Kellan: The Mighty Warrior

Kellan is our miracle child — literally. I was previously married and have a beautiful daughter who was born in 1989 – Jazmine or “first born” as I like to call her. I always wanted Jazmine to have a sibling, but in 1995, I was in a bad car accident and both of my fallopian tubes were damaged. Me and my “then husband” kept trying but unfortunately I had four miscarriages and one tubal baby, before my doctor said, “That’s enough, stop trying. Its putting you through too much stress and disappointment.” I then sought out a fertility specialist and was told that with my tubes, there was no chance for a baby, so I was to deal with never having children again. My marriage fell apart in 2001 because he wanted a full house and I couldn’t give him that. I met my husband Jason in 2005 and told him I was barren, before we even got serious but he said I was more than enough for him. We were married in March 2007. In January 2008, I was very sick in the hospital with costcochronditis and needed medicine for a couple of months. Something that would not go away was the nausea, so on a whim, the doctor said, “Let’s do a pregnancy test.” I found out I was pregnant with my second child. I was 40 and having my second child; what a miracle. Our son came into the world in September 2009 and we named him Kellan, Gaelic for The Mighty Warrior, not knowing at the time how fitting this would be.

From October through Christmas in 2014, Kellan kept getting fevers, rashes and colds. We were on a family vacation in November in Cabo San Lucas – a Christmas present to all of us. Our daughter, being much older, doesn’t travel with us often, so it was really great to be together and we were really enjoying ourselves. Kellan loves to swim and swam a lot on our vacation, but he was freezing in the water, when it was plus 30! His lips would turn blue. He was also frequently having night terrors.

Kellan’s ears had been hurting on the whole flight home, so when we got back to Calgary we took him to a walk-in clinic, as our doctor’s office was closed. They told us, he had an ear infection, probably from too much swimming. Kellan took medicine for a week but still wasn’t any better. About this time, I also started noticing that he had very small dots and bruises on his legs. I took him to the walk-in clinic again. It was a weekend, and again, the doc said, “No worries about these signs. It’s an ear infection.”

Not longer after, Kellan and I were at a birthday party with his friends. I kept looking at him thinking, “He’s off. Something isn’t right.” Mom’s gut was saying, “Let’s check this out further.” I thought, with his white skin and lips, he was diabetic, which to me was very scary. Jason was out of town with friends at a poker tournament, so I picked Kellan up, left the birthday party and went straight to the South Health Campus Hospital. They admitted him into ER pretty quickly, as I explained all of the signs.

The ER doctor happened to be a pediatrician and came right away to see us. She wanted blood work!!! So with Kellan screaming at the top of his lungs, I held him down, while they did several withdraws. He was so upset at me, but I needed to know he was ok.

About an hour later, the ER doctor said, “Do you have family who can come to sit with you?” I said, “Well no, my husband is out of town. My parents live here, but I’m ok with you letting me know what’s going on.” She didn’t really respond and said, “I’ll be back.” Then a social worker came in and introduced herself. My mind thought, “They think I caused the bruising. They are sending a social worker.” All of the movies I’ve seen with a social worker means abuse, so I talked nicely with her and she said, “I’m going to sit with you until your family comes.” I said “I haven’t called my family; do I really need them here?” and she said “Yes.” So I texted Jason that they wanted him there. He was just outside Lethbridge and had carpooled with friends, so he had to figure out a way back into Calgary. I texted his parents and my mom, asking them to come too. I sat there with a very upset little boy and waited.

Finally, everyone arrived and the ER doctor came in and said, “Ok. Here’s what’s going on.” I had Kellan in my arms and he was still crying, so I couldn’t hear ANYTHING being said, but her lips were moving. Then I saw my mom fall into the chair. That’s an image I will never forget. I said, “Will someone hold Kellan, so I can understand what’s going on.” So Jason picked Kellan up and the ER doctor looked at me and said, “Kellan has leukemia.” Without having time to think, she said, “We need him at the children’s hospital ASAP, either by ambulance or you need to leave now.” On our way to ACH we went. My brother went to pick up my daughter, who was living in Canmore, as we didn’t feel she should be driving on the highway after we told her about Kellan.

We were admitted and Kellan was further tested to confirm that he did have leukemia. The results came in and confirmed that he had acute lymphoblastic leukemia. The blood tests all day long were the worst imaginable. I had to literally lie on top of him to keep him still, so they could do it. The next day he started on chemotherapy.

Being deaf hugely compounded everything for Jason and I. The hospital does not have interpreters, so every time the doctors and nurses would come and talk to us, we had no clue what they were saying.

After being admitted, Kellan immediately turned for the worst, getting pneumonia and RSV and another infection, so he was put in isolation, which meant EVERYone coming into the room had on a mask. Now, 80 per cent of my “hearing” or understanding is through lip reading, so with the masks that was taken away.

They would ask us to go into the doctors’ rounds (meetings) and we said there is no point, we can’t hear you. Jazmine, who was living in Canmore, would come into Calgary and go to all the meetings, take notes and record the conversation. Then she would transcribe all the discussions, so we could read them. We weren’t able to learn about what was happening until two days later: a day for her to go to the meetings, then write them out and travel back and forth from Canmore. We never knew what was going on at any time.

