As I sat in the passenger seat of my wife's Firebird, I realized that I could easily die in a high speed crash. The driver was pulling out to pass on this unfamiliar, county road, near Burritt's Rapids. Donnie had been sixteen for barely four months and now he had this muscle machine under his control. Half an hour before, I had finally agreed to let him drive back to Ottawa. Although it was the summer of 1990, I clearly remember thinking, "I knew Donnie would die within a year, but I didn't realize that I'd be with him when it happened!"
We had been at an office party. Donnie was our youngest employee. Everyone else had graduated from journalism but he had worked for us the previous summer when he was only 15. Now it was the end of July and Donnie and was excited about reporting for our television station for another two weeks in August. I was suddenly excited as well. I had been staring out the side window, watching the scenery, trying to relax. It almost worked. Nice mellow sounds from the local Smiths Falls radio station. Suddenly I realized that Donnie was passing a car. What can I do? Do I yell at him to slow down? Would he panic?
I'd met Donnie 17 months before. The Captain and I were given a name and address in Orleans and on a cold February Saturday morning, we were headed out to pick up a passenger for a flight to the north pole. A local charity was raising funds by selling tickets on the supersonic Concorde. The TV station had bought three tickets; one for the camera, one for the weatherman and the last for my boss, the anchor. While the cameramen fought over who would get to go, our weatherman told us that he couldn't. JJ took off for Columbia on vacation, leaving a ticket available. The Captain called up the Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario and asked if they had a patient who was well enough to go on the trip of a lifetime and they said they'd find one.
Now we were being welcomed into a busy house and introduced to sons, a daughter, aunt, grandmother, and so forth. Since we had to meet the other Concorde passengers, we were quickly back to the company car and its relative quiet. While at the house, the Captain had learned that Donnie's father, an R.C.M.P. officer, had been stationed in the Captain's home province of Newfoundland. "Was your father born there". "No but I was," said Donnie. He added that his grandfather shared the same birthday as Donnie, "April the first!" My boss and I looked at each other. "That's the day I was born as well," said the Captain. That was it for me. I couldn't get one word in the rest of the conversation; not with two Newfs who were April Fools as well! It sounded like these two had known each other all their lives!
The takeoff was beautiful. The Concorde doesn't seem to need much runway to become airborne. The Captain had been promoting the fundraiser for weeks and that night, the TV station had a story on the news. We also had a new reporter! Donnie volunteered to take the microphone and with the luckiest cameraman in tow, the 14 year old chatted with the passengers. He joked with Mayor Jim Durrell and produced a story about a happy group of Canadians flying to the top of their country. It didn't seem to matter that the expensive flight landed later in the day at the same airport where it had left. It didn't matter that they never got to the top of the planet (just close to the Artic Circle). Donnie got them into a good mood and that came across in the story.
The Captain decided Donnie could handle appearing on television and asked if he would do a story for our Children's Miracle Network Telethon. Since Donnie knew C.H.E.O. intimately, would he like to take a cameraman around and tell the viewers about the hospital? Let's see now...would a boy, just turning 15 like to be a star on TV? Well, I guess so!
The story was OK, I thought. Donnie didn't know the things that TV journalism required to end up with a polished story. However, there was something there. The novel, the Blue Max, called it the X-Factor. The unknown quality that you couldn't identify but it allowed the individual to rise above the others. Donnie had that. You could see it in the interviews with his fellow patients and the joking and teasing with the nurses. Donnie, seeing a chance to get out of doing school work, interviewed his hospital teacher. The viewers recognized that she really knew him and we all realized that Donnie wasn't going to be allowed to get away that easily! The Captain and I could see that C.H.E.O. made a good choice in picking him to use the extra ticket to the North Pole.
Donnie didn't tell the viewers why he was a patient. In a way, it was good because they got to know him as a real person; not the teenager with Cystic Fibrosis. Those born with the fatal disease, have to endure daily rituals of having their back pounded to loosen the mucus that builds in the lungs. Coughing gets it out of the body but eventually, patients "drown" in this needlessly produced liquid. Drug treatment starts losing its effect and by the time they are in their teens, very few CF kids are alive. So few are in their twenties, that the Children's Hospital keeps them as patients. Except for an occasional cough, he seemed fine. However, Donnie wasn't expected to make it to Christmas that year; 1989.
The Telethon was a big success. Donnie's story had improved the production's content. We still had our journalism graduates do their stories, profiling individual patients but now we added a series of stories with a patient's point of view. This wasn't just any teen though. He wasn't angry at the world or even his parents. No, Donnie wanted to enjoy each day as if it was his last.
The Telethon is held on the first full weekend in June. The Captain decided to ask Donnie to work for us during the annual summer fair in August, the "Ex".I need to explain a little about the Central Canada Exhibition. One of our people has her own name for it. "Meet The Mutants." Despite the organization's best efforts to improve the image, the fair always seemed noisy, expensive, dirty and attended by shirtless people who just wore leather vests to better show off their misspelled tattoos. (I thought there was just one 'D' in ('MUDDAH'). Pretty scary people and that's only the women! After ten years, none of us wanted to climb into the company vehicles and go down there, each of the ten days that the Ex was open. Rain or shine.
Donnie had never seen the rides, the concession stands, or the food booths. Cystic Fibrosis made it hard for him to get enough calories so he had permission from his parents to eat whenever he wanted. Donnie could even eat WHATEVER he wanted and by the time the Ex was over, we had sampled 'food' from very booth!
