Erin's Journals

Once again I’m astounded at the depth and heart of the comments you posted on my Facebook page about the drug domperidone. Thank you for the shares and for helping to spread the word. If one breast feeding mother is saved, it’ll be worth it.
 
My friend Nancy posted it on a local moms’ buy, sell and swap site and hopefully it will spread from there as well. Of course, where breast feeding is concerned, there are some very loud and militant voices and I’m not entering that conversation. Suffice it to say that I’m glad there’s a movement called “Fed is Best.” As always, it’s good to step back and take a look at both sides.
 
I’m lightening things up for you today (and for me) to thoughts of light and beauty. I noticed coming home from a lovely evening out with Nancy and her husband how much I miss Christmas lights. I mean, in the depths of winter, January and February, when are we more in need of some sparkle and shine? Of course, there are those dreaded hydro bills to consider and that’s a good reason to shut them down and take them down. And, of course, you don’t want to be shamed by your neighbours, heaven forfend!
 
While the lights are gone from our neighbourhood high up in the Saanich Peninsula, some days when Rob and I walk Molly, we spot Christmas trees through people’s windows. And you kow what? I think that’s just lovely. If you have gone to all of the trouble to put up a tree, why not enjoy it as long as you want? Who can tell you otherwise?
 
You will laugh at this, but in 2013, our tree didn’t come down until February! It was a combination of a lot of things: we had the most glorious 14-foot tree cut fresh and delivered to our lake home, Rob had rigged an amazing and effective watering system and we were away for part of January on a listener trip. 
 

 
By the time we took it down and pitched it off the deck to the patio below, there was a shower of needles everywhere – inside the house and out – but we didn’t regret for one minute leaving up that glorious Christmas tree. Here’s to making the good times last. They’re too long in coming and too soon in passing, so the trick is always to know when it’s good and savour it, right? 
 

I’m going to start today with sincere thanks for the kind words on Facebook, Twitter and in my inbox in response to yesterday’s journal. I was touched by every note and I’m grateful that my message seemed to resonate with so many readers and listeners to this journal.
 
Now here’s a message I need you to spread for me. 
 
When I was writing my book (now in the hands of the publisher and editor, as we spend a year preparing it for release) I spoke with some amazing women, all bereaved mothers like myself. One of them had turned the senselessness of her son’s death into action, to raise awareness about the side effects of prescription drugs – especially those that are handed out carelessly as samples, without proper warnings – and her actions made me ask myself what we are doing to spare more families the despair that losing our child has caused us. Was there anything we could do?
 
Here’s the thing: the coroner was unable to link Lauren’s death definitively to a drug she was taking (as prescribed) to help increase her breast milk production. But he, and another noted medical expert and former coroner, concurred: the drug was strongly suspected and impossible to rule out.
 
That drug is taken by 1 in 5 nursing mothers here in BC and I decided to try to speak out a little more loudly – albeit carefully (big drug companies have deep pockets, after all) – after I read a seemingly well-meaning article in Today’s Parent. The subject was how to boost your breast milk production if you’re having difficulty (as so many moms – myself included – do and did). One of the helpful hints was taking a drug called domperidone. 
 
My blood ran cold as I read those words.
 
Because I am part of the Rogers family and had received the article in a link to stories I might want to talk about, I reached out to the editor-in-chief, asking her please to take a closer look at this drug. This past week, Today’s Parent did just that in an article I am begging you to pass on to anyone in your life who might have a little one at her breast and who is experiencing frustration. It sheds some light on the drug and why it’s not prescribed in all countries and also why it is so highly recommended by a man often described as Canada’s breast feeding guru, Dr. Jack Newman, chief pediatrician of the International Breast Feeding Centre.
 
In writing our book, we reached out to Dr. Newman with our concerns and questions. He kindly offered his condolences, but is firm in his belief that there is no way to link definitively Lauren’s death with the drug that he recommends (when other options like proper latching and natural supplements have failed).
 
He and Rob had a cordial email exchange in which we made a little headway: we were able at least to have the information on an outdated web page changed to include latest warnings from Health Canada and eliminate an endorsement which was no longer valid. However, Dr. Newman says that he cannot understand the FDA warning and ban in the United States and suggests that it may have more to do with gastro-intestinal issues, for which it is also prescribed.
 
The woman who spoke to Today’s Parent about her chest pain, who then discovered she had a heart arrhythmia, rang true with us. We suspect Lauren had her daddy’s extremely slow heart beat (resting rate around 45 bpm) but she was never tested (to out knowledge) before being prescribed domperidone. It’s all we’re asking: that mothers and their doctors take that step to make sure the drug they’re being prescribed is safe for them. I don’t think that’s a lot to ask.
 
Please read this article. It’s so important and could save a life…and a family. And thank you.
 

Did you miss it, or did you see that yesterday was Blue Monday? Sunwing even had radio ads based on it! I’m actually glad I wasn’t aware of it until the day was half over; I don’t need any pseudo-scientific date circling to tell me that it’s the day that winter, bills, Monday itself and everything else just kind of pile on and make for a bad mood. We’ve got plenty to keep us blue, thanks, and all you have to do is read the news (or yesterday’s journal) for some pretty significant reasons.
 