Jason and I were sitting in the waiting room, while Kellan was in surgery for his chemo port and a doctor comes out says, “Are you the deaf parents?” Then he tells us, “Just use the cream and give Tylenol and he can go home today.” Jason and I look at each other, puzzled, and asked, “What?” The doctor asked us again if we are the deaf couple – “YES!” “Ok, well the circumcision went great. Just use the cream for his penis every day.” We just about fell over with worry over what they had done. Apparently there was another deaf couple in the waiting room sitting right behind us. Oh how we wished that was the surgery Kellan was in for that day.

We had to book our own interpreter for all meetings, but we needed at least two or three days’ notice, which was impossible with the hospital schedules. So meeting changes would happen and we would lose our interpreter, who wasn’t able align with new times. Last minute, we would ask a hearing friend to come and help us. Fortunately he could sign.

We did have one nurse, who wasn’t on our shift often, but she knew sign language. You can imagine how much that calmed us. Whenever something was going on, she would sit on the bed with us and sign the information! We asked for her often, but her shift didn’t always line up and we only able to get her twice.

One morning at 2:00 am, I was asleep on the couch in the room and all of a sudden a bunch of doctors with masks rushed in. They said something to me and then wheeled Kellan’s whole bed out. I was barely awake and had no clue what they said. Then a nurse came in after and I said, “Please help me out.” She explained that Kellan was having troubles with his heart and breathing and they were taking him to ICU ASAP. I ran as fast as I could to follow them. 2:00 am!

In ICU, they put a full oxygen mask on Kellan and the doctors were madly trying to find the right recipe of antibiotics to best ensure he made it through the weekend. Kellan fought the mask and the doctor said, “You need it to stay alive.” He was strapped down. A mother’s worst nightmare – chemo, oxygen mask, feeding tubes and restrained arms. After a couple of days in ICU, they were ready to take off the mask but Kellan wouldn’t let them. To him, that’s what was keeping him breathing and alive. Slowly they turned it off, and even disconnected it, but he still kept in on his face. In ICU they also had his arms in straps as he would freak out easily but now back in unit 1 his arms are free and the first thing he does is curl up in a ball in fetal position and go to sleep. The ICU doctor tells me, “He’s a stubborn little guy, but you know what? That’s what will pull him through all of this.”

Every time the door opens to Kellan’s room, he panics, not knowing who is coming through to do what to him. The first time he saw a lab tech come into the room he started crying as usual and they said, “Watch this Kellan. No needles at all,” and they drew blood from the port. He started laughing, a sound I had so longed to hear! Kellan was starting to know by the colour of their coats if they were A) just going to look at it B) going to take blood C) coming to clean the garbage out, and he would react accordingly. He loved the blue uniforms — garbage only!

We were released for the weekend, just a trial period. Kellan was so excited, but my Momma heart was terrified. I was now in complete charge of his care. What if I made mistakes? I must have gone over procedures and medication with the head nurse 10 times. We even made a chemo chart to track all of his meds and used stickers to mark when we had completed each dose. We got home and Kellan tried to walk to the living room and he fell right away and said “Mom my legs don’t work anymore,” and started to cry. I then joined him on the floor, doing the same.

In March, Kellan started a new medication, which seems to have kicked in fast. Yesterday, he was complaining already of his knees giving out while walking and it was the first time since leaving the hospital that he was sick. So we are now riding a wave of chemo, puking, pain, crying, steroid rages and snuggles. Of course my little man is as brave as ever and usually just yells, “Mommy! I’m going to get sick!” and grabs a tray from our kitchen nurses’ station, gets sick in it, turns to me and says, “You better wipe down the chair too as I missed a bit.” Then he carries on playing. No tears (except from me) and on he goes, playing with his Lego! He’s also learned to use his sense of humour to calm me down. One day he’s yelling, “Mommy! Come quick! I’m getting sick!” so I ran into his room and he says, “My tray is full,”  and pretends to drop it on me. As I jumped back, I look at the floor covered in Skittles. He’s got my sense of humour.

The road is long but Kellan keeps bouncing back. On June 28, after his third day in a row of chemo, he’s throwing up and experiencing pain from his port. His legs are weak and his stomach is in knots. With a fresh dose of chemo in him, he goes outside and hits some baseballs!! UNBELIEVABLE, this kid. Everyone says how strong we are but Kellan is the strongest little fighter I will ever know. On one of the worst days yet at the hospital (port access, spinal tap, 3 types of chemo, 4 hours of rapid hydration and 11 hours in total at the hospital) after being released, Kellan goes to the driving range to hit some balls and I go home in a shirt bought from the hospital gift shop, as I’d caught all that “nausea” on me!

