Caius Schwartz - A little Superhero

Three weeks ago, I checked my messages and up popped a video of a little boy jumping in some street puddles with glee - wearing the tiny rubber boots we gave him for his birthday.
Meet Caius (pronounced Ky-us), my two-year-old nephew and his mommy and daddy - Megan and Russ Schwartz.

This little boy, well, he steals hearts with a simple cheeky glance, or by making a clever joke such as, “A pig says, ‘moo moo,’” bursting into giggles knowing full well that’s what a cow says. (Yes...he is barely two!)

And then there are his first words to me after flying into Winnipeg from the UK. Sitting in his hospital bed it goes like this:
“Caius! Look, who is here?! Is it Auntie Susie and Uncle Don?” Megan says.
I pipe up with, “Caius, what does Auntie Susie say? Don’t eat your...”
“Boogers!” we both say in unison.
And then what does he say to me (for the first time)? “I really love you.”
With those four words my heart is cracked open and put back together again.

Russ and Megan’s world was shattered when little Caius was rushed to emergency, diagnosed with a large and malignant brain tumour landing him immediately in the Pediatric ICU. Very specialised surgery was necessary to try to remove the baseball-sized tumour, requiring two surgical specialties and back-to-back operations, which took place four days later. During those four days of waiting, Caius was tired but still his adorable, articulate, and engaging self:

“Caius, is it okay if I shine this light into your eyes?” a nurse would ask.
A calm, but firm “No.” was his reply.
“Okay, I’ll come back a bit later.” she would say.
After checking monitors and before she even had time to leave the room, Caius would say to the nurse, “Okay. I’m ready now.” (Umm...he’s only two? Yes. Correct.)

Needles, IVs, wires, sticky chest leads - things a child his tender age should never have to deal with. Did Caius complain? Sometimes a few teardrops, sometimes a whimper, and sometimes an “I’ll be okay,” seemingly for our comfort. The odd time when it would get too much for him, his cries became a bit stronger, and then, in the midst of his angst he’d say these inconceivable words: “I’m just a little bit sad,” and let the tears pour for a short time more.

Even the nurses couldn’t believe his calm, his acceptance, his lack of fear or complaint. (Or, for that matter, his intelligence, vocabulary, and level of comprehension which has always amazed us.)

Caius has earned himself the title of “Trooper” but even that word is inadequate; it doesn’t cut it. As I watch him now, sitting and eating his cracker and asking politely for juice, the sutures on his scalp catch my eye and remind me of what he has survived, and what he still yet has to face. Again, my heart is ripped apart and put back together again in just that one glance.

Yes, Caius is a superhero.
His super power?
In one word?
Hope.

He just keeps taking it as it comes, not worrying about tomorrow and showing us the way. No… “Trooper” doesn’t cut it.
 
Surgery was as successful as could be, and that perfect little boy came back to us the same perfect little boy, but now also with a rockin’ hairdo, the scar of a warrior, and an official diagnosis: Cancer.

Chapter one is complete. Now we must turn the page to chapter two…killing that cancer.

This will be a long and difficult road, one that no one deserves. With the intensity of the upcoming treatment and also with a baby on the way, work has to come second for Russ and Megan. There is no choice. The government can help to some degree, but as you can imagine, the added costs (think parking, eating out, an emergency car repair, buying an extra bed for family to stay and help, on and on it goes) and largely reduced income, combined make for yet one more layer of stress - one that can be alleviated with your help.

And I feel you should know, Russ and Megan have chosen a lifetime path of caring for others - one being a nurse, the other, a social worker. Even before their education was complete, both volunteered for years with teens, crisis lines, and in so many other ways. They have been a gift to society. Now we have the opportunity to care for them.

It is hard to set a realistic monetary goal with so many unknowns at this point, so if more funds come in than needed, they will be donated to the Children’s Hospital Foundation in Winnipeg, Manitoba and the site will be updated to say that their costs have been covered.

Any help you can give, being a donation or a share or both, (and please don’t underestimate the power of a share) will help carry this family of four (plus many more) through this overwhelming chapter, and fight to get this little superhero jumping in the puddles again, healthy and care free…the way it should be.

I have written this in my words, from my heart, as Auntie Susie. I hope to have represented the whole family well, in telling Caius’ journey thus far. I do know that the immense support we have already received – emotionally, financially, and in the comfort of many, many prayers, has literally carried this family through the most scary and darkest of times. Thank you.

Thank you also to the friends (special mention to Steve and Rachel and Co.) who set this site in motion, and to you, for caring about this treasured and extraordinary family, even by just reading this and adding to our prayers.

Yes, getting this little boy back jumping in puddles...that’s our dream.