The miracle of Jojo

When my kids were 5 and 7, we bought them a dog. They named him Jojo, after the oldest son in the movie Horton Hears a Who. Jojo, although the oldest son, was the smallest in the family. He was little and seemed like he felt insignificant and misunderstood. Jojo however turns out to be the unexpected hero of the story, the one who along with the mayor, helps Horton to save the day. 

When Jojo came to stay with us, he was 5 months old. He cried the first night that he was with us. His bed was in the living room, but he wouldn't sleep in it. I slept on the floor in our living room with him that night - he crawled into my lap and into my heart. 

We got Jojo the same week that my grandmother passed away. The school year had just begun and we decided that I should go alone to South Africa to be with my family for the funeral. I told my kids that if they missed me while I was gone, that they could remember that Jojo, being littler than them, also probably missed his mother and that instead of feeling sad, that they should comfort him instead. In those 10 days that I was gone, Jojo cemented his place permanently in their hearts.

Jojo fit perfectly into our family. He would climb onto the couch for our story time cuddles before bed every night. He knew when I would get the book, and would take his place on the couch ready for that night's story. He loved to cuddle and hated to be alone, very much like our son Daniel. He also had a very naughty streak, and he could outrun every runner in our family - Jojo cared not for all the running medals or races that any of us had won, he could outrun and out dodge all of us, and it was his favorite game that he played every time someone accidentally left our front gate open, leaving us trailing behind him into some stranger's house in our housing complex profusely apologizing for our mischievous dog. Even when Jojo chewed up our daughter Naomi's favorite stuffed penguin, she was angry for a short while, but she still loved Jojo with all of her heart. Jojo belongs to our family, and we belong to him

And then in September 2015, a little over a year later, I suddenly fell terribly ill and had to be admitted to the hospital. I don't know what Jojo must have thought when I disappeared from the house and my family spent days and weeks going back and forth from the hospital. The doctors finally figured out what was wrong with me, but I was already in the ICU on a ventilator. I spent 5 days on the ventilator and when they were able to take me off of it and I was strong enough to breath with just oxygen as support, the doctor briefed me on my treatment going forward. We had a lot of questions for her, and one of them was, could we keep Jojo? 

The doctor strongly recommended that we not have animals in the house when I returned home for fear that my compromised immune system would pick up an infection or a possible parasite. With a heavy heart, my husband tried as best he could to find a friend or family member nearby that would be able to take Jojo until we could bring him home again. But try as he might, nobody was able to take Jojo and he had to make the difficult decision to try and sell Jojo before I was allowed to come home from the hospital. He sold Jojo to a dog farm, and then as a family we focused all of our energy on my healing.

There was many a night after story time that there were tears about Jojo. For 2 a half years, my kids missed him terribly. They had a Jojo shaped hole in their hearts, and there was nothing they could do that would make it go away. Every Christmas and birthday, Jojo was on the top of their wish-list, and sometimes, he was the only thing on their list. The worst part about it was that we couldn't even take them to see Jojo as my husband had lost his phone and along with it the phone number of the new owners. Try as we might, google searches and numerous phone calls to dog farms in the area where he should have been, we could not find Jojo.

Then one day a friend of ours suggested that Daniel go on a local TV talent show

 to show off his soccer goalkeeping skills. The show tries to show off children's skills or special talents and in exchange tries to help a dream of theirs come true. Daniel's dream? He wanted to see Jojo again. Daniel did a great job and when the show aired, the new owners happened to be watching. They were touched by Daniel's story and contacted the show saying that they wanted Daniel and Jojo to meet again.

We were reunited with Jojo at the dog farm about a month ago. It was a beautiful moment for all of us, and my kids haven't been the same since. It's like the hole that was in their hearts for the past 2 and a half years finally found it's missing piece again. The owners kindly offered for us to to have Jojo back, at no charge. And although my doctor said not yet, we have found a very special family friend that loves dogs that has taken Jojo in until we can bring him home again. Jojo now lives 10 minutes away from us, and we can visit him whenever we like.