But there was a line in the latest season of The Crown that just keeps resonating with me and it has to do with sadness. I wish I had asked my sister to pause the TV so I could go back and write it down. The words from the actress playing Queen Elizabeth went something like this: you think you are sad until something truly awful happens and then you realize what sadness really is. Of course, it sounded much more eloquent coming out of Claire Foy’s perfect face, but I’ve not been able to shake that thought.
 
My entire life from teenage years to now, I’ve presented this outward veneer of sunshine and optimism with so much sadness inside. I still remember as a teen the first time I heard the word “depression” and was strangely elated to know that what I felt was a thing. A real thing. I lived with it, sought treatment and medication for it, and have been talking openly about it ever since. 
 
Until May 11, 2015, when we learned our daughter had not awakened that morning, I had known sadness, but I had not known utter devastation. Of course, before that day, I’d faced emotional setbacks like almost everyone else: the loss of a parent, the loss of a job. But this – this was the absolute worst. As Rob says, if you’d asked him before that day if he was a happy person, he’d have said, “Yes.” And now? No. That goes for both of us.
 
Are we sad every minute of every day? Of course not. It’s like the story goes: you learn to dance again, but with a limp. (In fact, we were dancing together at home just the other night. Go figure.) Some days I look back at the first 53 years of my life and wonder why in hell I was ever sad. Of course, I know the answer now and I’m not sure I could have lived any differently if I’d known what was coming. I’m only grateful I knew what I had when I had it, you know?
 
So how do we keep going? You have to search for things that give you joy. If it’s a dreadful winter day or you think the sun is never going to shine again, you look through pictures you’ve taken of beaches and flowers – of things that warm your heart. If you’re lonely, you reach out to someone you’re missing. I am just so grateful for social media and myriad ways of keeping in touch with dear friends, and even with those I haven’t met yet, like so many people who drop in to this journal.
 
And most of all, if you’re in trouble and feeling like there’s no light on the horizon, no chance your days are going to get better, please ask for help. There’s no shame in saying “I’m in trouble.” My own mother’s life got so much brighter and happier – as did my father’s as a side effect – when she sought help for the depression that is a very dark and real rung on the ladder of our family’s DNA. At the time of her death one day short of 79, she was happy, fulfilled, grateful and loving life. Who wouldn’t want some of that?
 
If this is a blue Tuesday for you, too, book an appointment with your doctor. Life is too short to be so sad all the time. As a friend always says, if you were diabetic you’d see a doctor and perhaps take medication, right? Maybe it’s just a change in lifestyle that is in order; maybe it’s more. But whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be this way.
 
Trust me.
 

Imagine this: you wake up on Saturday morning in an island paradise. Perhaps the waves are crashing outside the sliding glass doors on your rented vacation condo. Maybe you live there and are grateful to see the mountains and palm trees within view of your bedroom window every day. Then an alarm goes off on your phone.
 
This weekend, up to 1.5 million Americans thought that their lives were about to end. For 38 excruciating, terrorizing minutes, thanks to an automatically sent warning, this came up on people’s phones. In their homes. In their beds. On the beach. In restaurants. Imagine the terror.
 

 
Just one year ago, you might have shrugged it off, saying to yourself that it was likely that someone had inadvertently sent out a message that was meant to be a test. After all, that kind of thing happens by accident. In 2015, a behind-the-scenes dry run of how the BBC would handle the passing of Britain’s monarch resulted in an apology, after one of its reporters mistakenly tweeted that Queen Elizabeth II had passed away. So, you know, when human beings are involved, things can go sideways.
 
But it’s the context of this story, the ramped-up tension that we’ve been feeling now for almost exactly a year, that made this text and its possible veracity so terrifying. Today, there are two madmen – two that we know of, two that rave aloud – who are threatening each other with their nuclear weapons. One claims to have a bigger button. The fact that the leader of North Korea has been waving his little missiles around for years now is not as disconcerting as the fact that the so-called most powerful man in the free world has taken to tweeting threats and insults and provocations to inflame an already tense situation.
 
This insanity is why people were putting their children into storm drains or huddling in their bathtubs or trying to book airline tickets or phoning loved ones in tears or rushing to be with their families for their last hours on earth together. This is why what is being sold as a simple screw-up by a staffer at the Hawaii Emergency Management Agency pitched one-and-a-half million island residents (and countless more tourists) into utter panic for 38 minutes on the Saturday of a long weekend. Because we’re in a climate where we all know it actually could happen, the same way so many of our parents felt during the Cuban Missile Crisis.
 
More recently, in 1983, the world came close to nuclear destruction once again and you may not even have heard the story, or the name Stanislav Petrov. He’s known by many as The Man Who Saved the World. It was less than a month after the Soviets had shot down KAL Flight 007. Petrov was monitoring a nuclear early-warning system when a satellite report came in that the US had launched a nuclear missile with five more to follow. 
 