The chemo is also doing its best to give us the extremes in his personality. Kellan can be laughing and playing with you one minute, then minutes later, he’s tucked under my legs scared of everything. Talking with his child life specialist, psychologist and doctor, I am reassured that this will be the new normal, while he is on chemo. It’s not him or his personality. It’s the medicine reacting with the balances in his body and brain. Steroids are the worst for this too. One day full of Dexamethasone, he gets upset leaving a restauran and runs straight into the parking lot. Kellan, never more than 3 inches from my side, bolts onto the road. I yell to him to get on the side walk as there are cars coming and he says, “It doesn’t matter, I’ve got cancer and going to die anyway, let them hit me.” You can imagine the dagger through the heart as this came out of my six-year-old’s mouth. My heart breaks whenever I think of all the emotions and feelings my little guy is going through when all he should have on his mind is his friends, his games and his dog.

Kellan’s cancer has changed so much. This was our miracle child. Our everything. So many things we wanted to do and share together. Now every ounce of life and energy we have goes into this fight to keep him alive. We were very active and healthy people before diagnosis and then found we weren’t even looking after ourselves anymore. We weren’t getting real sleep and even our marital relationship had suffered. We are only partners, united in the fight, trying to keep everything together. We had forgotten our own story. Being deaf, we also can’t hear if Kellan is getting sick in the middle of the night, or crying in pain, etc., so one of us always sleeps with him in his room – for almost 3 years now!

Sleep was not something we had for the first whole year of this journey. Kellan had extreme separation anxiety and anxiety of people. Even people he knew and loved could not be in the same room alone with him or he would freak out. So, again, everywhere we went, one of us always had to be with Kellan, which meant no breaks. The only respite we got was with his grandparents, who he was comfortable with.

Both of us took a couple of months off work at first but eventually we had to get back to work. My work allowed me to move my office from the corporate building to our home, so I could be there with Kellan. My work was incredible. Giving me this flexibility was huge. Jason returned to his normal hours but took time off for Kellan’s clinic appointments.

We used to be much more spontaneous; now we have to think everything out: Where we are going? How many people are there? Will Kellan freak out or be comfortable? How long will we be away from home? What is the chemo schedule? You see, he can’t eat 2 hours before his daily chemo and one hour after, therefore we have to plan and time all meals exactly and watch to make sure he doesn’t sneak in even a juice or cracker during this 3-hour fast  period – EVERY day. Then on Thursdays he has 18 pills of chemo! We can’t travel anymore, which was one of our favourite things too, especially travelling to see family and to see Kellan’s grandparents in Palm Springs yearly. We stay within one hour of ACH, as the one time we attempted to travel, Kellan got fevers and very sick within a day, so we don’t chance it anymore.

The biggest shock for us was people. Today, our circle of trust is much smaller. One of the hardest things to go through on this entire road is the feeling of isolation and loneliness. But we made new friends, mostly other cancer parents we met at Kids Cancer Care events and camp. These people are our extended family and get us through a lot of rough times as we do for them.

Our daughter Jazmine made us very proud. She would come out from Canmore to Calgary to help out with all meetings, etc. She was my rock when I was breaking down in Kellan’s hospital room, crying, my head on her lap, sobbing. Another great turn was that Jazmine has decided to go into nursing and is now going into her third year. She’s on the dean’s list with amazing marks! She moved back to Calgary, so she could be with Kellan more often, but with school, her head is rarely out of the books. When they get together, it’s an amazing bond. You watch with your heart full.

Our first encounter with Kids Cancer Care was in the spring of 2014 for Family Camp at Camp Kindle. We were only 4 months into treatment. Almost all the families were on maintenance or off treatment, so we were pretty new to this. They all opened their arms up wide and brought us in. The reality is, we had not been apart from Kellan since January 11, 2014, not one hour, and now he was going off with a Kids Cancer Care volunteer, who apparently was going to play and then put him to bed. Jason and I looked at each other and said, “Yeah, right.” With a wave and a smile, he said, “Bye Mom,” and walked away with volunteer Brad. Now this was the first time meeting the cancer parents and Kids Cancer Care for us too. Camping is one of Kellan’s favourite things, and without Camp Kindle he wouldn’t be able to do it. They also have Unit 1 nurses that he knows on-site at Camp Kindle, which helped Mom’s anxiety a lot. The serenity of the camp can’t be put into words. I’m a Pisces and sitting by the pond, watching the ripples, is cheap therapy.

Getting families out in nature at Camp Kindle where you feel safe, because there are nurses on-hand and where you feel welcome and comfortable, as your kids are going through the same thing, is huge. It feels like you have another family that has your back and you can enjoy things in life, with the right people, without feeling guilt.

Kellan tried SunRise day camp twice, but wouldn’t let me leave him alone there. But he’s been to Family Camp with us three times. It’s great for him to get away from the hospital and house. He loves the bunk beds and the freedom to run around the grounds. Kellan’s a nature kid, so he loves the pond and fields. He is happy there.

At  SunRise day camp the first time, Kellan didn’t know what to expect. He was hesitant as they were so many kids. I told him, “It’s ok, these kids are just like you and they don’t care how little hair you have, or that you are sick.” He found a friend right away, former Calgary Flames Curtis Glencross. He just grabbed his hand and said, “Help me make these crafts.” I will never forget one mom looking at me, knowing I was worried as I tried to get Kellan to join the group. She said, “Its ok. I stayed in the parking lot and read books all week our first year. You don’t need to leave if you don’t want to.” So the parking lot is where I stayed. J When Kellan came out with a tiger painted on his face, I knew he was ok. He’s never let anyone paint his face before and then I see this ferocious TIGER coming at me.

