Tuesday, November 19, 2013
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: So Very Thankful
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: So Very Thankful: Thanksgiving is right around the corner. I have so many reasons to be thankful, but today I was given a very special reason to be thankful....
So Very Thankful
Thanksgiving is right around the corner. I have so many reasons to be thankful, but today I was given a very special reason to be thankful.
As I entered the children's floor at the cancer center this morning, I was greeted with overwhelming happiness and love. The children, and their parents had a wonderful gift for me. Two of the kids ran to me, grabbed my hands, and led me into the community room. They sat me in the "special" chair and told me to wait there. I sat there anxiously waiting for my surprise. The children, and their parents began filling the community room. I found it strange that so many families were at the hospital during normal working hours, but I didn't question it further. I was excited to see what the special occasion was. As the families filed in, I notice each family was holding a piece of paper. Once everyone was in the room the offering began. One-by-one the children showed me their papers. The families had individually made a drawing for me to show how much I have impacted their lives. As each family presented their picture to me, my heart grew warmer. Naturally tears of joy and gratitude began streaming down my cheeks. After all of the families were finished presenting their drawings, the parents collected the papers, and bound them all together into a picture book. They told me that children wanted me to have a piece of them with me wherever I go. I took the book, and held it tightly in my arms. This is one gift I will cherish forever.
If that wasn't enough, the parents told me that they had another present for me. All of the kids, and parents had come up with a t-shirt design for a booster campaign. They wanted to sponsor a fundraiser for me to help out with my medical bills, and traveling expenses to Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in NYC. Nathan's parents (Nathan was the inspiration for Superhero Day) shared the idea with the other children, and their families. All of the families were onboard, so they began brainstorming about the graphic for the t-shirt. After a couple craft sessions, the families were ready to bequeath the design to me.
A little back story... Last month, I sponsored a booster campaign, and designed a t-shirt for Nathan's family to help with their medical expenses. The fundraiser helped ease some financial stress for them, and they wanted to return the favor to me.
Nathan and his family gathered around to show me the t-shirt idea, and I was completely enamored by the amount of thought, and love that went into the design. The children and their families have all noticed, and commented on my tattoos. One of them always seems to stand out. The words Courage and Strength tattooed on my right forearm with the Irish symbol for courage always tugs on the heartstrings of those whom see it. I wear it proudly as a reminder to stay strong through each treatment and each setback, as well as, to remain courageous going into each new day.
The tears were again flowing as the family reviled the graphic for the t-shirt. Everyone knew it would be an emotional moment, and it would be difficult to get the words out, so they typed out why the choose the specific design. Nathan's sister scrolled down on the computer to show me what they had written.
It read:
The graphic design for this t-shirt was designed by children and parents that Meg visits at the Cancer Center in Syracuse, NY. The idea was sparked from the tattoo Meg has on her right forearm. The true spirit of the words Courage and Strength live within Meg. Her unwavering fight towards a cure for her cancer, and the support she has for her fellow cancer patients is awe-inspiring. Meg is the epitome of Courage and Strength! Her never-back-down approach to cancer, and her positive outlook on life is a gift to us all! We love you Meg!
We were all blubbering messes! Children, parents, nurses, and doctors were all gathered around. Needless to say, we all had a good cry, at one point, or another. Oy Vey!
Thanksgiving is next week, but regardless of what month it is, I have A LOT to be thankful for!
If you would like to see the t-shirt design, or would like to order a t-shirt to support my fundraiser, please visit www.Booster.com. The campaign is called: Hope For Meg (It may take a day for the campaign to get up and running).
