Sunday, December 21, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Tinsley
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Tinsley: One of the most profound senses of comfort, in my opinion, is when someone is there to hold your hand. Holding someone's hand is a sim...
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Courage and Strength
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Courage and Strength: It takes strength to be firm, It takes courage to be gentle. It takes strength to conquer, It takes courage to surrender. It takes stre...
Tinsley
One of the most profound senses of comfort, in my opinion, is when someone is there to hold your hand. Holding someone's hand is a simple gesture that warms the heart and can magically eases the pain. Whether you are scared, nervous, anxious, sad, frustrated, and/or angry a gentle grasp of two hands can help heal even the deepest wounds.
I recently made(well, ordered and enhanced) blankets for the children at the hospital to replicate the feeling of coziness when there may be no one around to hold their hand. I know cuddling up in a blanket provides me relaxation, and allows me to escape the agony, if even for a short period of time. "My" kids have caught onto my hand holding/security blanket concept, and recently adopted it as there own. Whenever they are sick, having a pain filled day, or have been though many procedures/treatments they can grab hold of their personalized source of relief. Every time I go to visit them, I see the their specifically illustrated sports team and Disney themed blankets on there beds. Many of the parent have approached me to tell me, (as they fight back tears) how creative, patient and sincere I am with the children. In that moment they told me of how my time, effort, and generosity benefit the parents just as much as the children.
Yesterday was the holiday party for the children at the cancer center. As they were playing with their new toys, many parents and grandparents surrounded me to thank me for activities I have thought up and organized over the past year. They thanked me fifty times over. I explained to them that their thank you's and acknowledgement was unnecessary. I am thrilled every time I get to spend time with all of the precious children going through such a challenging time in their lives. I also want to support their families while their children, nieces, nephews, siblings, and grandchildren battle such terrible illnesses. I understand the struggles they face financially and emotionally. My family and I are going through the same obstacles. Many of the families use me as a sounding board. They come to me for advice and to explain the diagnoses from the medical staff. Since I have been dealing with health woes for years, I understand most of the medial jargon. I can translate most, if not all, the doctor lingo to maintain their understanding of what their child is going through. It is always encouraging to see the relief on the parent's faces after I give them the run-down in layman's terms.
One of the most humbling and sincere questions I have ever been asked(and will likely be the only time this will be requested of me) came to my attention a few weeks ago. Tinsley is a 7 year old girl whom was diagnosed with a large brain tumor one year ago. She recently had to undergo a risky surgery to remove the tumor before it damaged any more of her brain, and to relieve pressure in her skull. I was devastated when I heard that the surgery was her only option. My heart ached for her and her family. Then she blindsided me with a very specific inquiry. She told me that she knew the surgery was her only hope. Then she shocked me with her question. She asked me to be in the operating room with her while the doctors operated on her. She basically gave me an ultimatum. She very firmly declared that she would not have the surgery unless I was in the OR. She went on to explain that only way she would survive the surgery was if I held her hand during the operation. I was obviously hesitant to give her any sort of answer. I told her that she should have one of her parents in the OR with her. She glared directly into my eyes and said "no". The only person she wanted there during the surgery was me. She was adamant about her choice. I refused to answer her question until I talked to her parents and her medical team. I had no idea how to cultivate the conversation I needed to have with Tinsley's family. I was terrified to discuss the issue with her parents. I felt I was imposing on a parental duty. The last thing I wanted to do was step on anyone's toes. The beginning of our chat was cold, sterile, and a bit hostile. Her parent's didn't understand why she wanted me in the OR instead of them. I expressed to them that I would only go through with Tinsley's appeal with permission from them. I confronted them about their trepidations. I reasoned with them about all of their concerns. I also reassured them that I only had their daughter's best interest at heart. After listening to what I had to say and discussing between themselves, they asked me to go through with it. The understood how crucial this surgery was and they wanted to make sure Tinsley was in the best frame of mind before enduring such an invasive procedure. I was overcome with surprise, and to be perfectly honest, I was filled with fear after they made their decision. They would, of course be able to view the operation from the upstairs lounge, so they would still be "with" her while the surgeons performed the extraction. Both of them hugged me before telling me that they knew Tinsley needed me right there beside her. I was the strongest and most qualified for the job. That sent a wave of anxiety over me. I was fearful that I would let Tinsley and her parents down. I was also nervous about getting in the way of the doctors and nurses while they were doing their jobs. The fear was paralyzing, but I knew I had to do this for my dear friend and her loved ones.
The doctors were operating on her brain, so they had a shield up from the small girl's shoulders. I was sitting on Tinsley's left side, so I wouldn't see anything too grafic. Before the operation began the surgeons took me to prep and sanitize before entering the OR. I didn't see or say any thing except for whispering in the sweet little girl's ear that I would be right there beside her the whole time. Within minutes the four hour surgery began. I never let go of her precious tiny hand. I kept one of my hands grasped under her's and with my other hand I would sketch small familiar pictures, and write encouraging words with my finger tip on the top of her small lifeless hand. I kept an eye on her vital signs, tightly held her hand, and glanced up at her parents every so often to assure them everything was going as planned. Before I knew it the surgeon was closing the incision and getting ready to wheel her to recovery. The medical staff allowed me to stay by her side until she woke up. When she came to she said that she felt my presence with her the entire time. Hearing those words filled my heart. I gave her a giant hug and told her I was going to step out and let her parents come back to see their baby girl. I was rushing to get out of the recovery room because I didn't want Tinsley to see me cry. I second I reached the waiting room I crumbled. My tears were a mixture of relief, happiness, inspiration and hope. This one little girl has left an impression on my life that can never be tarnished.
Luckily, the surgery went off without a hitch. The doctors explained to her parents how well she did and she should heal up nicely. The sense of relief was tangible throughout the entire hospital unit.
After talking to the doctors Tinsely's parents made a bee line to me. They embraced me tightly and thanked me profusely. Trying to hold back my tears and turn into a blubbering mess again, I squeaked out that I did nothing. It was Tinley's strength and will to live that got her through the surgery. She taught me many life lessons that day. Lesson about love, life, strength, courage, a having a fighting spirit. Those lessons will live in my heart forever.
Tinsley thought she needed me that day, but it turns out I was the one in need of a hand to hold to restore my faith in healthcare. Witnessing a miracle first hand fails in comparison to anything I have ever experienced in my life. I am deeply humbled by the entire situation. We all need someone to be there through our darkest hours. Tinsley and her parents knew she specifically needed my hand to hold that day. As difficult as it was her parents acknowledged that, they granted their daughter's wish.
Hospitals and cancer centers provide miracles every day. That particular day four people's lives were forever changed. That day will live with me until my dying day. Tinsley has enriched my life in a way I never could have imagined.
We all have to admit that life is the most difficult puzzle we will ever try to put together. Remember to do the things in life that are best and most important to you. Do what your heart, head, and gut tell you is right. Things might fall apart for a while, but eventually the rest of the pieces will fall into place.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Courage and Strength
It takes strength to be firm,
It takes courage to be gentle.
It takes courage to be gentle.
It takes strength to conquer,
It takes courage to surrender.
It takes courage to surrender.
It takes strength to be certain,
It takes courage to have doubt.
It takes courage to have doubt.
It takes strength to fit in,
It takes courage to stand out.
It takes courage to stand out.
It takes strength to feel a friend’s pain,
It takes courage to feel your own pain.
It takes courage to feel your own pain.
It takes strength to endure hardships,
It takes courage to overcome the struggle.
It takes courage to overcome the struggle.
It takes strength to stand alone,
It takes courage to lean on another.
It takes courage to lean on another.
It takes strength to love,
It takes courage to be loved.
It takes courage to be loved.
It takes strength to survive,
It takes courage to live.
It takes courage to live.
Life is worth fighting because it empowers us with abiding strength, Courage is waking up everyday with the determination to fight.
Don’t be afraid to face the battle head-on, Hiding from life’s difficulties only revels our cowardness.
The triumph over the war will be well worth it, Providing each of us the strength of integrity from deep within.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Connections
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Connections: The holidays always bring an abundance of emotions. The festive lights, decorations, and cheerful demeanor of most people you encounter thi...
Connections
The holidays always bring an abundance of emotions. The festive lights, decorations, and cheerful demeanor of most people you encounter this time of year is refreshing. Smiles on children's faces and the anticipation of spending time with the ones we love is palpable. The joyful sounds of seasonal music and holiday stories warm the heart. No matter where you are, or whom may cross your path, spirits are lifted and positive greetings are exchanged. It is the one time of year we allow ourselves to become fully immersed in the enthusiasm and joyfulness of season.
Spending many hours, days, weeks, or months at the hospital/cancer center can put a damper on holiday cheer. Most patients are able to escape the sadness and despair being sick during the holidays can easily bring. I will be the first to admit that I have fallen victim to the woes poor health brings to such a festive time of year. I become depressed and overwhelmed with guilt. I cannot attend holiday parties, I am unable to travel home to spend time with my family, and it is a challenge to purchase gifts for loved ones because of the many financial struggles living with a serious illness brings. I wish I could buy amazing gifts for all the remarkable people in my life. Luckily, with the help of fundraisers I am able to share gifts and delightful encounters with "my kids" and many other patients at the hospital.
Over the years I have realized and embraced the true meaning of the holidays. This time of the years is not about parties, gifts, and other materialistic novelties. The holidays present us with the opportunity to connect with those around us. Holiday cheer is universal. Our religious backgrounds may differ the way we celebrate, but it does not change the fact that this is the most magical time of the year. November and December allow us time to slow down. Instead of keeping up with the daily grind of life, we can take time off to celebrate. We can reconnect with family and friends, but we can also connect with complete strangers. Our hearts are lighter, our eyes sparkle brighter, and generosity is much easier to come by. Connecting to one another during the holidays comes effortlessly. It can be exchanged through something as simple as a smile. Many of us find it easier to bridge gaps and connect when there is so much love in the air. Sending cards, exchanging gifts, swapping festive stories, attending holiday gatherings, and going "home" again brings us all closer together.
No matter what situation you many be in, what hardships you may be going through, the holidays provide a bit of a reprieve. The chance to step back from day-to-day life and be grateful for what is truly meaningful in life. What is life without happiness and love? Don't allow yourself to become consumed by the issues in which you are not passionate about. Remember to keep the lines of communication and connection open. I am positive it will contribute to a richer and more peaceful life. Isn't that what we are all searching for? I know my life is much more blissful because of the deep connections I have made over the years. I may never be rich or famous. I may have to deal with intense health issues for the rest of my days, but I can live with that. I cannot live without the company of good people. I would rather have a vast network of friends, family, acquaintances, and those I have yet to meet than live an empty existence. Share you life with others and the reward will be the greatest gift ever received.
Spending many hours, days, weeks, or months at the hospital/cancer center can put a damper on holiday cheer. Most patients are able to escape the sadness and despair being sick during the holidays can easily bring. I will be the first to admit that I have fallen victim to the woes poor health brings to such a festive time of year. I become depressed and overwhelmed with guilt. I cannot attend holiday parties, I am unable to travel home to spend time with my family, and it is a challenge to purchase gifts for loved ones because of the many financial struggles living with a serious illness brings. I wish I could buy amazing gifts for all the remarkable people in my life. Luckily, with the help of fundraisers I am able to share gifts and delightful encounters with "my kids" and many other patients at the hospital.
Over the years I have realized and embraced the true meaning of the holidays. This time of the years is not about parties, gifts, and other materialistic novelties. The holidays present us with the opportunity to connect with those around us. Holiday cheer is universal. Our religious backgrounds may differ the way we celebrate, but it does not change the fact that this is the most magical time of the year. November and December allow us time to slow down. Instead of keeping up with the daily grind of life, we can take time off to celebrate. We can reconnect with family and friends, but we can also connect with complete strangers. Our hearts are lighter, our eyes sparkle brighter, and generosity is much easier to come by. Connecting to one another during the holidays comes effortlessly. It can be exchanged through something as simple as a smile. Many of us find it easier to bridge gaps and connect when there is so much love in the air. Sending cards, exchanging gifts, swapping festive stories, attending holiday gatherings, and going "home" again brings us all closer together.
No matter what situation you many be in, what hardships you may be going through, the holidays provide a bit of a reprieve. The chance to step back from day-to-day life and be grateful for what is truly meaningful in life. What is life without happiness and love? Don't allow yourself to become consumed by the issues in which you are not passionate about. Remember to keep the lines of communication and connection open. I am positive it will contribute to a richer and more peaceful life. Isn't that what we are all searching for? I know my life is much more blissful because of the deep connections I have made over the years. I may never be rich or famous. I may have to deal with intense health issues for the rest of my days, but I can live with that. I cannot live without the company of good people. I would rather have a vast network of friends, family, acquaintances, and those I have yet to meet than live an empty existence. Share you life with others and the reward will be the greatest gift ever received.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: If I would let myself tell youWhere I’ve come and ...