Jason and I also participate in the Dragon Boat Races every summer with other cancer parents we’ve met through Kids Cancer Care. Rowing and training together with other cancer parents for two solid months each summer builds an incredibly strong bond between us. We’ve also been to Mother’ Day Brunch, kids’ cooking classes, parents’ cooking classes, Family Ski Day and, this past summer, I volunteered for the Tour for Kids Alberta, which was spectacular.

So you wonder what Kids Cancer Care does for a family. In short, it gives them their life back. I have never known such isolation as I have with this disease. It’s really like living on an island with no boat. Kids Cancer Care gives us the boat-ride back in. They have given us another family, one that understands what we are going through and a support system when we are tired. It gives us a chance to give back too through fundraising events like Tour for Kids Alberta. We honestly care about everyone affected by childhood cancer, so we do many charity events to raise money. I need to help other families in our situation if I can.

Kids Cancer Care is making a huge difference in the quality of life for kids and families in the world of pediatric cancer. It’s too easy to be forgotten and left on the side to deal with the depression, the overwhelming hospital appointments, the loss of close friendships and how to cope with all of it without losing yourself.

Kellan is now in his cycle 9 of his 12-cycle maintenance phase. He just started grade two. He is learning to be a little more independent and less anxious. Last year, it took us 2 weeks for Kellan to adjust to being at school without me. This year it took 20 mins. When on steroids, his moods are unpredictable, but when he is off them, he’s pretty much a normal stubborn six-year-old. He’s not a big eater, so he needs to eat more to gain weight, but he is growing in height a lot. He is very grateful for his family and friends and talks constantly about them — especially his girls. If anyone knows Kellan, they know he has a following of pretty special girls who are always at his side. He still hates the medicines daily, but he opens up his mouth on the count of 10 every time, without fail. We still have to watch for fever, germs, colds, coughs, etc. and pull him out of school whenever his counts drop or if kids in class are sick.

He is swimming again but at private pool. The Deerfoot Inn graciously lets him swim at their pool whenever he wants to. They let us know when they have less occupancy and when there are little to no kids in the pool. They also hosted his last two birthday parties with private pool and suite for the meals, so he didn’t have to be in the public restaurant. They make a little boy very happy, as swimming is his favourite thing, and a Mom very happy, as this helps shelter him a bit from public germs. He also played baseball last spring and summer.

Based on our schedule, maintenance phase will be done March 20, 2017 – which is also my birthday!!! There is a mile-long list of potential side effects, but we won’t know until we see them. For now, he is showing the leg and knee pain and skin rashes from major eczema. His energy is depleted, but we hope all of the other possible side effects stay at bay. Hearing loss, vision, cognitive issues, bone issues, kidney issues….they can stay away. We are all very excited for this milestone to come, but I’m honestly terrified too, thinking about taking away the safety net of chemo to keep those cells away. I’ll have to learn how to live “normally” again.

It amazes me how strong a kid can be! What a warrior. He wakes up, pukes, wipes his mouth and then goes to school like nothing happened. I know how much I loved him before this experience, but I didn’t know that love would keep us fighting the fight with so much power. It definitely knocks us out some days and we want to forget all about it, but other days, we are proud of what we have accomplished together.

I try not to show weakness. I keep myself focused on Kellan, so I don’t become a ball of tears. I save the tears for when I’m alone. We’ve had to be adaptable; we have to change things on the fly a lot. We may be leaving for a birthday party and then get a text that someone has a cold, and we have to change our plans and not go. This affects Kellan emotionally, as he looks forward to seeing his friends and then has to turn around and go home.

When I ask Kellan what he wants to be when he grows, his 100% honest answer is, “Just me Mom. I wanna’ just be Kellan, wherever that leads me” and then he adds, “Happy.”

Bless his heart.

I’d like to leave you with a poem that a tired, an insomniac mom once wrote – ME. I have found that it actually connected me to a lot of cancer mom’s going through this same thing.

Can you dream a little dream tonight? 

Can you dream a little dream tonight?

One that when you finally open your eyes

Your reality matches your thoughts

Where time has healed your painfully open wounds

And you are grateful they are behind you

Where you are able to laugh and smile without guilt

And know you are ok to breathe again

Where you hear the laughter of your child

And not worry, will it soon disappear?

Where your thoughts are on the present

Your nightmares are in the past

Where you are not afraid to see the future

And shine in all of its glory

Where you can joyfully skip down a path

Knowing it leads back to one another

Where the heat of the sun bounces off your face

And you know your roots will flourish

Where time does not need to be sped up

But rather enjoyed minute by minute

Where your child looks at you,

Not in fear of what comes next

But in awe of the beauty and strength with what he was raised

Dare I close my eyes and drift off

Will I awaken trembling in fear?

