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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