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: If I would let myself tell youWhere I’ve come and ...: If I would let myself tell you Where I’ve come and gone If I would let myself tell you How far I have run If I would let myself tell you Wh...
If I would let myself tell you
Where I’ve come and gone
If I would let myself tell you
How far I have run
If I would let myself tell you
Where I now stand
Then maybe you could help me
And tell me you understand
Where I’ve come and gone
If I would let myself tell you
How far I have run
If I would let myself tell you
Where I now stand
Then maybe you could help me
And tell me you understand
If I would let myself tell you
About my hidden, darkened fears
If I would let myself tell you
Of my struggles through the years
If I would let myself tell you
My joy of breaking through
Then maybe you could help me
Continue what I do
About my hidden, darkened fears
If I would let myself tell you
Of my struggles through the years
If I would let myself tell you
My joy of breaking through
Then maybe you could help me
Continue what I do
If I would let myself tell you
Of the battles in my heart
If I would let myself tell you
What shatters me apart
If I would let myself tell you
How fragile I can be
Then maybe you could help me
Escape and just be free
Of the battles in my heart
If I would let myself tell you
What shatters me apart
If I would let myself tell you
How fragile I can be
Then maybe you could help me
Escape and just be free
If I would let myself tell you
Why I struggle with each word
If I would let myself tell you
How I’m scared of being heard
If I would let myself tell you
That I wish I could let go
Then maybe you could help me
Because then you would know
Why I struggle with each word
If I would let myself tell you
How I’m scared of being heard
If I would let myself tell you
That I wish I could let go
Then maybe you could help me
Because then you would know
If I would let myself tell you
Then all this could disappear
If I would let myself tell you
Then you’d see me crystal clear
If I would let myself tell you
Then at least my tears would flow
Just maybe, maybe now
I’ll allow you to know
Then all this could disappear
If I would let myself tell you
Then you’d see me crystal clear
If I would let myself tell you
Then at least my tears would flow
Just maybe, maybe now
I’ll allow you to know
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Ava Marie
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Ava Marie: Today was a festive day at the hospital! One of my precious "kids" celebrated her eighth birthday. It is incredibly depressing h...
Ava Marie
Today was a festive day at the hospital! One of my precious "kids" celebrated her eighth birthday. It is incredibly depressing having to a birthday party at the cancer center. It truly does suck, but we(the parents, nurses, and myself) try to make each child's birthday memorable, unique, and most of all, a happy occasion.
Ava has been dealt a tough hand. She was originally diagnosed at age four. Unfortunately, she was only in remission for a year. She has been trapped in the hospital 24/7 since the age of five. Ava has been a prisoner to a hospital bed, and this lifestyle for far too many years. Occasionally, they have had to restrain her because she gets furiously upset and frustrated by her situation. My hear aches for this you girl.
On her good days, she is an absolute delight. She's cheerful, playful, and silly. She makes me laugh so hard that tears roll down my cheeks. I know, if given the chance, she would change the world. She is wise beyond her years, innovative, and extremely creative. It kills me to see her wasting away in her hospital bed. I have privately talked to her family about her current state of health and condition a few weeks ago. They didn't even have to utter a word. Their faces and eyes told me everything I needed to know. I hugged her family, and made my way to the hallway before breaking down. I couldn't let Ava see me crying. I was hysterically sobbing and prematurely grieving for this adorable little girl I have grown to love. As I sat in the hallway thinking about Ava, a thought came to mind. I knew her birthday was approaching. I would throw her and the other kids an over-the-top birthday party for all the children to enjoy. Ava's parents were on board, so we began to plan. Ava is infatuated with Rainbow Bright and Furbys. It seemed like the most logical party theme, so we ran with it.
Ava's parents, fellow parents, some nurses and myself pitched in to decorate the room and supply gifts. We scrambled to get the room set up before the children came back from their treatments, doctor's appointments and procedures. It was a mad dash, but we accomplished the feat. We were wrapping the last two presents and stuffing the "goodie bags" just as the kids were arriving back to the room. My back was turned when the first child was wheeled back to he bed. All I heard was "wow, our room looks like cotton candy threw up everywhere"! I chuckled to myself. I turned around to see another child being wheeled back to the room. We let everyone know that it was a surprise birthday party for Ava. The floor nurses even asked the treatment nurses to stall, so she would be the last to arrive. That way everyone could join in on saying "surprise"!!
As soon as everyone was in place the floor nurse called to have Ava brought back to the room. We all anxiously waited for her arrival. We hear the elevator door ding and the creeky wheelchair roll closer to the room. As the nurse opened the door was all gently, but enthusiastically yelled "Happy Birthday'!!!! We didn't want to scare to poor girl, but we wanted to make her feel special and loved by all. Her face lit up, and tears welled up in her eyes. She was shocked and so grateful for putting a surprise party together for her. It was a beautiful and heartwarming sight to see. She went around hugging every one of her friends, family, and nurses that were in the room. When it was my turn for a hug, she held me tight and whispered in my ear, "I know you did all of this". I told her it was a collective effort because we all adore her. That was the moment tears started running down her cheeks. She was elated. It was the happiest I had seen her in weeks! My heart melted.
We quickly switched moods to party mode. We play fun dance music, open presents, and shared copious amounts of laughter. All that was left was the cake. Ava's mom made her favorite kind and I brought the number eight candle. Ava's dad brought the cake out and lit the candle. We all sang "Happy Birthday" to her before she mad a wish and blew out the candle. We sliced up the cake, served up some ice cream and enjoyed each other's company, It was an exquisite birthday party, especially considering the setting.
It is a day I will never forget. Of course, mingling with my 'kids", their families and a plethora of nurses was a blast, but it was what happened as we were cleaning up that made my day. Ava walked over to me as I was wiping down a table. She told me that she had a secret. I was intrigued. I stopped wiping the table and knelt down to be eye-level with her. She looked me straight in the eyes before wrapping her arms around my neck. As she hugged me, she whispered in my ear. She told me that her birthday wish was that we would both be cured of our cancers so we can be friends forever. I was immediately filled with love. I choked back the tears and whispered back to her "me too".
Today was one of those "once in a lifetime moments". A moment that will likely never happen again, but will stay with you for the rest of your life. A moment that restores faith in those around us. Whether we know them personally, or only by a smile and a nod. We could all benefit from being a little less cynical and more open-minded. We might just learn a thing, or two. We might even realized the need for change lies within ourselves. Blame is easy to place on others, but virtually impossible to take complete credit for. We live and we learn, but we all too often don't apply what we learned to our daily lives. It's time to make those changes before it's too late.
Ava has been dealt a tough hand. She was originally diagnosed at age four. Unfortunately, she was only in remission for a year. She has been trapped in the hospital 24/7 since the age of five. Ava has been a prisoner to a hospital bed, and this lifestyle for far too many years. Occasionally, they have had to restrain her because she gets furiously upset and frustrated by her situation. My hear aches for this you girl.
On her good days, she is an absolute delight. She's cheerful, playful, and silly. She makes me laugh so hard that tears roll down my cheeks. I know, if given the chance, she would change the world. She is wise beyond her years, innovative, and extremely creative. It kills me to see her wasting away in her hospital bed. I have privately talked to her family about her current state of health and condition a few weeks ago. They didn't even have to utter a word. Their faces and eyes told me everything I needed to know. I hugged her family, and made my way to the hallway before breaking down. I couldn't let Ava see me crying. I was hysterically sobbing and prematurely grieving for this adorable little girl I have grown to love. As I sat in the hallway thinking about Ava, a thought came to mind. I knew her birthday was approaching. I would throw her and the other kids an over-the-top birthday party for all the children to enjoy. Ava's parents were on board, so we began to plan. Ava is infatuated with Rainbow Bright and Furbys. It seemed like the most logical party theme, so we ran with it.
Ava's parents, fellow parents, some nurses and myself pitched in to decorate the room and supply gifts. We scrambled to get the room set up before the children came back from their treatments, doctor's appointments and procedures. It was a mad dash, but we accomplished the feat. We were wrapping the last two presents and stuffing the "goodie bags" just as the kids were arriving back to the room. My back was turned when the first child was wheeled back to he bed. All I heard was "wow, our room looks like cotton candy threw up everywhere"! I chuckled to myself. I turned around to see another child being wheeled back to the room. We let everyone know that it was a surprise birthday party for Ava. The floor nurses even asked the treatment nurses to stall, so she would be the last to arrive. That way everyone could join in on saying "surprise"!!
As soon as everyone was in place the floor nurse called to have Ava brought back to the room. We all anxiously waited for her arrival. We hear the elevator door ding and the creeky wheelchair roll closer to the room. As the nurse opened the door was all gently, but enthusiastically yelled "Happy Birthday'!!!! We didn't want to scare to poor girl, but we wanted to make her feel special and loved by all. Her face lit up, and tears welled up in her eyes. She was shocked and so grateful for putting a surprise party together for her. It was a beautiful and heartwarming sight to see. She went around hugging every one of her friends, family, and nurses that were in the room. When it was my turn for a hug, she held me tight and whispered in my ear, "I know you did all of this". I told her it was a collective effort because we all adore her. That was the moment tears started running down her cheeks. She was elated. It was the happiest I had seen her in weeks! My heart melted.
We quickly switched moods to party mode. We play fun dance music, open presents, and shared copious amounts of laughter. All that was left was the cake. Ava's mom made her favorite kind and I brought the number eight candle. Ava's dad brought the cake out and lit the candle. We all sang "Happy Birthday" to her before she mad a wish and blew out the candle. We sliced up the cake, served up some ice cream and enjoyed each other's company, It was an exquisite birthday party, especially considering the setting.
It is a day I will never forget. Of course, mingling with my 'kids", their families and a plethora of nurses was a blast, but it was what happened as we were cleaning up that made my day. Ava walked over to me as I was wiping down a table. She told me that she had a secret. I was intrigued. I stopped wiping the table and knelt down to be eye-level with her. She looked me straight in the eyes before wrapping her arms around my neck. As she hugged me, she whispered in my ear. She told me that her birthday wish was that we would both be cured of our cancers so we can be friends forever. I was immediately filled with love. I choked back the tears and whispered back to her "me too".
Today was one of those "once in a lifetime moments". A moment that will likely never happen again, but will stay with you for the rest of your life. A moment that restores faith in those around us. Whether we know them personally, or only by a smile and a nod. We could all benefit from being a little less cynical and more open-minded. We might just learn a thing, or two. We might even realized the need for change lies within ourselves. Blame is easy to place on others, but virtually impossible to take complete credit for. We live and we learn, but we all too often don't apply what we learned to our daily lives. It's time to make those changes before it's too late.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Spreading holiday cheer 🎄❄️🍗🎅🎁🎆
This campaign is raising money for "Holiday Cheer for Cancer Kids"
http://www.gofundme.com/gnfaa4
Please donate if you can. With help from the donations, I plan on giving my friends and their families at the cancer center a holiday season they can enjoy, and will never forget!
Your generosity will not go unrecognized. My appreciate is endless.
Thank you!
The Fundraiser will continue until December 20th 2014. Please be a part of giving these children as holiday season they so very much deserve! Thanks again!
http://www.gofundme.com/gnfaa4
Please donate if you can. With help from the donations, I plan on giving my friends and their families at the cancer center a holiday season they can enjoy, and will never forget!
Your generosity will not go unrecognized. My appreciate is endless.
Thank you!
The Fundraiser will continue until December 20th 2014. Please be a part of giving these children as holiday season they so very much deserve! Thanks again!
Friday, November 7, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Millicent
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Millicent: I am incredibly fortunate to meet such interesting, intriguing, delightful, and hilarious patients on a daily basis. Their families are, mo...