And knowing this was all but a dream

Why can’t it all be true

It’s so easy to imagine

Yet so hard to achieve

Please let me dream a little dream tonight

That’s alas, not a dream after all

—Robin Buck, Kellan’s mom

I started working in the field of pediatric oncology in 1998. As a University of Calgary nursing student, I did my 4^th year senior rotation at the old Alberta Children’s Hospital on Q Cluster. I’ll never forget my first shift there. It was a night shift and I had never seen such sick children. I couldn’t imagine ever becoming comfortable, let alone proficient, with the nursing care they required, nor could I imagine how I could be of any help to the families. But I knew I was home. I knew, somehow, this was my life’s work.

It’s funny, the memories that stick with you through the years. I don’t know why so many of my most vivid memories come from the night shifts. Bringing a cup of tea to the mother of a newly diagnosed child, who left the room, so her child wouldn’t see her fear, her tears; long conversations about the “whys” of cancer – “Why me? Why my child?”; listening to the teenager, who couldn’t sleep at night, talk about his video game and, every so often, as if almost by mistake, his fears about his future.

Most of these questions, I learned, were unanswerable. The point was to listen, to be there, to not be afraid of the sadness and the unanswerable questions. To show up in the face of something terrifying and somehow try to convey to these kids and parents a feeling of peace.

Over the course of several years, I worked my way through many of the positions in the oncology program. From staff nurse, to clinic nurse, to research nurse, and then eventually into administration. I used to joke that if you stay put long enough they’ll eventually let you run the place! My many positions and titles within the pediatric oncology program gave me a lot of insight into how the world of pediatric oncology worked and how I could best fit within it.

In 2006, we moved to the new ACH and that quickly became home for patients, families and staff.  Our new building was luxurious and world class, but part of me always longed for the comfort and coziness of the old hospital. My roots were there.

When it was time to return from my maternity leave in 2010, with much thought and a somewhat heavy heart, I decided to return to the University of Calgary to pursue a PhD. In 2013, I started as an assistant professor in the Faculty of Nursing at the University of Calgary, and I have had the privilege to focus my research program in the field of pediatric oncology.

I like to say I still work in the field of peds onc, just in a different way. Just like the memories I described, I’ve always been most drawn to understand experiences. How do kids and families get through this? What is the experience like? What can we do to make it a bit easier? I like to say I’m interested in the “Whys and Hows” of pediatric oncology. In academic terms, what I do is called psychosocial research. I like to look at ways to make the experience of childhood cancer easier.

For my PhD work, I studied the impact of cancer camp and found that it has profound healing effects on both children and parents. Now,

I’m studying the impact of digital storytelling on patients and survivors as way to further understand the experience of childhood cancer and as a way to teach health care professionals more about the experience, in ways they couldn’t have previously understood.

One child’s digital story hit the Twittersphere last fall and took off. This little guy has dreams of playing hockey professionally and one day meeting Sidney Crosby, so when the Pittsburgh Penguins heard about it, they made one of his dreams come true. He met Sidney after a game in Calgary last fall.

One of the courses I teach in my role as an assistant professor is a 4^th year undergraduate oncology course. I vehemently strive to impress upon students that the physical care is actually the easy part; it’s the psychosocial care that’s harder. They laugh at me, a bit nervously, when I tell them to trust me, that they’ll never go home and say, ‘I gave the hell out of those platelets today!’ So in my course, I try to spend as much time on the psychosocial needs and care that come with childhood cancer as I do with the pathophysiology and pharmacology parts, because quite honestly, we’re not where we need to be with respect to understanding, let alone addressing, the psychosocial needs of these kids and families. I’ve learned through my research that it sometimes takes decades for the psychological scars to show. The impact on these children later in life can be unfathomable. I want to work to change that.

 — Dr. Catherine Laing, PhD., Assistant Professor, Faculty of Nursing, University of Calgary

Before Kevin and Cameron Olmats were old enough to understand, their brand new baby brother became very sick. Little Ethan was only three months old, when he was diagnosed with infant acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Although his time on earth was brief, Ethan made a lasting impression on everyone he met—especially his big brothers.

Ethan’s brothers meant the world to him. His little face would light up in a smile every time they visited him at the hospital. And, Mom and Dad made sure that was often. From the beginning, they included the older boys in Ethan’s cancer journey, while also juggling work schedules and extracurricular activities to ensure that life for Cameron and Kevin, who were three and seven at the time, remained relatively normal.

It’s an approach they maintain today. They speak openly about Ethan and the loss of his joyful presence.

“During our Christmas dinner last year, we were talking about Ethan and how his next birthday, in May, would have been his first double digit birthday. The big 10!” says Mom, Colleen Olmats. “We talked about what we should do to commemorate the milestone. Ideas were going back and forth and then Kevin said, ‘I know what we should do to make it special and make it mean something. I’ll shave my head in memory of Ethan!'”

That’s when Cameron chimed in, “So will I!” That was it. It was decided.

The boys didn’t cut their hair again from that point forward and they started spreading the word about their shave in Ethan’s name. When they discovered that William Aberhart High School was holding a shave event on June 2, Kevin and Cameron joined their ranks.Together, the Olmats brothers raised over $5,000, bringing William Aberhart High School’s fundraising total to over $8,000.

