very nice older fellows from the local Optimists Club … and a group of parents who apparently were under the misapprehension that egg collecting is being considered as a possible event for the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro.
I would have liked to have had a few photos of the girls’ egg-collecting efforts to post to this blog, but I was too busy doing my best Marshall Newhouse imitation to protect Sydney from being blindsided and trampled by parents who were, to put it politely, a bit overzealous.
Paula, meanwhile, paired up with Maddie, and when I glanced over after picking Sydney up in my arms as a safety precaution, I saw her boxing out other parents in an effort to give Maddie a fighting chance at collecting two of the eggs that had not yet been gobbled up by the ravenous crowd.
Did I mention that we were in the section cordoned off for children ages 1 to 4? Who gave these parents their pre-hunt pep talk, Gregg Williams?
When the final counts were in, Sydney had collected two eggs, Maddie six. I looked around and saw a number of children with their baskets brimming with eggs. One environmentally conscious dad had filled his reusable red Target shopping bag with eggs. Another mom appeared to have a Hefty trash bag full of them. I saw another couple with one of those humongous baskets that are usually reserved for wine, cheese and fruit gifts. I do believe their child would easily have fit into the basket himself.
I understand that the stakes were high. The local Wal-Mart had donated two children’s bicycles as the grand prizes and also a number of stuffed bunnies and rabbit puzzles as secondary prizes. So, the more eggs you collected, the better your chances were to win one of the bikes. I’m guessing some of these parents were simply trying to make up for the money they wasted at the local Kwik Trip when they purchased multiple MegaMillions lotto tickets.
The rest of the plastic eggs were filled with small packages of candy, bubbles and other trinkets. Maddie couldn’t have been more thrilled with her big six-egg haul, as it included two small bottles of bubble solution, an ink stamper and candy that her mom immediately confiscated. Sydney seemed happy to escape with her outside ACL intact.
Now, I don’t want to minimize what a nice event the annual Easter Egg Hunt is – in theory. I’m told this was the 12th annual hunt, and judging from the turnout, it’s a smashing success. I don’t doubt that the fine people of the De Pere Optimist Club, De Pere Area Men's Club and De Pere Community Center are good people who take pride in giving back to the community.
But how about setting a limit on the number of eggs each kid can collect? How about – oh, I don’t know, is there a natural number for eggs? Let me see … – a dozen per kid? And how about we have that nice lady with the bullhorn remind the so-called grown-ups in the crowd that they should try setting a good example by acting like, you know, grown-ups?
I know, I know, I’m being soft. Heaven forbid we use the event as a teachable moment about sharing and being thoughtful and sacrificing for others. I mean, it’s not as if The Guy who invented this Easter holiday was sacrificing for others when he died on the cross and rose from the dead. I mean, talk about someone who was all about Himself, right?
Anyway, after the hunt we took our bruised egos and ribs and stopped at Seroogy’s, the legendary De Pere chocolate shop, where the Easter Bunny – a much more dashing, debonair version – awaited our arrival with hugs for Madison and free Melt-A-Ways for her parents. Then I stood and watched as two adults – no lie – jockeyed for position at the free coffee and candy sample stand.
So maybe the egg-hunt is important, immediate preparation for the real world after all.
At Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin, each building is connected by a skywalk. You can get anywhere in the complex without stepping foot outside.
Speaking from experience, I recommend that every parent with healthy kids spend some time on one of those skyways.
Let me be clear: I wouldn’t wish what we’ve dealt with with Sydney over the past several weeks on any parent. I am in no way glad that it happened, in no way saying it was a good thing. I would much prefer that she and her sister Madison stay healthy 100 percent of the time – not get so much as a sniffle, sleep soundly for 12 hours each night, never trip and fall and bump their heads or skin their knees.
All that said, as Paula and I walked out of Children’s on Wednesday afternoon, holding Sydney – still low on white blood cells but, as usual, high on energy – I couldn’t help but appreciate the experience.
But I’ll get to that.
First, Sydney. Syd’s had a tough go over the past month or so -- her fourth ear infection, followed by a viral infection, followed by minor surgery to put tubes in her ears, followed by a bout with early stage pneumonia. After I got back from the NFL Scouting Combine in Indianapolis, Paula took her in and the doctors did a blood test that revealed she had a very low count of white blood cells called neutrophils.
Low, as in zero.
Apparently, good is somewhere between 1,000 and 2,500. I don’t know. I just know that zero sounds bad. Really bad. And while her pediatrician was reassuring that he didn’t think it was as serious as it sounded to me, he was also obligated to tell us the worst-case scenario: Leukemia.