Millicent
I am incredibly fortunate to meet such interesting, intriguing, delightful, and hilarious patients on a daily basis. Their families are, most of the time, just as pleasant. I have recently met the most extraordinary lady. She is on the higher end of the age scale. She is an absolutely "classic beauty". She is always "dressed to the nines", her make-up is flawless, and her hair is always in a perfect bun. Quite simply, she is the most statuesque woman I have ever crossed paths with. She is elegant, filled with knowledge, always following proper manners, but never comes off as arrogant, or self-absorbed. Most of the time she is very "buttoned-up" and chic. In fact no one(even her doctors) know her true age. She maintains the thought that a "true lady" never discloses her age. On the other hand, she can let her hair down and even get a get a little risqué at times. She swears like a sailor, drinks like a fish, and lives life on her time. She is a truly dynamic woman. "Millicent the magnificent", as I like to call her. :)
Everyone at the hospital calls her Millie, but I only call her by her given name. She never matters, either way, how people addressed her. She once told me that someone could throw a bottle of scotch at her head and she would happily respond with a "Howdy"! I couldn't help but chuckle when she said that. She is certainly one-of-a-kind, and I just eat it up! I was surprised the other day when she asked me why I only call her Millicent. My reasoning was because Millicent sounds so distinguished, debonaire and classy. I feel that name suits her perfectly. Her eyes welled up with tears as she listened to my explanation. I was confused. I wrapped my arms around her and told her I didn't mean to upset her. She said she wasn't upset, rather she was appreciative. She grew up very poor. The lack of wealth made her feel like people degraded her because of her financial situation. She worked hard her entire life to become wealthy and successful. She never made it to wealthy, but she married, had children and they were financially comfortable. When I told her the reasoning behind me calling her Millicent, it made her feel like she finally achieved her goal. I reassured her that she more than achieved her goal many years ago. She supported herself, married the man of her dreams, and raised four lovely children.
Millicent surpassed her goal without even realizing it. I told her that she should feel like the richest woman in the world because she always strived to be and do the best she could while she traveled the "road of life". She is, and will always be an exceptionally loving, caring, and generous lady. She devoted her life to her family and that is worth more than all the money in the world.
I would be lost, alone, terrified, and even more anxious than I already am, if I had to navigate through life without the outstanding support system around me. I have been fortunate to have loved ones I could lean on when all I saw was darkness and all I felt was pain. The most precious gift in life is sharing experiences with family and friends. We have all taken these relationships for granted at times, but we must learn from past behavior. We all need to let the ones we love know they are appreciated from time-to-time instead of assuming they know. Everyone needs to know they are loved for nothing other than being a part of your life.
Everyone at the hospital calls her Millie, but I only call her by her given name. She never matters, either way, how people addressed her. She once told me that someone could throw a bottle of scotch at her head and she would happily respond with a "Howdy"! I couldn't help but chuckle when she said that. She is certainly one-of-a-kind, and I just eat it up! I was surprised the other day when she asked me why I only call her Millicent. My reasoning was because Millicent sounds so distinguished, debonaire and classy. I feel that name suits her perfectly. Her eyes welled up with tears as she listened to my explanation. I was confused. I wrapped my arms around her and told her I didn't mean to upset her. She said she wasn't upset, rather she was appreciative. She grew up very poor. The lack of wealth made her feel like people degraded her because of her financial situation. She worked hard her entire life to become wealthy and successful. She never made it to wealthy, but she married, had children and they were financially comfortable. When I told her the reasoning behind me calling her Millicent, it made her feel like she finally achieved her goal. I reassured her that she more than achieved her goal many years ago. She supported herself, married the man of her dreams, and raised four lovely children.
Millicent surpassed her goal without even realizing it. I told her that she should feel like the richest woman in the world because she always strived to be and do the best she could while she traveled the "road of life". She is, and will always be an exceptionally loving, caring, and generous lady. She devoted her life to her family and that is worth more than all the money in the world.
I would be lost, alone, terrified, and even more anxious than I already am, if I had to navigate through life without the outstanding support system around me. I have been fortunate to have loved ones I could lean on when all I saw was darkness and all I felt was pain. The most precious gift in life is sharing experiences with family and friends. We have all taken these relationships for granted at times, but we must learn from past behavior. We all need to let the ones we love know they are appreciated from time-to-time instead of assuming they know. Everyone needs to know they are loved for nothing other than being a part of your life.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Food for Thought
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Food for Thought: My day-to-day life is not ordinary, to say the least. There are many days I wish I was able to go to work, hit up a happy hour with friend...
Food for Thought
My day-to-day life is not ordinary, to say the least. There are many days I wish I was able to go to work, hit up a happy hour with friends occasionally, and spend the evenings relaxing before settling into bed for the night. I ache for that sense of routine and comfort. Having a second income in my household would be extremely helpful, as well. I think what I miss the most is conversing with fellow employees, and hearing all the stories of their lives. I am extremely grateful for the wonderful friends I have at the cancer center, but we all live a pretty conservative lifestyle. We don't have many other options.
As you can imagine, I have a lot of time on my hands to stew over the many thoughts that enter my mind. As a self proclaimed "writer", I enjoy writing, telling stories, playing word games, etc, to keep me busy. More often than not, I get completely enamored in my own thoughts. I slip into my own little world(often leaving me looking stoned with a strange look on my face). I consider myself lucky to be able to entertain myself so easily...ha! As a matter of fact, many people have asked me how I can remain happy and keep a smile on my face while enduring such difficult times.
Allow me to let you in on my secret to my senseless moments of bliss. The truth is, I'm just kinda crazy. I don't know how to turn off all of my wild thoughts scrambling around in my head, but at times I can manipulate the "hamster" running my brain into spinning his wheel in a certain direction. ;) Instead of becoming consumed with the pain, discomfort and suffering all around me, I think of a word and put it into a "six degrees of Kevin Bacon" type thought.
Here's a little sample of how I play the game. I think of any interesting word. One of my favorite words is derrière, so I'll use it in this example. It's a funny word to pronounce and it's a fancy way to say tushy! Ha! I love it! After picking out a word I plug in as my starting word. Derrière is the "trunk" of my "word tree". The next word is the first similar sounding word I think of. In this case it makes me think of dairy. Dairy is the second word. Dairy makes me think of farm. Farm turns into the next word. Then I turn that word into a phrase. My mind pops up with fat farm which makes me think of a big fat booty. That leads my thoughts to Sir Mix-a-lot's Classic "Baby Got Back". Before ya know it a big goofy grin slaps across my face, and I'm humming the tune of "Baby Got Back" to myself. Even if it only lasts for a moment, the ability to escape seemingly horrific surroundings comes with ease. Excuse me for sounding dreadfully "corny", but it's a simple way to "turn that frown upside down"! I'm sure the majority of you reading this must think I'm crazy. I may very well be, but I prefer to think of it as clever.
Well, I have fittingly titled this post. All this "thinking" has made me hungry. Time for a snack. Anything but Jello! They always try to force that dreadful substance down your throat at hospitals! Just thinking about it gives me the heebie-jeebies...yuck! I'll stick to the soda crackers. ;)
Friday, October 31, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Tricks and Treats
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Tricks and Treats: Happy Halloween! I hope you all enjoy costume parties, taking family and/or friends trick-or-treating, and indulging in some Halloween good...
Tricks and Treats
Happy Halloween! I hope you all enjoy costume parties, taking family and/or friends trick-or-treating, and indulging in some Halloween goodies! I know I haven't been able to resist putting a bag, or four, of decadent sweets in my shopping cart! HA! I am grateful to be able to enjoy some yummy treats today because I have been dealt my fair share of tricks in the past few months.
I am terrible at tricking people. I always give myself away with a smile, or nervous energy. I'm much more suited for treating those around me. Unfortunately, I am extremely gullible to tricks, spooks and scares. I never see them coming. Recently, I was subject to the most gut wrenching ruse. I was completely unprepared for the nightmare I was embarking upon. My entire world was turned upside down without any warning.
About two months ago I went into the hospital for a fairly routine procedure. Little did I know that within the next 48 hours I would be told I was going to die. If hearing that news wasn't bad enough, being deceived by my doctors was the "icing on the cake".
Said procedure had been scheduled and re-scheduled multiple times. When the actual day came for the surgery, my husband was unable to be there due to work obligations. The hospital had given me such short notice that Jeff was inadequately staffed to take the day off. I wasn't concerned. Over the years I have gotten used to going through some procedures and/or surgeries on my own. As I mentioned earlier, this was a rather conventional operation. I had my medi-van transportation set up, and Jeff would care for me when he returned home. I felt that I had all my "ducks in a row". I would be in-and-out in a matter of a few hours. Needless to say, that is not how the plan played out. There were many unexpected complications that occurred while I was on the operating table. Since none of my family was at the hospital the doctors made all the decisions regarding my healthcare. They never even bothered to call my emergency contacts.
After a slue of obstacles, my heart stopping twice, and after almost bleeding to death, I slipped into a coma. I later found out that the doctors had put me into a medically induced coma. At this time, I was laying lifeless in a hospitals bed with a ventilator, heart monitors, IVs, and a number of other machines attached to me. I was expected to be in this coma for a month or two!! The most outrageous piece of information was that none of my emergency contact had yet been called! How ridiculous is that?!?!?
A couple hours after being placed in a medical coma, to everyone's surprise, I woke up. It was a shock to everyone, especially me! I had tubes down my throat, wires hooked up to every inch of my body, and monitors blaring. Three nurses ran into my room. I was hysterical. I had no clue as to what happened, and I didn't recognized anyone around me. The nurses were trying to calm me down and explain what was going on, but in my frenzied state all I heard was blurred noise. I had so many questions. I was terrified and I needed answers. I finally ended up pulling out my ventilator tube, tore off all my leads and wires, and ripped out my IV. I did not want anyone putting anything more into my body without me knowing what it was and what it was for. The nursing staff was in a panic. They called my doctor and tried to calm me down before he arrived. I was scared, anxious and furious! I waited for my doctor to get to my room, so I could get some answers. The nurses tended to my wounds as I warily awaited my doctors arrival. I saw the shock on his face when he strutted into my hospital room. He was obviously amazed to see me awake and sitting up. I immediately started badgering him with questions. He responded abruptly with one word answers and absolutely no compassion. His disposition was one more of anger than care and concern. Quite frankly his attitude disgusted me. I stood up and grabbed my clothes. I began changing when he told me if I leave I will bleed out and die. I looked up at him, stared straight into his eyes, and said "come again". He glared back at me, said "you heard me" and walked out of the room. I was floored by the "bomb" my doctor just dropped on me. I was completely appalled by his behavior. He never bother to explain to me what was going on inside my body. I had to be updated by one of the nurses. She told me as much as she knew. While they were in surgery they discovered that my blood was not clotting. I had to have two blood transfusions. If I went home I would likely bleed out. I was in a state of utter fear and apprehension. I had two choices. One, stay in the hospital and the doctors would put me back into a medically induced coma, or two, go home and die. Since the day I got diagnosed with cancer I said that I will not die alone in a hospital bed. I opted to go home. I was prepared to die. I could no longer run away from it.
My buddy Tony came to the hospital, picked me up, and took me home to my bed. He could sense that something wasn't right. He didn't press the issue. He calmly walked me to the van without asking any questions. He acted the same way he always did even though he could sense the gravity of the situation. He slowly helped me into the van. When I was securely seated, he jumped in the driver's chair. He turned back at me and said "let's ride doll face". I smiled softly in response to his kind words. He looked at me in the rearview mirror and smiled back at me. He winked at me and said "there's that sparkle I'm used to seeing". I reached over and took his hand in mine. I held firmly, yet gently and whispered "thank you". It was one of those moment that you just connect with a person. Your heads and your hearts are in the same place. Few words need to be said, but those words convey many emotions. He held my hand for the entire drive. It was the comfort I most certainly needed. As he parked in my driveway, he came around the van to help me out. He gave me a hug(which wasn't unusual), but that hug embodied much more than just a friendly hug. That hug communicated all of the the feelings we couldn't find the words to express.
Once I entered my house, I took my boys outside and then headed to bed. All three boys cuddled up with me as I laid there replaying the memories of my life. I turned my phone off, and drifted to sleep expecting not to wake up. I wasn't happy, but I also wasn't sad. I had come to peace with my impending death.
A few hours later my husband arrived home in a panic. He rushed into the bedroom. I was obviously not deceased. He had talked to my family. Everyone was unnerved and confused. I was expecting to not wake up after the threat my doctor gave me. Since I was still alive, I explained the best I could as to what all happened. We all cried, screamed, yelled, and ultimately broke down. I was at the weakest point I have ever been. My mom jumped in her car and drove to New York to help me figure all of this out. She knew her little girl needed her.
If the operation and the stressful situation after the surgery wasn't enough, I still needed to figure out what the next steps of my healthcare were. Did I need to plan my funeral, or was there a treatment option? I contacted my doctor and set up a meeting with him to discuss my future. I could feel his cold-as-ice attitude as he walked toward me. He was not ready to have calm and logical conversation. He had come to give me an ultimatum. He told me either you let me put you in a medically induced coma for a month, or possibly TWO! If I didn't agree to that he said that he considered me a quitter and no longer would be my oncologist. I was enamored by his harsh words and belittling behavior. I knew right then that he would no longer be my doctor.