Kevin and Cameron know first-hand the impact Kids Cancer Care programs can have in the lives of kids and families like theirs, so raising money for the foundation was a natural choice for them.

The Olmats first encountered Kids Cancer Care during Pizza Nights at the hospital when Ethan was on treatment. During Weekly Pizza Nights, they met other families on the unit as well as Kids Cancer Care volunteers, whose own children had also been through cancer. These volunteer parents would become lifelong friends, offering the Olmats support throughout Ethan’s cancer journey and beyond.

“They became a lifeline for my parents and Cameron and I,” says Kevin. “It’s hard to talk to friends about cancer when they’ve never experienced it themselves. They try, but they can’t really relate, so they can’t really offer support in the ways you  need it. These friends could. And it was Kids Cancer Care that brought these friends to us.”

The Olmats family soon started going to Cool Yule, Family Camp, Family Ski Days, summer camp and much more, where they found healing and comfort in their darkest time.

“I still remember the love I felt from Tracey Huddy [former Kids Cancer Care social worker] as we sat on the stone of the fireplace at Camp Kindle and talked about Ethan’s death,” says Kevin. “I don’t remember the words now, but I do remember she gave me exactly what I needed at that time to feel like I could one day be whole again. She helped me to understand the feelings I was going through and that what I was experiencing was a normal part of the grieving process.”

“Just being with other families like ours has helped us immensely with our healing journey,” says Colleen. “They helped show us we could laugh again without feeling guilty. They helped us to become strong again, to live again and to keep moving forward with our lives–just as Ethan would want us to.”

Thank you, Kevin and Cameron! You are shave superheroes!

And thank you to all the brave students of William Aberhart High School, who shaved their heads and raised funds for young people like Kevin and Cameron, whose lives have been interrupted by childhood cancer.

“Gabriel has had a Mohawk since pre-school. It’s his identity. I don’t know why but he’s always insisted on keeping it. We’ve been encouraging him for years to cut it, but he never would, until now,”–Gabriel’s mom Stephanie Lynn.

The Mohawk has been Gabriel’s signature look ever since he was a youngster. But about a month before his father’s 50^th birthday,12-year-old Gabriel suddenly announced that he was getting rid of the Mohawk.

“I want to get rid of it,” he said. “I want to cut it off at dad’s birthday party and raise money for Kids
Cancer Care.”

Gabriel and his younger brothers Shaine (10) and Darius (8) have been participating in Kids Cancer Care’s camp and outreach programs for years—from Pizza Nights at the hospital when Shaine was on treatment, to fun and adventure at Camp Kindle. Gabriel felt it was time to give back.

“He came up with this all on his own,” says Stephanie. “I don’t know what changed; if it’s because he’s going into junior high next year or if it’s because of all the change we’ve had this year, but something shifted and now he’s done with it.”

As with many Albertans, the Lynn family has had a tough year in 2016. Mom lost her job and Dad has lost most of his contract work. With grade seven on the horizon for Gabriel, maybe it seemed like the right time for a change. Whatever his reason for making the change, Gabriel raised a fair chunk of change for Kids Cancer Care.

“His goal was $500, but he raised $1,275,” says Stephanie. “He wanted to raise enough money to send a kid to camp.”

It costs $1,500 to send one child to Camp Kindle for one week, so Gabriel was very close. You can help Gabriel meet his goal of sending one child to camp, by donating here.

Thank you Gabriel! You’re a shave hero!

The Shave Your Lid for a Kid!® program is sponsored by Trico Homes, 98-5 VIRGIN Radio, The Calgary Sun, Pattison Outdoor and Delmar Hair School. Due to our partnerships with these wonderful companies, we are able to keep program costs minimal, ensuring the money raised goes directly to supporting youth and families affected by cancer. Click here to learn more about where your donation goes. For further information please email syl@kidscancercare.ab.ca.

Click here to watch this year’s Foundation video and visit kidscancercare.ab.ca to learn more about our foundation.

We’d like to introduce you to the lovely Andrea. She’s making a difference in the lives of children affected by cancer by shaving her lid for a kid, not once, but twice! Read on to find out why Andrea’s hooked on Kids Cancer Care!

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’m shaving my head
and I’m asking for donations from YOU! 

If my poetic talent is not enough to entice you to donate to my shave, then keep reading!

My name is Andrea, I am 21 years old and I love dogs (not relevant, but it’s an important thing about me).

On June 15, 2015 I will be shaving off all of my hair in support of the Kids Cancer Care Foundation.

In 2007, I participated in Shave Your Lid for a Kid to raise money for children and families affected by childhood cancer. The first time I did the shave, I did not know very much about the Kids Cancer Care Foundation, but after shaving my head in June of that year, my mom and I were invited out to visit Camp Kindle. I was hooked. Since 2007, I have volunteered as a camp counsellor at Camp Kindle (KCC’s amazing camp) numerous times, as well as I have volunteered at events in Calgary. I am continuously amazed by everyone who is apart of the organization.

