Dagnone, Jeffrey Damon

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Canadian	Medical	Education	Journal	2017,	8(4)		Correspondence:	J	Damon	Dagnone,	20	Barrie	Street,	Kingston,	ON,	K7L	3J6;	phone	:	613	533-6000	ext.	75276	email:	jdd1@queensu.ca	e103	Canadian	Medical	Education	Journal	Images	Finding	our	way	home	J	Damon	Dagnone1		1Department	of	Emergency	Medicine,	Queen’s	University,	Ontario,	Canada	Published:	December	15,	2017	CMEJ	2017,	8(4):e103-e104		Available	at	http://www.cmej.ca	©	2017	Dagnone;	licensee	Synergies	Partners	This	is	an	Open	Journal	Systems	article	distributed	under	the	terms	of	the	Creative	Commons	Attribution	License	(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)	which	permits	unrestricted	use,	distribution,	and	reproduction	in	any	medium,	provided	the	original	work	is	properly	cited.			Eleven	years	ago,	my	wife	and	I	 lost	our	son	Callum	to	cancer.	He	had	 just	celebrated	his	3rd	birthday	at	Sick	 Kids	 Hospital	 in	 Toronto	 where	 he	 was	undergoing	 his	 3rd	 “rescue”	 stem	 cell	 transplant	 for	his	 6th	 and	 final	 chemotherapy	 cycle,	 following	 the	surgical	removal	of	a	brain	tumor.	The	 image	above	is	a	plaster	 imprint	of	Callum’s	untouched	foot,	and	was	created	on	November	11th,	2006	–	just	moments	after	he	died	in	the	Paediatric	Intensive	Care	Unit.	Its	tiny	 proportions,	 detailed	 imprinting,	 and	 delicate	craftsmanship	 all	 powerfully	 convey	 its	 simple	message.	 Protected	 permanently	 in	 our	 home,	 it	 is	being	 shared	 in	 CMEJ	 to	 help	 tell	 my	 personal	journey	 as	 a	 bereaved	 parent,	 loving	 husband,	individual	 human	 being,	 and	 Emergency	 Room	physician.	It	accompanies	and	amplifies	Lester	Liao’s	commentary	 (in	 this	 issue)	 on	 “The	 physician	 as	person	framework.”	For	my	wife	and	me,	the	image	of	our	son’s	footprint	represents	many	things.	At	the	time	of	its	creation,	it	represented	 a	 final	 keepsake	 created	 during	 a	 time	of	 intense	 suffering.	 The	 imprint	 of	 his	 foot	 also	captured	one	of	 the	 last	 remaining	parts	of	our	son	that	had	not	been	affected	by	the	ravages	of	cancer	and	 struggles	 of	 his	 treatment	 –	 the	 invasive	monitors,	 intravenous	 lines,	 tubes,	 and	 the	destructive	 transformation	 of	 his	 physical	appearance	 during	 the	 end	 stages	 of	 his	 illness.	 it	represents	for	us	our	journeys	together	and	alone.	Our	 first	 journey	together	was	with	Callum,	starting	at	the	time	of	his	diagnosis,	continuing	through	all	of	his	 treatments,	 and	ending	with	his	death.	My	wife	and	 I	 asked	 our	 little	 boy	 to	 trust	 us	 that	 that	 he	“had	 to	 get	 sick	 from	 the	 medicine	 to	 then	 get	better.”	 We	 asked	 him	 to	 embrace	 the	 nurses,	doctors,	and	everyone	caring	for	him	as	we	entered	scary	and	dangerous	places.	We	asked	him	to	be	his	best	self	despite	the	debilitating	chemotherapy	that	Canadian	Medical	Education	Journal	2017,	8(4)		 e104	forced	us	into	months	of	isolation	confined	mostly	to	a	single	barren	bed	in	a	small	room	within	a	hospital	building	 far	 from	 home.	 To	 ask	 this	 of	 our	 baby	knowing	 that	 we	might	 lose	 the	 battle	 was	 torture	for	us	–	and	yet	our	son	showed	us	the	way.	He	took	us	 by	 the	 hands	 and	 led	 us	 on	 our	 journey	 in	 that	hospital	-	with	his	smiles,	his	patience,	and	his	quiet	acceptance	 of	 his	 condition.	 During	 his	 illness,	 he	made	us	the	proudest	parents	on	earth.		When	my	wife	and	I	lost	Callum,	our	world	shattered	and	 our	 new	 journey	 began	 without	 him.	 This	second	 journey,	 also	 captured	 by	 his	 footprint,	involves	rebuilding	our	 lives	and	 it	has	been	so	very	hard	to	walk	this	path	we	must.	These	 last	11	years	have	 been	 so	 difficult	 and	 unfair,	 but	 like	 the	 first	journey	 we	 asked	 our	 Callum	 to	 take	 with	 us,	 we	have	no	choice	in	this	one	either.	Only	this	time,	this	new	journey	is	so	much	lonelier	with	so	much	more	heartache.		Prior	 to	my	 son’s	diagnosis,	my	wife	and	 I	 shared	a	storybook	 life.	 I	 was	 married	 to	 my	 childhood	sweetheart,	I	was	a	dad	to	two	wonderful	little	boys,	and	 I	 was	 entering	 the	 final	 year	 of	 my	 FRCPC	Emergency	 Medicine	 residency.	 I	 couldn’t	 have	dreamed	of	being	more	content	with	life	than	I	was	at	 the	 time	 –	 and	 I	 thought	 daily	 of	 how	 blessed	 I	was.	Cancer	changed	everything.	As	a	dad,	husband,	physician,	and	person,	 I	 can	attest	 that	 I	have	been	forever	 changed.	 This	 experience	 has	 profoundly	affected	how	I	connect	with	people	in	the	world	and	what	 kind	 of	 doctor	 I	 now	 strive	 to	 be.	 Callum’s	journey	reminds	me	that	I	need	to	continue	walking	my	journey	as	he	walked	his.			

Finding Our Way Home

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Finding Our Way Home

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