Talk about terrified. I had recently been told that my blood is not clotting and I would bleed out without treatment, and I just lost my doctor. I felt stuck. The only thing I could think to do was reach out to my original oncologist from Arizona. He is semi-retired, but still consults on my healthcare. I knew I could turn to him. I contacted him as soon as possible and without hesitation he started working on a plan of action. He never missed a beat. This man found my cancers after many doctors failed to, he has treated/consulted my health for years, he is my bone marrow match, and now he is going to save me from this awful blood condition. He is truly my hero.
Once all of the doctors, treatments, and care plans were established, mom and I traveled back to Wisconsin with my first born fur baby in toe. I needed to have 24 hour care and maintain a strict routine to regiment my blood. The best place for me was at my parent's home, in my childhood town of Beaver Dam. I could get some treatment there and the rest in near by Madison. The one major downfall was that I had to leave my husband and my two other fur babies for an entire month! The internal struggle was torturous. I couldn't imagine being away from my hubby and two of my boys for so long, but we all knew it was best for my health. I traveled the almost 1000 miles back to Wisconsin. It was wonderful being with my parents and being able to see my sister and brother-in-law a couple times, but I missed my little family back in NY. I was uneasy about being so far from home. What if something happened and my health declined quickly? Would my husband make it to WI in time? All of those questions ran through my mind constantly. I just had to be hopeful that I was making the right decision.
Thankfully, everything worked out as planned. I got the treatments I needed and my blood is clotting again. I am back in NY and jumping back into chemo and radiation, so I can get my cancers back in check. I have found a new doctor that I connect very well with and trust immensely. I have restored faith in the hospital and cancer center. I also have renewed confidence in myself. My family continues to show me that they will go to the ends of the earth for me. I could not be more grateful and fortunate to all the amazing people in my life.
I have been handed far too many tricks lately. I'm hoping that after today I will receive many more treats than tricks. Either way, I now know I have to the strength to "weather the storm" and find my way back to optimism and determination.
Wishing you all few tricks and many treats!
I am terrible at tricking people. I always give myself away with a smile, or nervous energy. I'm much more suited for treating those around me. Unfortunately, I am extremely gullible to tricks, spooks and scares. I never see them coming. Recently, I was subject to the most gut wrenching ruse. I was completely unprepared for the nightmare I was embarking upon. My entire world was turned upside down without any warning.
About two months ago I went into the hospital for a fairly routine procedure. Little did I know that within the next 48 hours I would be told I was going to die. If hearing that news wasn't bad enough, being deceived by my doctors was the "icing on the cake".
Said procedure had been scheduled and re-scheduled multiple times. When the actual day came for the surgery, my husband was unable to be there due to work obligations. The hospital had given me such short notice that Jeff was inadequately staffed to take the day off. I wasn't concerned. Over the years I have gotten used to going through some procedures and/or surgeries on my own. As I mentioned earlier, this was a rather conventional operation. I had my medi-van transportation set up, and Jeff would care for me when he returned home. I felt that I had all my "ducks in a row". I would be in-and-out in a matter of a few hours. Needless to say, that is not how the plan played out. There were many unexpected complications that occurred while I was on the operating table. Since none of my family was at the hospital the doctors made all the decisions regarding my healthcare. They never even bothered to call my emergency contacts.
After a slue of obstacles, my heart stopping twice, and after almost bleeding to death, I slipped into a coma. I later found out that the doctors had put me into a medically induced coma. At this time, I was laying lifeless in a hospitals bed with a ventilator, heart monitors, IVs, and a number of other machines attached to me. I was expected to be in this coma for a month or two!! The most outrageous piece of information was that none of my emergency contact had yet been called! How ridiculous is that?!?!?
A couple hours after being placed in a medical coma, to everyone's surprise, I woke up. It was a shock to everyone, especially me! I had tubes down my throat, wires hooked up to every inch of my body, and monitors blaring. Three nurses ran into my room. I was hysterical. I had no clue as to what happened, and I didn't recognized anyone around me. The nurses were trying to calm me down and explain what was going on, but in my frenzied state all I heard was blurred noise. I had so many questions. I was terrified and I needed answers. I finally ended up pulling out my ventilator tube, tore off all my leads and wires, and ripped out my IV. I did not want anyone putting anything more into my body without me knowing what it was and what it was for. The nursing staff was in a panic. They called my doctor and tried to calm me down before he arrived. I was scared, anxious and furious! I waited for my doctor to get to my room, so I could get some answers. The nurses tended to my wounds as I warily awaited my doctors arrival. I saw the shock on his face when he strutted into my hospital room. He was obviously amazed to see me awake and sitting up. I immediately started badgering him with questions. He responded abruptly with one word answers and absolutely no compassion. His disposition was one more of anger than care and concern. Quite frankly his attitude disgusted me. I stood up and grabbed my clothes. I began changing when he told me if I leave I will bleed out and die. I looked up at him, stared straight into his eyes, and said "come again". He glared back at me, said "you heard me" and walked out of the room. I was floored by the "bomb" my doctor just dropped on me. I was completely appalled by his behavior. He never bother to explain to me what was going on inside my body. I had to be updated by one of the nurses. She told me as much as she knew. While they were in surgery they discovered that my blood was not clotting. I had to have two blood transfusions. If I went home I would likely bleed out. I was in a state of utter fear and apprehension. I had two choices. One, stay in the hospital and the doctors would put me back into a medically induced coma, or two, go home and die. Since the day I got diagnosed with cancer I said that I will not die alone in a hospital bed. I opted to go home. I was prepared to die. I could no longer run away from it.
My buddy Tony came to the hospital, picked me up, and took me home to my bed. He could sense that something wasn't right. He didn't press the issue. He calmly walked me to the van without asking any questions. He acted the same way he always did even though he could sense the gravity of the situation. He slowly helped me into the van. When I was securely seated, he jumped in the driver's chair. He turned back at me and said "let's ride doll face". I smiled softly in response to his kind words. He looked at me in the rearview mirror and smiled back at me. He winked at me and said "there's that sparkle I'm used to seeing". I reached over and took his hand in mine. I held firmly, yet gently and whispered "thank you". It was one of those moment that you just connect with a person. Your heads and your hearts are in the same place. Few words need to be said, but those words convey many emotions. He held my hand for the entire drive. It was the comfort I most certainly needed. As he parked in my driveway, he came around the van to help me out. He gave me a hug(which wasn't unusual), but that hug embodied much more than just a friendly hug. That hug communicated all of the the feelings we couldn't find the words to express.
Once I entered my house, I took my boys outside and then headed to bed. All three boys cuddled up with me as I laid there replaying the memories of my life. I turned my phone off, and drifted to sleep expecting not to wake up. I wasn't happy, but I also wasn't sad. I had come to peace with my impending death.
A few hours later my husband arrived home in a panic. He rushed into the bedroom. I was obviously not deceased. He had talked to my family. Everyone was unnerved and confused. I was expecting to not wake up after the threat my doctor gave me. Since I was still alive, I explained the best I could as to what all happened. We all cried, screamed, yelled, and ultimately broke down. I was at the weakest point I have ever been. My mom jumped in her car and drove to New York to help me figure all of this out. She knew her little girl needed her.
If the operation and the stressful situation after the surgery wasn't enough, I still needed to figure out what the next steps of my healthcare were. Did I need to plan my funeral, or was there a treatment option? I contacted my doctor and set up a meeting with him to discuss my future. I could feel his cold-as-ice attitude as he walked toward me. He was not ready to have calm and logical conversation. He had come to give me an ultimatum. He told me either you let me put you in a medically induced coma for a month, or possibly TWO! If I didn't agree to that he said that he considered me a quitter and no longer would be my oncologist. I was enamored by his harsh words and belittling behavior. I knew right then that he would no longer be my doctor.
Talk about terrified. I had recently been told that my blood is not clotting and I would bleed out without treatment, and I just lost my doctor. I felt stuck. The only thing I could think to do was reach out to my original oncologist from Arizona. He is semi-retired, but still consults on my healthcare. I knew I could turn to him. I contacted him as soon as possible and without hesitation he started working on a plan of action. He never missed a beat. This man found my cancers after many doctors failed to, he has treated/consulted my health for years, he is my bone marrow match, and now he is going to save me from this awful blood condition. He is truly my hero.
Once all of the doctors, treatments, and care plans were established, mom and I traveled back to Wisconsin with my first born fur baby in toe. I needed to have 24 hour care and maintain a strict routine to regiment my blood. The best place for me was at my parent's home, in my childhood town of Beaver Dam. I could get some treatment there and the rest in near by Madison. The one major downfall was that I had to leave my husband and my two other fur babies for an entire month! The internal struggle was torturous. I couldn't imagine being away from my hubby and two of my boys for so long, but we all knew it was best for my health. I traveled the almost 1000 miles back to Wisconsin. It was wonderful being with my parents and being able to see my sister and brother-in-law a couple times, but I missed my little family back in NY. I was uneasy about being so far from home. What if something happened and my health declined quickly? Would my husband make it to WI in time? All of those questions ran through my mind constantly. I just had to be hopeful that I was making the right decision.
Thankfully, everything worked out as planned. I got the treatments I needed and my blood is clotting again. I am back in NY and jumping back into chemo and radiation, so I can get my cancers back in check. I have found a new doctor that I connect very well with and trust immensely. I have restored faith in the hospital and cancer center. I also have renewed confidence in myself. My family continues to show me that they will go to the ends of the earth for me. I could not be more grateful and fortunate to all the amazing people in my life.
I have been handed far too many tricks lately. I'm hoping that after today I will receive many more treats than tricks. Either way, I now know I have to the strength to "weather the storm" and find my way back to optimism and determination.
Wishing you all few tricks and many treats!
Friday, September 5, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Miracles
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Miracles: I have always viewed my life to be in a state of constant disarray and unexpected spontaneity. I've continually had focus, and a tight ...
Miracles
I have always viewed my life to be in a state of constant disarray and unexpected spontaneity. I've continually had focus, and a tight grasp on the important elements of life, such as, education, family, morals, and maintaining long-lasting relationships. Other than that I have allowed myself to wander. Not necessarily wander aimlessly, rather, not denying my need to explore. I have always had an undeniable compulsion to try new things. Some might say that I live my life recklessly, but I choose to identify my life as a stimulating adventure. I rarely shy away from jumping in "feet first" to new experiences. I do not regret any of the choices I have made. I may be embarrassed by some of my poor decisions, but I've learned from them instead of punishing myself.
The last ten years have been a roller coaster. I have faced a number of ups and downs with wild twists in-between. The first five years were filled with wonderful highs, and incredible life-changing events. The lows were tough, but they were manageable, and I could get through those dark moments relatively easy. The next five years have been quite the opposite. I have been through peaks and valleys just like the years before, but this time around there have been many more lows than highs. The depression and despair is always lurking behind me, waiting to consume me once again. Alternatively my life has felt less like a roller coast, and more like being lost at sea. Many times I feel stranded and alone even though I have the most incredible friends, family, and healthcare staff supporting me. I feel guilty because I am letting all of these amazing advocates down by not getting better. In turn, my health is declining faster than ever. I am alone on a sinking vessel while mighty winds and waves are whirling all around me. All the while, my support system is stuck on land hoping I find my way home. Until yesterday, I had mentally succumbed to the conclusion that I was destined to sink. I would never find my way home again. To my surprise and elation, yesterday, my path toward home was rediscovered.
At approximately one o'clock in the morning I received the most astonishing and thrilling email of my life. I was unable to sleep(not uncommon for me) because of the pain and nausea I was experiencing. As I laid in bed, I reached over for my cell phone. I figured I would catch up on my news apps, scour Facebook, and possibly play a game or two. After retrieving my phone from my night stand, it buzzed in my hand. I noticed the notification for a new email. I figured it was some trivial email trying to sell me something, or some pointless email I wouldn't even bother opening. I was perplexed to see that the message in my inbox was from a dear friend. I was confused as to why he would be sending me an email at such an absurd hour. I swiftly clicked on the message to read it's contents. I was floored by what was written! He had explained to me that he was a match for my bone marrow transplant. I had no clue that he had already submitted his swab test. I was still gathering the names and information needed to give my doctor in order to send out the testing utensils to those willing to donate. We had time plenty of time to acquire the materials needed considering I cannot have the transplant until after my current round of chemo is complete. I have 2-3 weeks remaining. As I read further into the email, he explained to me he didn't want to wait. He was at the hospital one day and completed the test himself. He sent it off for analysis without mentioning it to me. Of course, he hoped he would be the match, but he wasn't counting on it. Bone marrow is challenging to match. So, as it turns out, he couldn't sleep that night either. He decided to go downstairs to his home office to pay some bills and catch up on some emails. He said that he about fell out of his chair when he read the message that he was a bone marrow match for me. The email said he had 48 hours to reply wether, or not he was still willing to donate. He confessed to me that his hands were shaking and he couldn't type the word "YES' fast enough, in response to the news. He emailed the unbelievable news to me, because he assumed I would be asleep. As soon as I read the last word of that email I screamed "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD". My husband sprang out of bed disoriented, confused, worried and obviously pretty groggy. I could barely get the words out. I jumped into his arms and declared that a donor match was found! I hugged him tightly as our dogs barked and jumped around in agitation of the situation. As I embraced my husband, I shouted, I HAVE TO CALL MY PARENTS!!!! Jeff informed me that it was two o'clock in the morning, but it didn't faze me. I had to share this incredible news!