I’ve been fortunate to be associated with Midwest Athletes Against Childhood Cancer for a while now. I’ve gotten to know a few of the remarkable kids who have overcome the dreaded disease, and gotten to know parents who lost their children to it. I have always been amazed by their spirits, their toughness, their refusal to feel sorry for themselves. And I’ve always said that I don’t think I have that in me. I hope this episode is as close as I ever come to having to find out just how tough I am.
The days between Sydney’s blood tests were excruciating for me. I prayed a lot more than I had in recent months – amazing how quickly we find God’s phone number when we need to talk to Him after radio silence for awhile – and tried to think positively. I did not succeed.
Sydney’s neutrophil number went up slightly after her next test, but not significantly. Her pediatrician in Green Bay seemed satisfied that she was trending in a positive direction and just said to have her blood checked again in a week. But after we told our friend John Cary, the executive director of the MACC Fund, the next thing we knew, we were at Children’s. And then, just as quickly, Sydney was undergoing a bone marrow aspirate, a procedure during which a needle is inserted into her hip area to remove a small amount of bone marrow. It was done so her doctor, Dr. James Casper, could determine if Syd's body was making neutrophils, and they just weren’t making it into the bloodstream, or if she just wasn't making them, which would not have been positive news.
I sincerely hope you never have to visit Children’s Hospital, but if you do, I promise your little one will be in good hands. Everyone we encountered – from the nurse who drew Sydney’s blood to the receptionist who told us where to go to the anesthesiologist who walked us through the process to the recovery nurse who was at Sydney’s bedside when she woke up – was phenomenal. And I have no doubt they are just as wonderful with kids and parents facing even more daunting health challenges.
Which brings me back to the skywalk. Sydney, much like her big sister, is constant motion. Both of them walked before they were nine months old, and with a little more than a week to go before her first birthday, Sydney thinks she has it mastered. She walks backwards, she tries to run – she’s still a little wobbly when trying to sprint – and she loves every minute of it.
So to pass the time while waiting for results of some blood work on Tuesday and again while waiting for the news from the bone marrow aspirate on Wednesday, I took Sydney to the skywalk area and let her toddle back and forth. It was good for her. It was better for her dad.
As Sydney meandered about the walkway, she invariably found her way into the path of oncoming foot traffic, forcing me to make eye contact with every parent or patient who was approaching her before shepherding her out of the way. And the more people we passed, the more I came to appreciate the challenges other parents and their children were living with – and how long some of them had clearly been fighting those fights.
Truth be told, before this week, the only time I’d set foot in Children’s Hospital was a few years ago for Dave & Carole’s Miracle Marathon, WKLH's annual radio-thon to benefit Children's. And that day, Paula, Madison and I only made it as far as the lobby, where WKLH was broadcasting from. I signed up for a monthly gift charged directly to my credit card (as you can do right now, if you’re so inclined) but never devoted a second thought to where that money was really going.
I made it much farther than the lobby this time. I’m not glad I did, but I’m better for it.
I don’t think I’ve ever been ungrateful for the blessings I have in my life – especially Paula, Maddie and Syd. I don’t think I’ve taken the girls for granted during the past two years, since Maddie’s arrival 36 hours after the Packers’ 2009 season ended with their overtime playoff loss in Arizona. I knew how blessed we were to have two happy, healthy – albeit crazy – little people turning our lives and our house upside-down on a daily basis. But a reminder never hurts.
As for Sydney, the bone marrow aspirate yielded relatively good news. The marrow contained plenty of precursor neutrophil cells, so her body is definitely making them. Now, her body just has to overcome the antibody that's likely killing them off and allow those neutrophil-to-be cells to thrive and get her count back up to normal. She may need a G-CSF (Granulocyte - Colony Stimulating Factor) shot -- or a series of such shots -- to help her body do that. But her body may overcome it on its own and she won’t need the shot. In any event, her neutrophil count will have to be monitored for the foreseeable future, because until they watch her numbers for a while, they won’t know for sure whether her neutropenia is a chronic issue (cycling) or something short-term that cropped up because she’d had too many illnesses in a row.
In the meantime, she will stay on an antibiotic until her count is up, since her immune system is still depressed and she is still very susceptible to viruses, bacteria and infections. My germophobe wife is in disinfecting overdrive, which isn’t the worst thing. After rolling my eyes at the way she dispenses hand sanitizer with a fire hose, I am now wholeheartedly on board with her overly cautious approach. I’ve never washed my hands so frequently in my life.
But the best thing that has come out of this – besides my cleaner hands – is perspective. I still don’t think I have it in me to handle something more serious than what Sydney’s faced. I pray I don’t have to find out. But I’ve seen the parents who do. I’ve seen the people who help them, from the MACC Fund and Children’s Hospital, in action. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that our kids are lucky to have those people on our side.