Alex has been on blood thinners since before he could walk, so in the back of my mind I’ve always worried about him falling and hitting his head, or getting cut, or hitting his nose and making it bleed. Whether Alex is running, riding on his scooter, on his bike, even running in the house with the puppy, he probably hears “slow down” more than most kids his age.
There’s more to it than just the blood thinners though. I worry about him elevating his heart rate. When Alex was five, he had an incident at school where he experienced sudden tachycardia in gym class. His heart rate elevated very quickly; the school called an ambulance and the situation was managed at our local emergency department in consultation with SickKids. We were home later the same night. Alex has been on a low level beta blocker ever since to keep his rate controlled, but it was a very scary experience for everyone involved.
Looking back, I don’t remember a doctor ever confirming that it was Alex’s activity level in gym class that sent him into his episode of tachycardia. I’m pretty sure I drew that conclusion on my own, and it’s been with me ever since. I’m not sure anyone could know for certain anyway; rhythm and rate complications are not uncommon with his condition, and his heart has been through quite a lot over his nine years. It’s definitely made me nervous, and has affected my perception of Alexander’s level of physical activity. I’ve always been worried about him overexerting himself. This is a strange conflict, because I love watching Alex play. He plays softball and basketball, and generally wants to do everything his big sister does. I remember asking his cardiologist very early on if Alex would be able to play sports, or even play at recess. The opportunity for him to be physically active was clearly a priority for me right from the start, and even though we’ve been blessed with these opportunities that I wanted so badly for him, in the moment I find my feelings are pretty equally split between gratitude and anxiety.
So you can imagine my state of mind when Alexander told us he’d signed up to run cross-country at school this fall. The distance was 1km for his grade, and he was determined to accomplish it. The day came, and Michelle and I were both able to be there to watch him with Sydney, who also ran with her grade. I was pretty nervous. A few minutes after the race started, the first of the kids came out of the forest and around the final corner into the long straightaway across the field to the finish line. After the majority of the kids in the middle of the pack crossed the line a couple of minutes after that, there was a bit of a break, and then the kids near the back started to reach that final turn. I saw Alex, in his Jurassic Park t-shirt jog into the straightaway. I was so relieved. What happened next was remarkable. I had thought he would have to walk for the last straightaway, or that I might even have to help him across the line. Instead, when he saw the crowd at the finish, he did what runners are supposed to do, and he dug deep for the final push. He broke into a sprint and even passed a few kids before he crossed the line. I was so proud of him, but it took everything he had. Michelle made it to him, and helped him calm down so he could catch his breath. He recovered pretty quickly, and was very proud of his accomplishment.
Michelle loves running, and she’s really good at it. I join her on maybe three 5k races a year, and it’s everything I’ve got to get across that line in half an hour. So while I’m not exactly competitive, I do understand the feeling when the finish line comes into view after that last turn. There comes a time in every race where I have to decide whether to jog across, or sprint to the finish. I dig deep for the sprint about half the time. It’s a very simple, binary decision, and every single time I decide not to sprint, it’s because my mind says “don’t”, not because my body says “can’t”.
I’m not sure what Alexander’s body was telling him at the end of that race, but I know it was his determination that allowed him to sprint for the finish line. He believed he could do it, and he was right all along. Alex has always been a bit stubborn. Michelle and I know this has helped him through some difficult times. Whether it’s that first walk down the hallway to the playroom after surgery, or just heading down to SickKids for another full day of tests. Once he sets his mind to something, it’s difficult to turn him away from it.
It might be this determination that I admire most about him. Most recently, Alex decided he wanted to try CrossFit. We got the OK from SickKids (with some restrictions), and he’s going once a week to our local gym, who have been amazing with adjusting workouts around his restrictions, and helping him scale movements to give him the best chance for success.
I still worry about Alex when he exerts himself, but I’m going to continue to let him try. I’ve come to believe that if we place too much focus on what we fear our heart kids “can’t” do, we risk stifling that determination that many of us have identified in their personalities. I don’t want my child to grow up in fear of things that are difficult to succeed at. I want him to try anyway. I want him to try with everything he has and I want him to sprint for the finish, not slow down.