I am so outrageously fortunate to have found a bone marrow match and donor, but the most unimaginable part of this story is the revelation of my donor's identity. In a remarkable turn of events my doctor from Arizona is my "knight in shining armor". This man is once again saving my life. He was the only doctor whom ever truly listened to me, and took into account all of my symptoms 5 years ago. I had tirelessly gone from doctor to doctor and to countless hospitals to find out what was wrong with me. All of those physicians gave up on me because the diagnosis wasn't easy to detect, or they would tell me I'm just a hypochondriac. The most frustrating were the doctors who told me I was a young girl and it was all in my head. I just wanted to get out of going to school/work, or I wanted attention. They NEVER stopped to take the time to get to know me, and honestly listened to me. They dismissed me, as well as, the physical pain and mental anguish I was enduring. Dr. Reilly never did that. He fought for me, he listened to me without preconceived notions, and he cared about me. Three years after parting ways from a doctor/patient relationship, we've remain connected. Dr. Reilly has never been just a doctor to me, he is family. Not only did he save my life 5 years ago, he is going to once again save my life by giving me this selfless and generous gift. There are no words, or actions worthy enough to thank this man for what he has and will be giving to me.
Life leads us down many different paths. Many times we wish would could change course, or go back and pick a different path. I know I have felt that way many times, but I have learned that life is honestly about the journey, and the reactions we make in response to the actions we've chosen, as well as, acknowledging the accomplishments we have achieved by facing our fears and life's unexpected twists. No one is invincible, but we all carry a source of unwavering courage and strength within ourselves. We all must remember..."this too shall pass".
The last ten years have been a roller coaster. I have faced a number of ups and downs with wild twists in-between. The first five years were filled with wonderful highs, and incredible life-changing events. The lows were tough, but they were manageable, and I could get through those dark moments relatively easy. The next five years have been quite the opposite. I have been through peaks and valleys just like the years before, but this time around there have been many more lows than highs. The depression and despair is always lurking behind me, waiting to consume me once again. Alternatively my life has felt less like a roller coast, and more like being lost at sea. Many times I feel stranded and alone even though I have the most incredible friends, family, and healthcare staff supporting me. I feel guilty because I am letting all of these amazing advocates down by not getting better. In turn, my health is declining faster than ever. I am alone on a sinking vessel while mighty winds and waves are whirling all around me. All the while, my support system is stuck on land hoping I find my way home. Until yesterday, I had mentally succumbed to the conclusion that I was destined to sink. I would never find my way home again. To my surprise and elation, yesterday, my path toward home was rediscovered.
At approximately one o'clock in the morning I received the most astonishing and thrilling email of my life. I was unable to sleep(not uncommon for me) because of the pain and nausea I was experiencing. As I laid in bed, I reached over for my cell phone. I figured I would catch up on my news apps, scour Facebook, and possibly play a game or two. After retrieving my phone from my night stand, it buzzed in my hand. I noticed the notification for a new email. I figured it was some trivial email trying to sell me something, or some pointless email I wouldn't even bother opening. I was perplexed to see that the message in my inbox was from a dear friend. I was confused as to why he would be sending me an email at such an absurd hour. I swiftly clicked on the message to read it's contents. I was floored by what was written! He had explained to me that he was a match for my bone marrow transplant. I had no clue that he had already submitted his swab test. I was still gathering the names and information needed to give my doctor in order to send out the testing utensils to those willing to donate. We had time plenty of time to acquire the materials needed considering I cannot have the transplant until after my current round of chemo is complete. I have 2-3 weeks remaining. As I read further into the email, he explained to me he didn't want to wait. He was at the hospital one day and completed the test himself. He sent it off for analysis without mentioning it to me. Of course, he hoped he would be the match, but he wasn't counting on it. Bone marrow is challenging to match. So, as it turns out, he couldn't sleep that night either. He decided to go downstairs to his home office to pay some bills and catch up on some emails. He said that he about fell out of his chair when he read the message that he was a bone marrow match for me. The email said he had 48 hours to reply wether, or not he was still willing to donate. He confessed to me that his hands were shaking and he couldn't type the word "YES' fast enough, in response to the news. He emailed the unbelievable news to me, because he assumed I would be asleep. As soon as I read the last word of that email I screamed "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD". My husband sprang out of bed disoriented, confused, worried and obviously pretty groggy. I could barely get the words out. I jumped into his arms and declared that a donor match was found! I hugged him tightly as our dogs barked and jumped around in agitation of the situation. As I embraced my husband, I shouted, I HAVE TO CALL MY PARENTS!!!! Jeff informed me that it was two o'clock in the morning, but it didn't faze me. I had to share this incredible news!
I am so outrageously fortunate to have found a bone marrow match and donor, but the most unimaginable part of this story is the revelation of my donor's identity. In a remarkable turn of events my doctor from Arizona is my "knight in shining armor". This man is once again saving my life. He was the only doctor whom ever truly listened to me, and took into account all of my symptoms 5 years ago. I had tirelessly gone from doctor to doctor and to countless hospitals to find out what was wrong with me. All of those physicians gave up on me because the diagnosis wasn't easy to detect, or they would tell me I'm just a hypochondriac. The most frustrating were the doctors who told me I was a young girl and it was all in my head. I just wanted to get out of going to school/work, or I wanted attention. They NEVER stopped to take the time to get to know me, and honestly listened to me. They dismissed me, as well as, the physical pain and mental anguish I was enduring. Dr. Reilly never did that. He fought for me, he listened to me without preconceived notions, and he cared about me. Three years after parting ways from a doctor/patient relationship, we've remain connected. Dr. Reilly has never been just a doctor to me, he is family. Not only did he save my life 5 years ago, he is going to once again save my life by giving me this selfless and generous gift. There are no words, or actions worthy enough to thank this man for what he has and will be giving to me.
Life leads us down many different paths. Many times we wish would could change course, or go back and pick a different path. I know I have felt that way many times, but I have learned that life is honestly about the journey, and the reactions we make in response to the actions we've chosen, as well as, acknowledging the accomplishments we have achieved by facing our fears and life's unexpected twists. No one is invincible, but we all carry a source of unwavering courage and strength within ourselves. We all must remember..."this too shall pass".
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Living and Dying
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Living and Dying: Why is it that with death comes new life? I'm not talking about the actual birth of a baby, I'm talking about taking a closer look ...
Living and Dying
Why is it that with death comes new life? I'm not talking about the actual birth of a baby, I'm talking about taking a closer look at the situations we are currently in. Why do we wait for tragedy before re-evaluating our lives? Why not truly live the life we want everyday, so that death can be more of a celebration of the deceased instead of a time of extreme sadness and mourning? I am in no way belittling funerals, mourning the loss of a loved one, or grieving the best ways we know how. I am only suggesting that we assess our lives more often than after a casualty.
I have been told by many doctors that my life will be cut short. Most of my family has come to realize that they will likely outlive me. Recognizing that is not easy to digest. It has taken a while for the news to settle in, and some of my family and friends choose not to accept it. I commend them for their positivity and hopefulness. I am extremely grateful to them for helping me through this horrific fight and for giving me the strength I need when I feel too weak to keep going. Their vitality, courage, strong will, faith, and love for me is what allows me to face each treatment, each surgery, each procedure, each doctor's appointment. All of the bad news I have received over the years has been easier to bear because of them. Every one of my family and friends have the ability to highlight the positive diagnoses and the challenges I have been able to overcome. I am surrounded by so many amazing people whom allow me to embrace life and live it to the fullest, despite that fact that I have cancer. There are many people who look at me with pity and sadness in their eyes, but my true friends and family still look at me as Meg. Meg, the silly, lighthearted, loving, caring, brave, unwavering, and a little bit crazy girl they've always known. My hair might be gone, I may be puffy and swollen from tumors and medications, I may get tired a lot faster and have to take more breaks during the day. I may only be able to wear sweatshirts(even if it's 100 degrees outside) and yoga pants because all other fabrics make my skin crawl. I may stand up to do something, but by the time I take two steps I've forgotten what I was going to do(because of the chemo and my daily medications). All of these things have changed my life, but I am still the same Meg inside. I will continue to laugh at my forgetfulness, I'll rock my bald head and I'll spice up my look with fun and colorful head wraps. I will always say what's on my mind without a filter. I will never be afraid to be loud, crazy and goofy in public(even though I might embarrass those with me). I will never stop singing at the top of my lungs along with the radio in the car, and bust out my sweet car dancing moves. Most of all I will never stop loving with my whole heart. At no time will I stop seeing the good in everyone I meet, even if I have to dig deep to set it free. Above all else, I will ALWAYS have a smile on my face. Sometimes that's all a person needs to brighten their day.
I want to take a moment to talk about a recent death that has had an immense impact on me. Being a cancer patient I encounter death more than I ever thought I would. I can't say that I have grown accustom to death and dying, but I've learned how to cope with the departure of a friend or family member. I have never cried over a celebrities death before the recent passing of Robin Williams. I have tirelessly cried because of the astute losses in my life, but never over someone in the public eye. I noticed a substantial change in emotion when I teared up over losing such an inspiring actor. I never met this man, yet he brought so much joy to my life, and to the life of so many others.
I am obviously profoundly distressed by his untimely passing, but at the same time, I am beyond grateful for the laughter and warmth he shared with the world. I doubt the world will ever see a soul as beautiful as Robin Williams. We will never know the pain he felt that led him to taking his own life, but we are lucky that his uplifting spirit and his undeniable talent will live on forever. May he rest in peace. Thank you, Robin Williams, for sharing your life with us all.
Death is inevitable. Sometimes we are aware the time is near. Other times death comes without warning. We will never know when our day will come to leave this earth. I am not happy that I have cancer, but it has allowed me to slow down and grasp what is genuinely important to me. Life is stressful, confusing, and, at times, unbearable. Take the time to stop and embrace life when you can. I have seriously thought about and attempted to end my life a few times, but I was lucky enough to be surrounded love stronger than any cancer. I am committed to celebrating my life from this point on. However much time I have left, I am going to live to the fullest! When the day comes that my life is finished, I want a party, not a funeral. Celebrate all the times we've shared. Please do not dwell on the unavoidable. Coming or going, I will forever be smiling!
Monday, September 1, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Help For Us All
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Help For Us All: Happy Labor Day! I hope that most, if not all, of you are enjoying an extra day off from work/school. I was flipping through the channels...
Help For Us All
Happy Labor Day! I hope that most, if not all, of you are enjoying an extra day off from work/school.
I was flipping through the channels on TV last night, and I came across the MDA telethon. It brought back a flood of memories. My family and I were usually in Iowa visiting my Grandma during Labor Day weekend. My grandma and my Aunt Karen would stay up ALL night to watch the telethon(back when Jerry Lee Lewis hosted). I was a girl of only eight or nine, so I wasn't sure what MDA was, or who more than half of the performers and spokespeople were. I just enjoyed spending time with my family. My parents and my sister would go to bed at a "normal" bed time. They would take me to bed as well, but I would wait until they were asleep to sneak out and watch the rest of the marathon with Grams and Karen. They would oogle at their favorite performers and cry at the sad stories of the struggling children. I would end up watching my Grams and my auntie Karen more than the actual telethon. I would become completely enamored by the response my family would have to complete strangers. It was inspiring. I would constantly ask them questions about muscular diseases and try to understand what the telethon was all about. The would never get annoyed by my persistent inquiries. They would answer to the best of their knowledge, and we would continue watching Jerry Lee Lewis and all his antics. I hold tightly onto those memories. It was such an innocent and bonding time. I'm so grateful they included me in their Labor Day ritual instead of ratting me out to my parents for being up past my bedtime.