I have worked hands on with some of the most amazing children I’ve ever met and their incredible families. I wish I had the words to explain how truly magical Camp Kindle is and how inspiring the campers are. I hope you will take my word for it though, and that you will help me to send more kids to camp. The money that I raise from shaving my head will go towards sending kids to camp as well as cancer research. I have seen first hand the positive impact that going to camp can have, and I want desperately to do what I can to make that possible for as many children as I can. While volunteering at Camp Kindle I have had the privilege of meeting many of the nurses who work in paediatric oncology as well as Kids Cancer Care’s program staff and they all work so hard to help keep these children’s spirits lifted. I want to do whatever I can to support that.

Please help me in whatever way that you are able to support the most amazing organization that I can think of. Any amount that you are able to donate is immensely appreciated. I am aiming to beat the amount that I raised in 2007 which was $5100! I am also planning some fundraisers over the next few months, so stay posted for information about those!

Thank you in advance for your support. To donate, please visit my shave profile.

Andrea

October 31, 2014

One of the perks of Bob’s job with TD is that he often represents the bank at community events. Ironically this is how our family was first introduced to the amazing work of Kids Cancer Care. Shortly after we relocated to Calgary, Bob took Celia to her first Dad and Daughter Gala, a sold-out fundraiser the organization hosts each October. At three, Celia was enchanted by the fancy affair and refused to leave the dance floor where she twirled around, proudly displaying a tiny wrist corsage. Celia begged to add sparkly eye shadow and lip gloss to her formal wear the next year, which was when she learned that not everyone wins a door prize, much to her four year-old disappointment. Last year Bob held onto the tickets as long as possible before accepting that his five year-old date was too sick to go anywhere. Of all things missed during Celia’s illness, the Dad and Daughter Gala seemed to hit Bob the hardest.

Celia and I spent an entire afternoon shopping for the perfect accessories to compliment her simple but pretty blue and purple dress. By the time we left the mall, I was exhausted and Celia could not wait to get home to put on a fashion show. Her favourite find was a hair band with an oversized flower to perfectly cover her bald spot. Of course it was silver, much like the purse, shoes and tights she selected. Paying no attention to price tags, I tried to enjoy the experience, thinking that it could be the closest thing to prom we might ever have. Getting caught up in the girly moment, I sprung for a fancy Christmas outfit as well, treating Celia to her first pair of teeny tiny black patent heels. I laughed to myself, envisioning a holiday photo with Celia looking Sears catalogue perfect next to her grubby brother who would undoubtedly fight me over wearing anything with a collar.

Celia typically shies away from the spotlight, especially when it has anything to do with her having cancer. So, mentally we prepared Celia for the gala, seeking permission to show pictures of times during treatment she might rather forget. Initial resistance led to an important discussion about our family’s responsibility, which seemed to resonate with both kids. By the time Saturday arrived, Celia had just aced a TV interview, which gave her the necessary confidence to follow Bob onto stage in front of more than 800 guests, where she sat up high on a bar stool. I was nervous and proud as Bob began, allowing himself to be so incredibly vulnerable. Only a few minutes into things, when a tasteful image of Bob’s above the heart Be Brave Be Strong tattoo was displayed, the audience cheered. I had planned to look around to observe reactions but instead found myself glued to the little girl on stage, staring up at her dad with so much love and admiration. Borrowing Bob’s seat at the front row table, I was among friends, sandwiched between two amazing dads we met on the Oncology unit of the hospital.

The Frozen themed gala featured live reindeer, ice sculptures, karaoke, glass jewelry making and more. Celia was especially fond of the pre-dinner entertainment featuring Elsa and Anna as well as the candy bar. Over three hundred thousand dollars was raised to fund pediatric cancer interests, which is amazing. But, based on the standing ovation, I’m willing to bet that what many will remember of this year’s gala is the story told by one father about his unbreakable family and inspiring little daughter. Bob was approached countless times after his speech with offers of support and congratulations. One dad shared that he lost his son Jason five years ago to AT/RT and Bob felt an instant bond of human connection. After someone tweeted to say that he had never been more moved by a story, we couldn’t help but wonder if the audience had been cheated a little. Imagine if they knew that we were days away from knowing whether or not Celia was terminal.

You go through life knowing that certain decisions will impact the course of your life – who you marry, whether or not you get a particular job, or change cities. In all of these examples, you maintain some control, the ability to influence the outcome. Leading up to today’s MRI we could do nothing but think positive, willing the universe to deliver a miracle. Be Brave, Be Strong…we both thought as the phone rang and we were too scared to exhale. Today’s MRI conclusively determined that Celia remains CANCER FREE! The three lesions on Celia’s brain are necrosis (areas of post-radiation damage), which appear stable and may actually be shrinking. In addition, the swelling (edema) surrounding these lesions has gone down since the last nightmarish imaging. We are on top of the world, although too tired to celebrate, or tonight at least. Watch out world, Celia Jane Yarish is unstoppable (and thankfully also completely oblivious to the last six weeks of torture). BBBS

~ Brandie Yarish

“Here in the heart of me, that’s where you’ll always be.” I am told that one of the greatest fears of families who lose a child to cancer is that their child will be forgotten. More than anything, they want to keep their child alive, if not in body, then at very least, in their hearts and in the hearts of others.

