Dear Supporter,
The first time I walked through the doors of Ronald McDonald House Maritimes, my son Devon wasn’t even a year old. I was a nervous wreck. I had never heard of the House until I had Devon, and I had no idea what to expect.
That was almost 18 years ago. Today, when we walk in, someone always calls out, “Hey, Devon! Hey, Nichol!” The House is our second home now, and the people in it are our family.
Devon was born full term, and he died when he was born. The team worked on him for over half an hour before they stepped away. Then one nurse tried one more time, and she found a heartbeat.
That afternoon, Devon was airlifted to the IWK, and our journey began.
Devon has cerebral palsy. He uses a wheelchair and he isn’t verbal, but anyone who meets him knows exactly how he feels. His laugh comes right from the belly, until tears run down his face. When he spots someone he loves coming around the corner, he gives the biggest smile and starts hooting and hollering. He lights up every room he’s in. It melts this mama’s heart every time.
We are no strangers to hospitals. For years, we travelled from Cape Breton to Halifax almost every month, for planned surgeries and unplanned emergencies, for appointments and for some of the scariest days of our lives. About 12 years ago, Devon needed emergency surgery and the doctors didn’t think he would pull through. This year alone, he was airlifted to the ICU at the IWK in January, had spine surgery in February and hip surgery in April. We still make the trip to the IWK every four weeks.
Through all of it, Ronald McDonald House Maritimes has been there.
A hotel can give you a room. But hotel staff aren’t going to sit with you when you’re about to cry.
At the House, the staff and volunteers listen. They do something silly just to get Devon smiling. They let you vent. They become your fill-in family when your own family is far away. And you meet other parents walking the same road, who understand without you having to explain a thing.
I also know what it feels like when there’s no room. A few months back, the House was full and every hotel in Halifax was booked. Devon had appointments, and I didn’t have my vehicle. I called the social worker and asked, “Where are we going to stay?” Luckily, she found us a room at the Ronald McDonald Family Room inside the IWK. If she hadn’t, I don’t know what we would have done.
That’s the kind of stress no family needs, the emotional stress and the financial stress, piled on top of everything else.
The new House opens its doors to so many more families: new families, families like ours who have been coming for years, families who are about to walk in for the very first time as nervous as I was. But it can only do that because of people like you.
If I could say one thing to you, it would be Thank you. Without donors, the House wouldn’t be there. You keep parents close to their sick kids. You make sure a mother has a bed down the hall instead of a chair in a waiting room.
This Christmas Eve, I hope we’ll be doing what we always do: matching pajamas, pizza at the door, a Christmas movie and one gift opened early. That’s all I want, to be with my two boys. But right now, another family is facing the holidays far from home, in hospital, wondering where they will sleep tonight.
Give today and help keep a warm bed waiting for families like ours this holiday season.
It means more than you will ever know.
With love and gratitude,
Nichol MacNeil
Devon’s mom and sidekick