Another staple of Labor Day was "filling the boot". For those of you who don't know of this tradition, it is when the local firefighters stand on street corners and/or at stop-and-go lights holding their fireman boots to collect donations for MDA. It was so exciting as a child to be driving down the road with my family and spot the first "fill the boot" intersection. I"ll admit I still get filled with delight when I see firemen collecting for MDA. It's a rare assurance now a days, but sometime I get lucky and find an area where they are taking donations. No matter the amount of money I have on me, it goes in the boot. I always laugh a little inside too because I reminisce about my dear sweet Grandma. She was hilarious when we would get close the the "fill the boot" intersection. She would frenziedly dig through her purse for spare money and change. My mom would always tell her it was fine, they had money for both my sister and I to put in the boot(clearly that was our favorite part of the weekend). That was never good enough for Grams though. She wanted to contribute to the fund as well. She always sat in the backseat with me and my sister. She would have her purse on her lap, and be chucking items all over myself and my sister. Anything and everything came out of that purse, so she could get to the bottom for loose change. Danielle and I would be covered in clean, and probably some used tissues, wrappers from her hard candies, her cigarettes, lighters, lint, and random papers filled with grocery lists, etc. The funniest part is that every year she would ask, "Do you think they'll take cinnamon certs?" The whole car would bust out in laughter. My parents would always end up pulling to the side of the road, or sitting idle at the stop-and-go light waiting for Grams to find her 38 cents to throw in the boot. She was relentless, but she did whatever she could to help the cause. I can't tell you how much I admire, adore, and miss the lady everyday of my life.
I am elated that the MDA has been putting on this telethon for so many years. I am also overjoyed by all of the attention and donations ALS has received through the "Ice Bucket Challenge". It's incredible how much money they have raised. It is truly wonderful to see that level of support for such a worthy cause. My only wish is that all organizations could get such funding. From small, personal fundraisers to worldwide charity events. I long for the day when each horrible disease, illness and condition would get equal financing. Logically, I know that day will doubtfully ever come, and that make me sad. It's no ones fault. Money doesn't grow on trees. That would be nice, but the truth is there is only so much people can give. It is also a personal choice whether or not to support an organization. Many people struggle to pay their own bills. They would love to help out, but they are financially incapable of providing monetary support. Others simply just don't care, nor do they want to back certain organizations. That is their prerogative. We all have to respect that, but I can't ignore the hurt I feel by their insensitivity.
I know I am bias because I struggle with medial cost daily. I have had to reach out to my family and friends numerous time. That makes me feel like a failure. I am almost 30 years old, and I still need help from mommy and daddy. It's not just my health that cancer has taken aways from me, it has also taken my dignity. I have never been much of a jealous person. I have always been genuinely happy for the successes of those around me. I still am, but I also wish that I could have a "normal" life. Cancer doesn't just affect one person, it affects all of those around them. It also doesn't just affect my body. Cancer has destroyed me physically, mentally, emotionally, financially and spiritually. I worry everyday that with each new diagnosis I won't be able to afford the treatments, the medications, the hospital visits, and the doctor visits. Even if I'm not ready to physically, or mentally give up, the cost of it all could very well be the death of me. Those thoughts terrify me to no end.
Either way, if the cancer itself kills me, money runs out, I get hit by a bus, or a I die an old lady in my bed, I will pass on with infinite love in my heart and a smile on my face. I know that for a fact because of all of you. All of you fantastic and awe-inspiring friends and family that have brought so much joy, love and laughter to my life. Thank you...a million times THANK YOU!
I was flipping through the channels on TV last night, and I came across the MDA telethon. It brought back a flood of memories. My family and I were usually in Iowa visiting my Grandma during Labor Day weekend. My grandma and my Aunt Karen would stay up ALL night to watch the telethon(back when Jerry Lee Lewis hosted). I was a girl of only eight or nine, so I wasn't sure what MDA was, or who more than half of the performers and spokespeople were. I just enjoyed spending time with my family. My parents and my sister would go to bed at a "normal" bed time. They would take me to bed as well, but I would wait until they were asleep to sneak out and watch the rest of the marathon with Grams and Karen. They would oogle at their favorite performers and cry at the sad stories of the struggling children. I would end up watching my Grams and my auntie Karen more than the actual telethon. I would become completely enamored by the response my family would have to complete strangers. It was inspiring. I would constantly ask them questions about muscular diseases and try to understand what the telethon was all about. The would never get annoyed by my persistent inquiries. They would answer to the best of their knowledge, and we would continue watching Jerry Lee Lewis and all his antics. I hold tightly onto those memories. It was such an innocent and bonding time. I'm so grateful they included me in their Labor Day ritual instead of ratting me out to my parents for being up past my bedtime.
Another staple of Labor Day was "filling the boot". For those of you who don't know of this tradition, it is when the local firefighters stand on street corners and/or at stop-and-go lights holding their fireman boots to collect donations for MDA. It was so exciting as a child to be driving down the road with my family and spot the first "fill the boot" intersection. I"ll admit I still get filled with delight when I see firemen collecting for MDA. It's a rare assurance now a days, but sometime I get lucky and find an area where they are taking donations. No matter the amount of money I have on me, it goes in the boot. I always laugh a little inside too because I reminisce about my dear sweet Grandma. She was hilarious when we would get close the the "fill the boot" intersection. She would frenziedly dig through her purse for spare money and change. My mom would always tell her it was fine, they had money for both my sister and I to put in the boot(clearly that was our favorite part of the weekend). That was never good enough for Grams though. She wanted to contribute to the fund as well. She always sat in the backseat with me and my sister. She would have her purse on her lap, and be chucking items all over myself and my sister. Anything and everything came out of that purse, so she could get to the bottom for loose change. Danielle and I would be covered in clean, and probably some used tissues, wrappers from her hard candies, her cigarettes, lighters, lint, and random papers filled with grocery lists, etc. The funniest part is that every year she would ask, "Do you think they'll take cinnamon certs?" The whole car would bust out in laughter. My parents would always end up pulling to the side of the road, or sitting idle at the stop-and-go light waiting for Grams to find her 38 cents to throw in the boot. She was relentless, but she did whatever she could to help the cause. I can't tell you how much I admire, adore, and miss the lady everyday of my life.
I am elated that the MDA has been putting on this telethon for so many years. I am also overjoyed by all of the attention and donations ALS has received through the "Ice Bucket Challenge". It's incredible how much money they have raised. It is truly wonderful to see that level of support for such a worthy cause. My only wish is that all organizations could get such funding. From small, personal fundraisers to worldwide charity events. I long for the day when each horrible disease, illness and condition would get equal financing. Logically, I know that day will doubtfully ever come, and that make me sad. It's no ones fault. Money doesn't grow on trees. That would be nice, but the truth is there is only so much people can give. It is also a personal choice whether or not to support an organization. Many people struggle to pay their own bills. They would love to help out, but they are financially incapable of providing monetary support. Others simply just don't care, nor do they want to back certain organizations. That is their prerogative. We all have to respect that, but I can't ignore the hurt I feel by their insensitivity.
I know I am bias because I struggle with medial cost daily. I have had to reach out to my family and friends numerous time. That makes me feel like a failure. I am almost 30 years old, and I still need help from mommy and daddy. It's not just my health that cancer has taken aways from me, it has also taken my dignity. I have never been much of a jealous person. I have always been genuinely happy for the successes of those around me. I still am, but I also wish that I could have a "normal" life. Cancer doesn't just affect one person, it affects all of those around them. It also doesn't just affect my body. Cancer has destroyed me physically, mentally, emotionally, financially and spiritually. I worry everyday that with each new diagnosis I won't be able to afford the treatments, the medications, the hospital visits, and the doctor visits. Even if I'm not ready to physically, or mentally give up, the cost of it all could very well be the death of me. Those thoughts terrify me to no end.
Either way, if the cancer itself kills me, money runs out, I get hit by a bus, or a I die an old lady in my bed, I will pass on with infinite love in my heart and a smile on my face. I know that for a fact because of all of you. All of you fantastic and awe-inspiring friends and family that have brought so much joy, love and laughter to my life. Thank you...a million times THANK YOU!
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Slow Dance
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Slow Dance: Have you ever watched kids On a merry-go-round? Or listened to the rain Dripping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flig...
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Ralph - in red flannel
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Ralph - in red flannel: I walk through many doors throughout the day: hospital doors, doctor's office doors, laboratory doors, imagining doors, etc. It may so...
Friday, August 29, 2014
Ralph - in red flannel
I walk through many doors throughout the day: hospital doors, doctor's office doors, laboratory doors, imaging doors, etc. It may sound like a simple and petty task, but I always hold open the doors for others. When it come to me, I often get the door shut in my face. I find this very sad. What happen to common curtesy and respect?
That all change today when I met Ralph. We was an older gentlemen with a walker. I saw him heading to the door, so I sped up as much as I could to help him. I had a few shots in my spine that morning, so I wasn't moving at a fast pace. He noticed me wobbling down the hall. He stopped just as he reached the doors. His said, "excuse me beautiful lady, but do you need some assistance. I can call someone for you."
I told him no, in fact, I was rushing to help him with the door. He was stunned that despite my pain, I wanted to help him. I also mentioned how much I loved his red flannel outfit. It was a complete ensemble with pants, a button up shirt, and a matching floor-length robe. He was flanneled out to the max, and he rocked that fashion statement with ease! I loved his swagger!
We came to the conclusion to meet in the middle. I held one side of the walker and Ralph held the other. It was the perfect solution. We shuffled through the revolving door together. Luckily, we made it out! Those revolving doors are terrifying!
It was such a pleasant day we both decided to wait outside for our transportation. We found a comfortable bench that was partially shaded and overlooked Syracuse. We talked for an hour about everything under the sun. It was lovely!
Once his ride arrived, he took my hand in his, kissed the back of my hand and told me it was an absolute pleasure meeting me. My sentiments were exactly the same. I had an wonderfully delightful time getting to know this incredible man. Just as he was getting into his transport van he said;
"I knew we'd go together
Like a wink and a smile"
As he walked up the steps into the van, just before they closed the door, he turned to me to flash me a wink of a smile. His gesture filled me with hopefulness I haven't felt in a long while.
It's heartwarming to know there are still people out there like Ralph. He completely changed my mood and got me out of the "pity party" I was throwing for myself.
No matter who, when, where, or why, there is a lost soul just like your own. When you find such a person, every difficulty is pushed aside and it's possible to escape pain, sadness, and hardships for a while, together. The simple touch on a hand, arm, or shoulder goes a long way. Not to mention a big ole bear hug. Everyone love those! Stop and take a moment to perform a random act of kindness when you can. You'll be amazed how much it will brighten you day, not to mention the gift you are giving to the other person.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Slow Dance
Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Dripping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.
Do you run through each day
On the fly?
When you ask "How are you?"
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.
Ever told your family,
We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see their sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say "Hi"?
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....
Thrown away.
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.
Monday, August 11, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Tinsel
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Tinsel: I first met Tinsel about six months ago. Yes, Tinsel is her birth name. She told me her parents were crazy hippies who were most likely cr...
Tinsel
I first met Tinsel about six months ago. Yes, Tinsel is her birth name. She told me her parents were crazy hippies who were most likely cracked out, or drunk looking at a Christmas tree when they came up with her name. She made jokes about her unusual name all the time. To avoid having deal with people constantly questioning her about her name, she went by "Tiny". The name was quite fitting for her. She stood no more than 4'5" and must have only weighed 80 pounds. She was a little pocket lady. She reminded me so much of my own grandma, in many ways.
Tiny kept to herself most of the time. She lived at a senior center close to the hospital, so she would get shuttled over for her daily treatments. She arrived very early in the morning and was finished with her treatments by noon, most days. Tiny was an extremely private lady. When she wasn't in a treatment, she stayed in her hospital room. I never once saw her out chatting in the common areas, or even conversing with friends/family in the hallways. There are countless patients that prefer to be left alone while going through their cancer battle. I completely respect their decision to do so. When I was first diagnosed I was nervous, shy, and closed off to other patients, as well as, to the hospital staff. All I wanted was to get in, and get out. I didn't want to face my cancer diagnosis straight on. I hoped I would go through a few treatments, procedures, and possibly a surgery and my cancer would be gone. I wanted to keep my illness hidden. That, obviously, didn't work out in my favor. It is now five and a half years later, and I publicly blog about my on-going cancer fight. I am happy that I am no longer the girl I was 5 years ago. I was painfully naive to think I could keep such an enormous part of my life a secret. I'm not sure how, or why, but I knew that Tiny and I shared many traits.
