Six-years ago today.

Six-years ago today, Dr. Rae walked into our all glass isolation room at Sick Kids hospital dressed in fairy wings and a tiara.

Today was the day that we had been working towards. The Transplant Fairy had finally arrived. We had been holding our breath for months.

The transplant fairy took her vitals and listened to her heart. She checked her Hickman line and site and generally gave her a once over. She touched her with her wand and asked her if she was ready.

Then she turned to us and, without speaking, asked us if we were ready.

We were.

And on that day, as they hung the first of three bags of Stem Cells harvested from an anonymous donor the day before, we signed up for a life of anxiety and ambiguity.

And we have been living that life ever since.

Each year, in September, I do paperwork. and I write letters

Over the years the paperwork has varied a bit but it always starts with collecting all the necessary forms and checklists get doctors to sign them. Doctors explaining how she is compromised and what medications she needs. Nurses explaining how to be mindful of her G-tube site. Letters to the Public Health unit explaining why she is not up to date with her immunizations.

Then I write letters. I write letters to the school staff explaining where Fiona is at from an over-all health standpoint. I tell them what to watch for in gym class so they can support her without making her feel like “that kid” I tell them where I pack and stow extra boost drinks for her if she gets a sugar low. I ask them to be patient but persistent with her at snack and lunch times because she would rather chat than chew.

And then I write the letter that really matters.

Every year I write a letter to the parents of the children in Fiona’s class. I tell them a bit about Fiona. I explain why she is more vulnerable and fragile than an average kid. I ask them to think of her when they are wondering if their child is well enough to go to school. I remind them that the same flu or virus that lands their kid on the couch for a couple of days watching shitty gameshows and drinking gatorade lands my kid in hospital.

Or worse.

I am the mother of a severely immune-compromised child and my [our] choice is to send my child back to school in person. Not because I think the plan is tight. Not because I think the plan is going to protect my child from COVID-19 or anything else. Not because I expect the teachers to treat my child differently or protect her more fiercely.

I am sending her back to school because - in many ways - this environment for us is no different than the last

I am sending her back to school in person because she wants to go.

I am sending her back because I work full time - like my spouse - and we cannot give her what she needs…even if we wanted to try. And let me be clear, we don’t.

I am sending her back because I am counting on and trusting - like I have for the last 5 Septembers - the community of people around us to do the right thing. To follow the rules. To teach their kids how to wear masks and why washing hands is so important. To keep their kids home from school when they are not well. To get and keep their children vaccinated. To get the flu shot.

And while it may seem like a lot to put on a child and I know a lot of parents are worried, I can tell you from experience that they are tougher and more resilient than you think.

And this year when I write my letter to parents, I think this year, they might read it a little bit differently.

This year, all of our children are Fiona.

They are all vulnerable. And I know you - as parents and teachers and caregivers - are all scared.

I get it. I’m scared too. Welcome to the club.

And while you might not make the same choice as me, you will make a choice that makes sense for your child. Your family. Your situation.

I am choosing to send her back to school because the whole point of saving her life was to let her live it.

So whatever choice you make, here are three things I know for sure.

First, there is never enough information so you have to work with what you’ve got. That’s just the way it is.

Second, you might just be surprised at what this brings out in people. A common sense of vulnerability can make us all a bit more thoughtful, a bit more patient and even a bit more protective - of each other.

Third, while this is not exactly a fun fair, I am telling you it’s doable.

Whatever your choice, you can do this.