Petrov judged the reports to be a false alarm (he felt an attack would be full-out, not a trickle), he ran a bunch of checks and balances through his civilian-trained brain and decided not to alert highers-up to the possible attack. In so doing, he likely prevented a nuclear retaliation on the US and its NATO allies. Why was he on my mind? 
 
Saturday, January 13th could have seen a massive scale disaster, except for two things: one, of course, it was a text sent in error as part of an internal drill at shift change. But secondly: had the so-called Commander in Chief been at a desk, in his bed, anywhere but on the golf course for those crucial minutes, would his hands have found that big button? Would his hot head and desire to move the news focus from stories of his philandering, mental instability, racism and, oh yes, collusion with Russia, just possibly have made launching the world into nuclear war the answer to his problems? 
 
Now, you may have faith that there are saner minds and stabler hands in control of the nuclear codes – and trust me, I would love to have that faith – but I think it’s pretty safe to say that we can all be very grateful to Trump for spending yet another day on his golf course at Mar-a-LOCO on Saturday. 
 
And by the way, there was not one word of comfort or leadership directed towards Hawaii or the rest of the nation that is shaking its collective head. Trump’s first tweet on Saturday came hours after he’d finished his 18 holes and had been fully briefed on the error that occurred on that beautiful stretch of islands in the South Pacific. It was about the Fire and Fury book and about his oft-bleated lament of fake news. Because, when it all comes down to it, that’s all he cares about: Donald J. Trump. Who is our Petrov? Who will save our world?
 

Here we are at the end of another week – the first full work week of January and 2018 – and I am reflecting on these days with you.
 
What did I learn? That, just as I suspected, lots of people in different occupations have work nightmares. I heard from two teachers: one of whom approached the end of the year with nightmares that she still hadn’t completed all kinds of assignments; the other who would dream in the nights leading up to the first day of school of being stuck in endless traffic and not making it to school on time or, when she got there, she was dressed only in a full slip and couldn’t find anything to wear to cover up! So there you go. We all have them, it seems.
 

 
I haven’t weighed in on the Tim Hortons protests in Ontario; it just gets too political even to say that everyone deserves a living wage. Those who detest the Liberals in general and Kathleen Wynne in particular are not going to budge. It’s where we are in 2018.
 
That’s the same reason I’ve not commented on Oprah running for president after that astounding, stirring and momentous speech on Sunday night at the Golden Globes. Until Oprah’s plans become more than just a rumour, I’ll sit back, wait and wonder what would make her give up a seemingly perfect life for four or eight years of strife and hatred directed towards her – more than she’s already had to endure during her entire career (and in this past week). Do I think she’d do an incredible job? Absolutely. Admittedly the bar is awfully low right now, but again, why would she put herself through the down, dirty and corrupt political wringer?
 
Pleasingly, I learned that there’s a great shared sisterhood when it comes to cooking and recipes. Just as I never feel more connected to my grandmother than when I’m hanging out laundry, I am somehow more connected with my mother – and my own feminine side – when I’m putting together a warm and comforting meal. I’ve loved the exchanges we’ve had on Facebook about it this week. And yes, I’ll be trying a recipe I was sent last week and if it’s good, it’s yours too!
 
Next week, I’ve an article to share with you here that opens the dialogue on the prescription drug that the coroner couldn’t rule out as the cause of our daughter’s death at 24. I didn’t want to hit you with it today as this is Friday and, just as I’d do on a radio show, I think it’s good to wrap up the week on a higher, lighter note. So that’s what we’ll do.
 
Molly’s adjusted quite nicely to life here on the west coast. We took advantage of a sunny 10°C day to walk along the beach on Tuesday and, although her stamina isn’t what it used to be, she enjoyed the change of pace, as did we. (And I only mention the temperature Tuesday as I heard Toronto set a record with 12°C yesterday. Well done!) But sometimes we come home from our shorter, wetter walks and she finds it hard to warm up. Sure she can curl up in front of the fire…
 

 
…but if we haven’t lit one yet, we’ve come up with something almost as good: a heating pad on the couch. She’s really come to like that. In fact, now she moves from seat to seat looking for that pad, that special warm spot.
 

 
Do we spoil our little 13-year-old? Sure we do. We love her and she loves us. We cuddle endlessly in the mornings and she sleeps scooched up to Rob or me at night to stay warm when I leave the door to the outside ajar.
 
We also spoil her with her treats, giving her SierraSil pet chews to fend off the arthritis that seems to accompany these wet weather conditions out here. And, of course, we feed her Caru foods, including their new, lower-priced Daily Dish. I shot a video of me serving her DD for the first time. It was a gamble: she loves their stews so much that switching up her food didn’t make sense. But you’ll see her reaction here.
 

 
Now we mix her two kinds of food, adding a bit of kibble to give her teeth a cleaning. And we’re grateful to Caru for sponsoring the audio journal. Give it a listen sometime – and have a wonderful weekend. Thanks for coming by, as always.