Every day, we would air another story of the Ex as seen through the eyes of an excited teenager. Of course, viewers saw our newest reporter on all the rides but Donnie allowed a sensitive side to come out. When he found out that a donkey was going to be born, Donnie dragged us to the petting zoo exhibit.
That night people realized that there was more at the Ex than costly, short rip-off rides. There was tenderness, the amazing miracle of new life and all of this in a place where none of us expected to find it. The Ex. The stories were a big hit! The directors of the C.C.E.A. credited Donnie with bringing an extra 1,000 fairgoers through the gates daily. When you figure that 10,000 is a good day, Donnie was having quite an effect. Before the ten days were up, they appointed Donnie an honorary Director; the first in their long history.
Because of his popularity, Donnie was asked to sign autographs. Our anchors had professionally shot colour enlargements, but all of those were done before August. The Ex was already on so I shot a quick roll, enlarged the best one, and made a few hundred black and whites. Donnie thought it was great and continued having fun. He signed each photo with, "Enjoy life". Donnie had two companions on these daily adventures. A cameraman and me. I was reluctant to start my day at the Ex. Getting there in past years at 5 p.m. was bad enough, but 11 a.m.! Argh. Donnie, however was infectious. Perhaps that's a bad term because you can't 'catch' Cystic Fibrosis; you are born with it. Studies show about a 25% chance of having it if one parent has the undiscovered gene. There's a 50/50 probability if both parents have it in their background.
Donnie appeared healthy all during this time. Thin, but full of life. Backstage at one of the rock concerts, he convinced me to let him drive a golf cart. The Vivoni Brothers, the owners of the travelling fair, had brought a dozen of them for their own use as well as for any V.I.P.s . Having been told that he wouldn't live until Christmas, I figured Donnie should get a chance to drive something since his 16th birthday wasn't until the following April Fool's Day. Up and down the south stand ramps we flew. To me, it was nothing. To Donnie, another adventure!
While at a Rough Rider home game during the Ex, Donnie had one of his many coughing fits. A nearby spectator sympathized with him, saying that it was rough to have a cold in the summer. We sat there and Donnie agreed.
Christmas came and Donnie's white cells were at normal levels. April came and he turned 16. He worked our telethon, this time sitting at the desk with the Captain, announcing the names of those who had just called in donations.
As in the past, a young married couple took up their position in the building's lobby, greeting everyone who entered. Donnie's aunt and uncle. A childless couple, volunteering to raise money for a children's hospital. The Telethon was another success and raised money, not just for patient care, but also research.With a new building dedicated to that purpose, good scientists were easy to attract.
Remember the drive from the staff party? Donnie now had a beginner's permit and I couldn't think of any reason why he shouldn't drive. So I said nothing as he passed without incident, a car along a back road with which neither of us is familiar. Just for my own sake, I decided it was a good idea to watch the road and carry a conversation; if it was the last thing I did. It wasn't.
The Ex resumed the next month and Donnie was determined to work. We spent the mornings, shooting, so our youngest reporter could rest in the afternoon. Lesley ran our trailer and she set up a spot for him to stretch out. This time we used a golf cart all the time while shooting. "We need it for the equipment, Donnie". With a little sleep, he would get his energy back by the time the news went to air and was up and ready to sign more autographs.
One of the few times we had to walk was after we returned the golf cart. On our trips around the fairgrounds, we had discovered their secret resting place. Even though it had been delivered at our news trailer, we thought it would be nice to drop the $4,000 machine off. The big greasy, tattoo and leather attired 'Carnie' just shrugged when Donnie parked it and tossed him the keys.
I didn't think about it until a few hours later when someone from the City of Ottawa came over to the trailer. "Where was the golf cart?" he asked. I told him that we returned it to the travelling fair. With horror, I heard the man scream as he started to run down the Midway, "They've probably turned it into a ride by now!" How was I to know that the city had their own carts?
Donnie had a week off, and then he was back to Orlean's St. Mathew High School. That autumn found Donnie spending more time at C.H.E.O. . The frequent blood counts showed that he was losing the fight. In early November, Donnie convinced his family that he was well enough to leave the hospital to shop for Christmas. He knew he had to try but it was more that he could handle. CF had weakened Donnie and his shopping was finished by his family.
Thursday afternoon, November 29th, I dropped by the house in Orleans. The following Thursday, a classy gala was planned at the new Art Gallery and Donnie was invited to attend. We headed out to a tuxedo rental shop where the salesman commented on Donnie's cough and I agreed that everyone seemed to have a cold. On the way home, Donnie was so weak, he couldn't carry on a conversation.
The following morning, the family phoned to tell us he had died. Since then, medical researchers at C.H.E.O. have discovered what causes Cystic Fibrosis. It is not a bad gene, but rather two that are missing. When combined with a similar D.N.A. strand, CF can occur.
Although there still isn't a cure or a prevention, at least potential parents can be tested for the missing genes. His aunt and uncle still volunteer at the telethon and now they have baby pictures to show.
That Christmas, I opened a gift from Donnie. For those times when I can't have my Old English Sheepdog with me, I now have a stuffed, toy one. A memory of Raggmopp jumping on a frail, laughing teenager comes to mind.
The Captain has his gift on his desk, to this day. A wooden holder for business cards bears the copper engraved words, "Max, Enjoy And Thanks. Donnie 1990."
Originally Posted : 020104