As I walked by Tiny's room that Thursday(I cannot tell you how I remember what day it was, but I do), I noticed her bookshelf was overflowing with all different types of books. I thought to myself, "that could be my icebreaker", so I gingerly knocked on her door. She answered with a soft, high pitched tone, "come in". I walked through the doorway and introduced myself. I asked her if she had read all of the books on her bookshelf, or if she was just hoarder? She smiled sweetly and told me she had read them all, most of them twice. I asked her which was her favorite. She instantly replied "A Room With A View" by E.M. Forster. "Have you read it?" I shook my head and said "no, I haven't". She nearly jumped out of her bed and raced over the the bookcase. She relentlessly shuffled through her collection until she found it. She clutched the book in her small hands and walked towards me. Tiny handed me her worn-in copy of the classic novel, and told me I must read it. I told her I most definitely would. Then she asked me to bring her a copy of my favorite book the next day. As soon as I arrived at the hospital the following day, I walked straight to Tiny's room totting my copy of "The Frog King" by Adam Davies. From that day on, not a day went by that I didn't visit Tiny. We started our own little book club. Our daily meetings starting by discussing the books we were currently reading, but as the days passed we grew closer. She told me about her family, friends, her life's adventures, and about her cancer. I gladly let her into my personal life, as well. Our friendship and our bond blossomed over the next few months. Tiny was my escape to calmness and serenity amongst a sea of chaos.
Tiny grew up in a small town in Massachusetts. She had one older brother and a younger sister. She made it perfectly clear that she did not suffer from "middle child syndrome". She was always close to her parents and her siblings. Sadly, they had all passed away before her. Her parents died of natural causes, her brother passed away when he was 24 in a car accident, and her sister had succumb to cancer two years ago. Her husband was also deceased. They were married for 48 years when he had a heart attack. They never had any children. They enjoyed traveling and were always up for an impromptu adventure. She said they never stayed in one place long enough to set down roots. She also told me she never regretted not having children until she got sick. Being alone and serious ill took a toll on her mental state. For the first time in her 86 years of life, she felt depressed and lonely. She went on to tell me that the only thing she looked forward to was our "book club meetings". When it was time for her to report back to the senior living facility she would slip back into that dark place in her mind.
Last week, I met with Tiny first thing after checking in at the nurses station. Her demeanor was different that day. She seemed aloof and preoccupied. We had a nice little chat before it was time for me to head down for my treatment session. As I was walking out of her room, she called out my name. I poked my head back in to see what she needed. She asked me to come back and see her after I had my treatment, before heading home. I found her request unusual, but I graciously obliged. I nodded and told her I would see her in a few hours. My mind wondered why she wanted to see me again that day. I was curious about what it was that couldn't wait until the next morning. Once my treatment had run it's course, I said my "see ya tomorrows" to the nurses and fellow patients before heading back to Tiny's room. As I walked closer to her room, I could feel my anxiety level rise. I was nervous about what she had to tell me, or show me. I was entirely unprepared for what was about to happen.
I reached Tiny's hospital room, took a slow deep breath, and walked through the door. Tiny was still in her PJ's in bed. I thought she would be dressed and ready to go back to her apartment at the senior center. She had the blinds drawn, the lights were dim, and her TV was on the church station(that was not uncommon for Tiny, but it felt strange in that moment). Once Tiny's eyes met mine, she reached out her hand toward me. She asked me to come sit with her. She had already moved the chair next to the bed for me. My heart was racing. I was extremely apprehensive about the whole situation, but I walked over and sat in the chair next to Tiny. She took my hand in hers. She was so tranquil and spoke with an incredibly soothing tone. She quietly asked me to retrieve her rosary from her bedside drawer. I continued to hold her hand with my left hand and gently opened her nightstand with my right hand. I grasped the rosary beads and passed them to Tiny. She turned her head slightly toward me and asked if I would pray with her. As many of you know, I have various qualms about organized religion. I was, however, brought up Catholic, like Tiny, so I didn't hesitate to pray with her. Tiny closed her eyes and recited a lovely prayer. As she was reciting the prayer, an uncomfortable feeling came over me. I turned to look into the bedside drawer that was still somewhat ajar. My heart skipped a beat as I saw the open and empty bottle of pills in her nightstand. Tiny finished the prayer and slowly opened her eyes. I smiled at her as my eyes welled up with tears. I told her that the prayer was beautiful before asking her about the pills. She remained so serene, and whispered that it was her time to go. She wanted to be with her husband and family again. She went on to say that her fight was over, but I had to continue battling this terrible disease. Then she thanked me for being her friend, and for making the past six months bearable. She told me she loved me as her eyes closed for the last time. I felt her spirit lift away and a sense of peace came over me. I laid her hand next to her side and took the rosary beads from her other hand. I tightly held the beads close to my heart as I recited the rosary prayers. It has been a long time since I prayed the rosary, so I'm not sure I got the order, or the prayers right. I just continued passing each bead through my fingers. When I reached the end, I looked over toward Tiny one last time. I thanked for all of the insight and stimulating conversations we shared. I told her I loved her and I was happy she could be with her family again. The last thing I told her before heading to the nurses station was that she has to find my grandma wherever she was going. I told her to give her a big hug for me and to watch over me with her. I clutched her rosary beads in my hand as I said goodbye to my dear friend. I will cherish them always.
Tinsel's death, along with the friends and family whom have passed before me, simultaneously strengthens and weakens me. Seeing cancer take away so many of the people I love leaves me pondering my own death. Why am I still here? My health continues to deteriorate, yet I'm still alive. Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Am I going to have to fight for each new day for years to come, or is the end to my story near? At the same time, the fact that my diagnoses haven't conquered me, makes me want to fight harder. I have come to terms with my own death, but I haven't given up on a cure. If I have to endure this pain and suffering so that others don't have to, I am more than happy to do so. I have wanted to give-in and quit more times than I can count, but the hope that my cancer research could provide answers for others in the future is worth fighting for.
Tiny kept to herself most of the time. She lived at a senior center close to the hospital, so she would get shuttled over for her daily treatments. She arrived very early in the morning and was finished with her treatments by noon, most days. Tiny was an extremely private lady. When she wasn't in a treatment, she stayed in her hospital room. I never once saw her out chatting in the common areas, or even conversing with friends/family in the hallways. There are countless patients that prefer to be left alone while going through their cancer battle. I completely respect their decision to do so. When I was first diagnosed I was nervous, shy, and closed off to other patients, as well as, to the hospital staff. All I wanted was to get in, and get out. I didn't want to face my cancer diagnosis straight on. I hoped I would go through a few treatments, procedures, and possibly a surgery and my cancer would be gone. I wanted to keep my illness hidden. That, obviously, didn't work out in my favor. It is now five and a half years later, and I publicly blog about my on-going cancer fight. I am happy that I am no longer the girl I was 5 years ago. I was painfully naive to think I could keep such an enormous part of my life a secret. I'm not sure how, or why, but I knew that Tiny and I shared many traits.
As I walked by Tiny's room that Thursday(I cannot tell you how I remember what day it was, but I do), I noticed her bookshelf was overflowing with all different types of books. I thought to myself, "that could be my icebreaker", so I gingerly knocked on her door. She answered with a soft, high pitched tone, "come in". I walked through the doorway and introduced myself. I asked her if she had read all of the books on her bookshelf, or if she was just hoarder? She smiled sweetly and told me she had read them all, most of them twice. I asked her which was her favorite. She instantly replied "A Room With A View" by E.M. Forster. "Have you read it?" I shook my head and said "no, I haven't". She nearly jumped out of her bed and raced over the the bookcase. She relentlessly shuffled through her collection until she found it. She clutched the book in her small hands and walked towards me. Tiny handed me her worn-in copy of the classic novel, and told me I must read it. I told her I most definitely would. Then she asked me to bring her a copy of my favorite book the next day. As soon as I arrived at the hospital the following day, I walked straight to Tiny's room totting my copy of "The Frog King" by Adam Davies. From that day on, not a day went by that I didn't visit Tiny. We started our own little book club. Our daily meetings starting by discussing the books we were currently reading, but as the days passed we grew closer. She told me about her family, friends, her life's adventures, and about her cancer. I gladly let her into my personal life, as well. Our friendship and our bond blossomed over the next few months. Tiny was my escape to calmness and serenity amongst a sea of chaos.
Tiny grew up in a small town in Massachusetts. She had one older brother and a younger sister. She made it perfectly clear that she did not suffer from "middle child syndrome". She was always close to her parents and her siblings. Sadly, they had all passed away before her. Her parents died of natural causes, her brother passed away when he was 24 in a car accident, and her sister had succumb to cancer two years ago. Her husband was also deceased. They were married for 48 years when he had a heart attack. They never had any children. They enjoyed traveling and were always up for an impromptu adventure. She said they never stayed in one place long enough to set down roots. She also told me she never regretted not having children until she got sick. Being alone and serious ill took a toll on her mental state. For the first time in her 86 years of life, she felt depressed and lonely. She went on to tell me that the only thing she looked forward to was our "book club meetings". When it was time for her to report back to the senior living facility she would slip back into that dark place in her mind.
Last week, I met with Tiny first thing after checking in at the nurses station. Her demeanor was different that day. She seemed aloof and preoccupied. We had a nice little chat before it was time for me to head down for my treatment session. As I was walking out of her room, she called out my name. I poked my head back in to see what she needed. She asked me to come back and see her after I had my treatment, before heading home. I found her request unusual, but I graciously obliged. I nodded and told her I would see her in a few hours. My mind wondered why she wanted to see me again that day. I was curious about what it was that couldn't wait until the next morning. Once my treatment had run it's course, I said my "see ya tomorrows" to the nurses and fellow patients before heading back to Tiny's room. As I walked closer to her room, I could feel my anxiety level rise. I was nervous about what she had to tell me, or show me. I was entirely unprepared for what was about to happen.
I reached Tiny's hospital room, took a slow deep breath, and walked through the door. Tiny was still in her PJ's in bed. I thought she would be dressed and ready to go back to her apartment at the senior center. She had the blinds drawn, the lights were dim, and her TV was on the church station(that was not uncommon for Tiny, but it felt strange in that moment). Once Tiny's eyes met mine, she reached out her hand toward me. She asked me to come sit with her. She had already moved the chair next to the bed for me. My heart was racing. I was extremely apprehensive about the whole situation, but I walked over and sat in the chair next to Tiny. She took my hand in hers. She was so tranquil and spoke with an incredibly soothing tone. She quietly asked me to retrieve her rosary from her bedside drawer. I continued to hold her hand with my left hand and gently opened her nightstand with my right hand. I grasped the rosary beads and passed them to Tiny. She turned her head slightly toward me and asked if I would pray with her. As many of you know, I have various qualms about organized religion. I was, however, brought up Catholic, like Tiny, so I didn't hesitate to pray with her. Tiny closed her eyes and recited a lovely prayer. As she was reciting the prayer, an uncomfortable feeling came over me. I turned to look into the bedside drawer that was still somewhat ajar. My heart skipped a beat as I saw the open and empty bottle of pills in her nightstand. Tiny finished the prayer and slowly opened her eyes. I smiled at her as my eyes welled up with tears. I told her that the prayer was beautiful before asking her about the pills. She remained so serene, and whispered that it was her time to go. She wanted to be with her husband and family again. She went on to say that her fight was over, but I had to continue battling this terrible disease. Then she thanked me for being her friend, and for making the past six months bearable. She told me she loved me as her eyes closed for the last time. I felt her spirit lift away and a sense of peace came over me. I laid her hand next to her side and took the rosary beads from her other hand. I tightly held the beads close to my heart as I recited the rosary prayers. It has been a long time since I prayed the rosary, so I'm not sure I got the order, or the prayers right. I just continued passing each bead through my fingers. When I reached the end, I looked over toward Tiny one last time. I thanked for all of the insight and stimulating conversations we shared. I told her I loved her and I was happy she could be with her family again. The last thing I told her before heading to the nurses station was that she has to find my grandma wherever she was going. I told her to give her a big hug for me and to watch over me with her. I clutched her rosary beads in my hand as I said goodbye to my dear friend. I will cherish them always.
Tinsel's death, along with the friends and family whom have passed before me, simultaneously strengthens and weakens me. Seeing cancer take away so many of the people I love leaves me pondering my own death. Why am I still here? My health continues to deteriorate, yet I'm still alive. Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Am I going to have to fight for each new day for years to come, or is the end to my story near? At the same time, the fact that my diagnoses haven't conquered me, makes me want to fight harder. I have come to terms with my own death, but I haven't given up on a cure. If I have to endure this pain and suffering so that others don't have to, I am more than happy to do so. I have wanted to give-in and quit more times than I can count, but the hope that my cancer research could provide answers for others in the future is worth fighting for.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: How do I...
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: How do I...: We all go through life somewhat blindfolded. We cannot predict what the present day, tomorrow, next week, next month, or even what next yea...
How do I...