On the evening of September 30th, some 20 families affected by childhood cancer gathered at Eau Claire Market to do just that: honour the lives and memories of children taken by cancer. Not losing sight of the family nature of Kids Cancer Care, Time To Remember was suitably child-friendly with hot chocolate to warm our spirits as kids and parents of all ages crafted lanterns in honour of their lost loved ones.

Each family, each individual, brings their own special meaning to Time to Remember. I brought the only thing I could, a sincere desire to show solidarity with these families. In talking with families, I discovered that the experience of Time to Remember does not begin at 7 pm when they arrive at Eau Claire; it starts in the morning as they begin rummaging through old photos to choose just the right one for their lantern, each photo stirring new memories.

Time to Remember is a ritual, a rite, that begins early in the day and goes deep into the night. It brings families from all walks of life together to witness and share in their common loss. The symbolism of the warm light of the lanterns cutting through the darkness was not lost on the group meandering through Prince’s Island Park. The procession of families arrived at its destination, the amphitheatre of Market Square, where each family placed their child’s lantern. Gathered around the soft glow of these tiny lanterns, the group shared in a singing of Daniel Lavoie’s, Here in the heart of me. And with those words echoing through the night, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month came to a close.

Time to Remember is a fitting close to Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, an international initiative designed to illuminate the tragedy of childhood cancer and its devastating wake. With an overall survival rate of 82% for Canadian children with cancer, it is easy to lose sight of the work that remains. And yet, despite huge advances in research and care, childhood cancer is still the number one disease killing children today. So what of the children who do not make it? What of the families who lose these children? While remembering there children, Time to Remember reminds us of the work to be done — a cure for every child. You can easily fall into despondency when considering such tragedy, but hearing the families’ stories and how they have come through somehow offers you a healthy perspective on how best to support them–even if it’s as simple as just showing up.

I find it difficult to summarize the diverse experiences of these families into one message, but if I had to choose, it would be to always react to life positively and in such a way that honours its fragility and impermanence.

–Blair, childhood cancer survivor and volunteer

PS. You can get a sense of the evening from this photo collage of Time to Remember 2013, created by Monique de St. Croix of Unique Perspectives. We’re working on our photo collage for the 2014 event, so be sure to check back here or on our YouTube channel.

My name is Khadija Samoylove and I have just started a practicum for the fall semester working with teens at Kids Cancer Care. I am currently in my final year at the University of Calgary in the kinesiology program, and I am specializing in exercise and health physiology.

For my first project, I was asked to provide a small report outlining my current understanding of childhood cancer and Kids Cancer Care. I hope to look at this after my practicum and see where I stand then compared to what I know right now.

Cancer has always been a disease that scares me. Through all the research done, we are still not 100 per cent confident that it can be conquered. It is even more frightening thinking about having to deal with cancer as a child. When I think of childhood, I think of drinking juice boxes with friends on the playground and running around to play tag, not awaiting treatment in the hospital.

Through school, I was aware that leukemia was the most common type of childhood cancer, but I was unaware of the fact that lymphomas and brain tumors are also very common, as well as solid tumours. It is however, somewhat hopeful to know that children do respond better to treatment and are often able to survive cancer and go on to live fulfilling lives.

I have always been familiar with the general treatment types: chemotherapy, radiation and surgery. However, I was unaware of how drastic and hard some treatment types are, specifically bone marrow transplants. It is extremely hard to imagine having to undergo such treatment and being kept in isolation for such a long period of time.

Having a better understanding of childhood cancer and how it affects children and parents gives me a better idea of how important Kids Cancer Care is for these families. I was blown away by just how many programs and different aspects of support the foundation offers. It is my firm belief that children and teens of all ages and abilities should have some sort of support system, whether it is through their families or friends or other organizations. Kids Cancer Care is absolutely amazing at providing this. The fact that they have camps, activities, leadership programs, fun nights and simple acts of just giving back is making sure that kids and families affected by cancer have support in every way possible.

The importance of providing such support is immense. From my own experiences, leadership camps and having support throughout my childhood did wonders for my self-esteem and helped shape the person I am today. From that I can understand just how beneficial Kids Cancer Care is for kids who are dealing with much more than I could ever imagine.

I have already learned so much more about Kids Cancer Care and childhood cancer in the first week of being involved and I am looking forward to learning so much more! I am incredibly excited, and honestly a little nervous as I begin getting more deeply involved. I hope to provide the kids I am helping with as much knowledge and positive change as I know they are going to give me. Working over the rest of the semester with Kids Cancer Care is definitely going to be an amazing experience and one that I hope will help point me in the direction of a career path I would like to take in the future.

Most importantly, September is coincidentally Childhood Cancer Awareness Month! It is not too late to get involved and provide a little more joy into a child’s life. We know that the smallest things can make a huge impact, so anything and everything helps. Thank you!

Khadija Samoylove