The story of Jojo to us is a miracle. To my kids it's a miracle that we were able to find him again and that was an answer to 2 and a half years of their prayers, but to me, the miracle is more that us as people are able to form such bonds, and that others, whether it be pets or people, can become parts of the puzzle of our hearts that nobody else can fill. Jojo is a part of us. His story and ours are intertwined. 

Jojo is our unexpected hero who saved the day, and we are his family.

 

Never give up

When I was in the ICU, a woman the same age as me was admitted to the bed next to me. She also had an auto-immune disease, but when she came in, she was still breathing on her own, while I was already on a respirator. I remember wanting to be able to talk to her, but not being able to because of all the tubes and machines. She was eventually put on a respirator too and given the same treatment as me, but while I improved every day, her body did not respond well to the treatment. Her husband sat outside the ICU, just like mine, wondering every day if we would make it. I distinctly recall her panicking when the nurse would try to sedate her to help her to rest so that her body would respond to the treatment. It's amazing how strong the mind can be that our fears can overcome even the strongest of drugs. She refused to sleep, terrified that she would stop breathing. I knew that no matter what, I had to remain as calm as possible if I were to make it. I signalled the nurses each time my respirator would need to get suctioned so that I could breath easier. I counted each breath when they took me off the respirator, because after five days, I was afraid that my body would not breath on it's own.

When my respirator was removed I was unable to talk, but if I could have, I would have told the woman in the bed next to me not to give up. To keep on fighting. That life is worth living, and that no matter what, the pain would eventually pass. I was moved out of the ICU the following day, and when I was in my room receiving my first chemotherapy I heard that she had died.

Almost two a half years later, I sit here on my couch writing this as a drink a cup of tea. I'm not going to lie and say that the fear that I will stop breathing hasn't plagued me since I was taken off that respirator. It is always there, in the back of my mind. There have been days when my breathing is particularly bad and I have to consciously choose my actions just so that I can make it to the end of the day without being completely exhausted. On days like that, flights of stairs are my worst enemy and reading a book to my children while having to take deep breaths in the middle of sentences is more frustrating than I can even explain. But what is greater than the fear that I will stop breathing is the fear that because of it, I will stop really living.

You see, I made it out of that ICU, and the woman in the bed next to me didn't. One lived and one died. I was given another chance, and while my body is not what it once was, I know that the way that I choose to live now speaks volumes to the people around me. When I started teaching again my doctor wasn't very happy about my decision. She viewed me as her patient, and she cares for the physical well being of all of her patients. Being severely immune suppressed and deliberately putting myself into an environment like a school meant that I was knowingly putting myself at risk of infection - I knew that, and I understood why my doctor was unhappy with my decision. After the first few months of teaching, I had seen my doctor so many times for infections and viruses that I had picked up that she casually said that she wished I would stop working so that I could get better. I told her that staying at home for the rest of my life so that I don't get sick is not really living, but that if she thought that was the only way that I would get better, I would take her advice and put in my resignation.

A week later at my follow up appointment, my doctor seemed to have changed the way that she saw me. I was no longer just being treated as one of her patients that she wanted to keep alive at all costs, but as the patient that wanted to truly live, without fear of dying. She has always been an exceptional doctor, but that day, I saw something change in the way that she spoke to me. She is now my cheerleader. When the frustrations of the side effects of the drugs get too much, she tells me what I would have loved to say to that woman that day in the ICU: 'don't give up'.

In just six weeks time, my twelfth grade students will graduate from high school. It has been a difficult year for me, but the opportunity and privilege to speak into their lives is one that I will never be able to measure. I have seen students begin believing in themselves for the first time in a long time. I have seen them change the way that they see the world, but most importantly, the way in which they see themselves. If I can leave them with one message that they will take with them, I hope that it is this:

Never give up on yourselves - no matter what. You can make a difference, but you have to choose to. Do not be afraid to live your life - life will be hard sometimes, but you must choose to live it.