We all go through life somewhat blindfolded. We cannot predict what the present day, tomorrow, next week, next month, or even what next year has in store of us. We do our bests to make plans, schedules and organized the future as much a possible, but we never have complete control of our lives. Whether you believe in God, or another form of higher power guides us through life, we can't avoid the unexpected. Bad news and difficult days are unavoidable. On the other hand, some of the most wonderful days happen without any warning. I am not sure if I believe in a higher power, but I do believe in fate. I have faith and hold myself to a high moral standard. My faith comes from those around me. They way my parents raised me, the amazing relationships I have with my extended family, and the wonderful friends I have met along my life journey is my form of religion. I learn from my successes and my mistakes, as well as, gain knowledge from the highs and lows my friends and family have endured. I also think the loves ones in my life that have passed on before me surround me with their strength and courage. That may sound completely crazy to some people, but the thought of the ones I love so dearly looking out for me keeps me going and fighting everyday.
Throughout my entire cancer battle I have been asked if I think I'm going to die. I've also been asked numerous times if I am afraid of death. I wouldn't necessarily say that I am in fear of death. I struggle the most with the fact that my life will likely end before I am ready to go. At times my mind becomes completely consumed by the possibility of my life being cut short. I have arduous time coping with probability that I will die at a young age. At 29 I should be thriving. I should have a career and a family of my own, or at least be starting to have children. The option to have biological children has been taken away from me, and we could not bring a baby into a home with sick mother. It wouldn't be fair to the little one. We could not financially support a child with all of my medical expenses. I feel like a failure as a wife, a daughter and a sister. I will never be able to give my husband a child, my parents a grandchild, or my sister a niece/nephew. It breaks my heart.
I will pursue every option presented to me in order to beat this horrific disease. I must admit there are many more times that my body feels like it no longer has the vitality and energy to keep going. The treatments leave me feeling more drained and depleted than ever before. Does this mean the end is near? Is my body telling me it can no longer tolerate the treatments? My body is telling me one thing while my mind is saying another.
There are so many more things I want to do, see, explore, learn, and discover before my time is up. I would love to travel the world, muster the courage to perform a comedic act at an open mic night, taste exotic cuisine from many different regions, and watch the sunset/sunrise over the ocean while feeling the sand in my toes and the cool ocean breezes. I desperately want to experience all of these things, but right now they out of reach due to my health. Above everything else, I'm not ready to part ways with my incredible family, friends, and fur babies. As an adult, my relationships with my family and friends have so much more depth and meaning. I have met and formed bonds with so many lovely people as I have aged. I could sit and talk with them for hours on end. I have also realized who my true friends are. These friends have are more than just buddies, they have become family. Nothing can break connections that strong.
I understand that death is ultimately a part of life. I have been told, and I'm beginning to believe that my departure will be sooner rather than later. That is an extremely heavy burden to hold. I'm am overwhelmed by the thought of my life ending before I am prepared to go. I am terrified to leave an unfinished life behind. Another important factor is being able express my love and gratitude to my loved one. I don't want to die before sharing my immense appreciation to the fantastic people in my life. I also don't want to have these conversations prematurely. That would be morbid and awkward. I guess the most pressing question is how do I say goodbye? Sidebar...I hope all of you that grew up in the 90s or loved Boys II Men are reciting the lyrics to "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday" right now. I totally am! Sorry, that was super random, but I had to mention it. I want to be able to say goodbye to all the fabulous people in my life, but when is the right time? Is there an appropriate time to bid adieu? The last thing I want to do is have a gruesome and/or pessimistic conversation with the most important people in my life, but I want them all to know how they have changed my life in the most remarkable ways!
I want to take the time to thank all of you lovely people for reading my blog. My stories are completely random and all over the board, but that's my life. I am so grateful to each and every one of you for taking the time to read my kooky life adventures! You will never know how much it means to me.
I have inserted the Boys II Men lyrics for a little reminiscing!
How do I say goodbye to what we had?
The good times that made us laugh
Outweigh the bad.
I thought we'd get to see forever
But forever's gone away
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
I don't know where this road
Is going to lead
All I know is where we've been
And what we've been through.
If we get to see tomorrow
I hope it's worth all the wait
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
And I'll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
And I'll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
Throughout my entire cancer battle I have been asked if I think I'm going to die. I've also been asked numerous times if I am afraid of death. I wouldn't necessarily say that I am in fear of death. I struggle the most with the fact that my life will likely end before I am ready to go. At times my mind becomes completely consumed by the possibility of my life being cut short. I have arduous time coping with probability that I will die at a young age. At 29 I should be thriving. I should have a career and a family of my own, or at least be starting to have children. The option to have biological children has been taken away from me, and we could not bring a baby into a home with sick mother. It wouldn't be fair to the little one. We could not financially support a child with all of my medical expenses. I feel like a failure as a wife, a daughter and a sister. I will never be able to give my husband a child, my parents a grandchild, or my sister a niece/nephew. It breaks my heart.
I will pursue every option presented to me in order to beat this horrific disease. I must admit there are many more times that my body feels like it no longer has the vitality and energy to keep going. The treatments leave me feeling more drained and depleted than ever before. Does this mean the end is near? Is my body telling me it can no longer tolerate the treatments? My body is telling me one thing while my mind is saying another.
There are so many more things I want to do, see, explore, learn, and discover before my time is up. I would love to travel the world, muster the courage to perform a comedic act at an open mic night, taste exotic cuisine from many different regions, and watch the sunset/sunrise over the ocean while feeling the sand in my toes and the cool ocean breezes. I desperately want to experience all of these things, but right now they out of reach due to my health. Above everything else, I'm not ready to part ways with my incredible family, friends, and fur babies. As an adult, my relationships with my family and friends have so much more depth and meaning. I have met and formed bonds with so many lovely people as I have aged. I could sit and talk with them for hours on end. I have also realized who my true friends are. These friends have are more than just buddies, they have become family. Nothing can break connections that strong.
I understand that death is ultimately a part of life. I have been told, and I'm beginning to believe that my departure will be sooner rather than later. That is an extremely heavy burden to hold. I'm am overwhelmed by the thought of my life ending before I am prepared to go. I am terrified to leave an unfinished life behind. Another important factor is being able express my love and gratitude to my loved one. I don't want to die before sharing my immense appreciation to the fantastic people in my life. I also don't want to have these conversations prematurely. That would be morbid and awkward. I guess the most pressing question is how do I say goodbye? Sidebar...I hope all of you that grew up in the 90s or loved Boys II Men are reciting the lyrics to "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday" right now. I totally am! Sorry, that was super random, but I had to mention it. I want to be able to say goodbye to all the fabulous people in my life, but when is the right time? Is there an appropriate time to bid adieu? The last thing I want to do is have a gruesome and/or pessimistic conversation with the most important people in my life, but I want them all to know how they have changed my life in the most remarkable ways!
I want to take the time to thank all of you lovely people for reading my blog. My stories are completely random and all over the board, but that's my life. I am so grateful to each and every one of you for taking the time to read my kooky life adventures! You will never know how much it means to me.
I have inserted the Boys II Men lyrics for a little reminiscing!
How do I say goodbye to what we had?
The good times that made us laugh
Outweigh the bad.
I thought we'd get to see forever
But forever's gone away
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
I don't know where this road
Is going to lead
All I know is where we've been
And what we've been through.
If we get to see tomorrow
I hope it's worth all the wait
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
And I'll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
And I'll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
Friday, August 1, 2014
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Candy Fairy
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: Candy Fairy: As a frequent visitor of the hospital/cancer center, I am privileged to have a designated area to keep my personal items. Anyone that has t...
Candy Fairy
As a frequent visitor of the hospital/cancer center, I am privileged to have a designated area to keep my personal items. Anyone that has treatments, appointments and/or procedures three times a week, or more is assigned a locker in the patient lounge. Most people keep toiletries, books, magazines and other necessities inside their lockers. My cabinet, however, stores much more random collection of possessions. Anyone who catches a glance inside my locker most likely thinks I'm a circus performer. I have a few changes of clothes. Mind you, these clothes are crazy bright colors and extremely worn-in. They are obviously my "emergency" outfits. Just in case I get blood, iodine, or some other bodily fluids spilled on me. Gross, I know, but that's the life of a cancer patient. I have numerous nail polishes and make-up items. I also have a vast collection of novelty goods stashed away in my locker. Most of the pieces I use when I visit "my" kids. I enjoy doing makeovers with the girls and putting press-on tattoos on the boys. I also hoard crayons, markers, all different types of paper, ribbon, and other crafty-type things. The most abundant item I have in my cabinet is bags upon bags of candy.
The candy is not for me. Ok, occasionally I sneak a piece for little treat. If other patients, nurses, or doctors saw the contents of my locker they would most definitely think I am a sugar-starved, candy addicted freak that must be bouncing off the walls constantly. That is entirely not true. Most of the time I prefer a salty snack over a sweet snack. My friends in the pediatric unit go wild for confectionary delights, so I keep plenty in stock. Their parents don't often allow their children to indulge in sugary goodness. I completely understand that they want to keep their children on a healthy diet to aid in, and improve their kid's treatment plan. I support that mindset 100%, but sometimes I just have to spoil them. I came up with the idea of a candy fairy. On the first of every month, I sneak into their hospital room while the children are at their treatments, and leave "fairy gifts" filled with delectable goodies in the drawer of their nightstand. Each child has a nightstand next to their bed to keep there personal items. I sneak a "fairy bag" into every stand and slip out without any of the boys or girls knowing I was there. The parents have told me stories about how excited the kids are when they return from torturous treatments to find the yummy treats the candy fairy left. I love knowing that I can bring a smile to their faces after going through the agony of daily cancer woes.
I usually only hear stories about the children's reactions, but today was different. One of the fathers recorded the kids opening up their drawers to find what the candy fairy brought them. I tie each goodie bag with ribbon and attach a card with their names and an inspirational quote. It was heartwarming to see every child read the quote aloud to each other before ripping into their treats. I have always written the quotes on each of their "fairy gifts" mostly for the parents. I thought it was a nice way to bring smile to their faces, as well as, to their children's faces. I was shocked to see how much the quotes moved both the parents and the children Seeing the kids go around the room and read their respective quotes brought tears to my eyes and a flood of emotions. The children took the time to absorb the uplifting words before going candy crazy. It was a beautiful sight.
The video that father shared with me gave me an entirely new outlook on my roll as the candy fairy. Seeing the surprise on their faces when finding out the candy fairy came was adorable, but not nearly as meaningful as the reaction they had to the cards. Watching the kids read the quotes to their friends and family, as well as, listen so intently to the other quotes was truly impressive. Each one of those children have made a significant impact on my life. It amazes me how one moment in time can alter the rest of your life. I find the most joy in the simple pleasures we experience each and every day.
The candy is not for me. Ok, occasionally I sneak a piece for little treat. If other patients, nurses, or doctors saw the contents of my locker they would most definitely think I am a sugar-starved, candy addicted freak that must be bouncing off the walls constantly. That is entirely not true. Most of the time I prefer a salty snack over a sweet snack. My friends in the pediatric unit go wild for confectionary delights, so I keep plenty in stock. Their parents don't often allow their children to indulge in sugary goodness. I completely understand that they want to keep their children on a healthy diet to aid in, and improve their kid's treatment plan. I support that mindset 100%, but sometimes I just have to spoil them. I came up with the idea of a candy fairy. On the first of every month, I sneak into their hospital room while the children are at their treatments, and leave "fairy gifts" filled with delectable goodies in the drawer of their nightstand. Each child has a nightstand next to their bed to keep there personal items. I sneak a "fairy bag" into every stand and slip out without any of the boys or girls knowing I was there. The parents have told me stories about how excited the kids are when they return from torturous treatments to find the yummy treats the candy fairy left. I love knowing that I can bring a smile to their faces after going through the agony of daily cancer woes.
I usually only hear stories about the children's reactions, but today was different. One of the fathers recorded the kids opening up their drawers to find what the candy fairy brought them. I tie each goodie bag with ribbon and attach a card with their names and an inspirational quote. It was heartwarming to see every child read the quote aloud to each other before ripping into their treats. I have always written the quotes on each of their "fairy gifts" mostly for the parents. I thought it was a nice way to bring smile to their faces, as well as, to their children's faces. I was shocked to see how much the quotes moved both the parents and the children Seeing the kids go around the room and read their respective quotes brought tears to my eyes and a flood of emotions. The children took the time to absorb the uplifting words before going candy crazy. It was a beautiful sight.
The video that father shared with me gave me an entirely new outlook on my roll as the candy fairy. Seeing the surprise on their faces when finding out the candy fairy came was adorable, but not nearly as meaningful as the reaction they had to the cards. Watching the kids read the quotes to their friends and family, as well as, listen so intently to the other quotes was truly impressive. Each one of those children have made a significant impact on my life. It amazes me how one moment in time can alter the rest of your life. I find the most joy in the simple pleasures we experience each and every day.
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