Thank you
As I entered the children's floor at the cancer center this morning, I was greeted with overwhelming happiness and love. The children, and their parents had a wonderful gift for me. Two of the kids ran to me, grabbed my hands, and led me into the community room. They sat me in the "special" chair and told me to wait there. I sat there anxiously waiting for my surprise. The children, and their parents began filling the community room. I found it strange that so many families were at the hospital during normal working hours, but I didn't question it further. I was excited to see what the special occasion was. As the families filed in, I notice each family was holding a piece of paper. Once everyone was in the room the offering began. One-by-one the children showed me their papers. The families had individually made a drawing for me to show how much I have impacted their lives. As each family presented their picture to me, my heart grew warmer. Naturally tears of joy and gratitude began streaming down my cheeks. After all of the families were finished presenting their drawings, the parents collected the papers, and bound them all together into a picture book. They told me that children wanted me to have a piece of them with me wherever I go. I took the book, and held it tightly in my arms. This is one gift I will cherish forever.
If that wasn't enough, the parents told me that they had another present for me. All of the kids, and parents had come up with a t-shirt design for a booster campaign. They wanted to sponsor a fundraiser for me to help out with my medical bills, and traveling expenses to Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in NYC. Nathan's parents (Nathan was the inspiration for Superhero Day) shared the idea with the other children, and their families. All of the families were onboard, so they began brainstorming about the graphic for the t-shirt. After a couple craft sessions, the families were ready to bequeath the design to me.
A little back story... Last month, I sponsored a booster campaign, and designed a t-shirt for Nathan's family to help with their medical expenses. The fundraiser helped ease some financial stress for them, and they wanted to return the favor to me.
Nathan and his family gathered around to show me the t-shirt idea, and I was completely enamored by the amount of thought, and love that went into the design. The children and their families have all noticed, and commented on my tattoos. One of them always seems to stand out. The words Courage and Strength tattooed on my right forearm with the Irish symbol for courage always tugs on the heartstrings of those whom see it. I wear it proudly as a reminder to stay strong through each treatment and each setback, as well as, to remain courageous going into each new day.
The tears were again flowing as the family reviled the graphic for the t-shirt. Everyone knew it would be an emotional moment, and it would be difficult to get the words out, so they typed out why the choose the specific design. Nathan's sister scrolled down on the computer to show me what they had written.
It read:
The graphic design for this t-shirt was designed by children and parents that Meg visits at the Cancer Center in Syracuse, NY. The idea was sparked from the tattoo Meg has on her right forearm. The true spirit of the words Courage and Strength live within Meg. Her unwavering fight towards a cure for her cancer, and the support she has for her fellow cancer patients is awe-inspiring. Meg is the epitome of Courage and Strength! Her never-back-down approach to cancer, and her positive outlook on life is a gift to us all! We love you Meg!
We were all blubbering messes! Children, parents, nurses, and doctors were all gathered around. Needless to say, we all had a good cry, at one point, or another. Oy Vey!
Thanksgiving is next week, but regardless of what month it is, I have A LOT to be thankful for!
If you would like to see the t-shirt design, or would like to order a t-shirt to support my fundraiser, please visit www.Booster.com. The campaign is called: Hope For Meg (It may take a day for the campaign to get up and running).
Thank you
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
What Did You Say?
As I have explained in previous posts, I am thrilled to be at a large cancer center in Syracuse. The physicians, and nurses are at the top of their respected fields. The equipment is state-of-the-art, and the treatment plans are extremely comprehensive. The fellow patients and staff are warm, and more than welcoming. I couldn't ask to be at a better facility. That being said, not every aspect of the hospital can be all sunshine and roses. With every good piece of a news, a bad piece of news is surely to follow.
My bad piece of news came on the second day of treatment in Syracuse. The first day was mostly orientation. I met many members of the hospital staff, my new doctors, and got familiarized with the my new surroundings. The mood was light, and overall quite positive. I remember feeling terribly nervous about the introduction to my new oncologist. What would they think of me? Are they looking forward to working with me? Am I going to be just another name on their list of patients? Will I be just another number? To my surprise, the introductions were successful, as well as, fairly pleasant. I felt confident embarking on a new treatment path. That all changed on day two at the cancer center in Syracuse. I continue to have complete faith in the facility, and the wonderful staff at the hospital. The doubts lie completely within myself. The question at the forefront of all my healthcare concerns is: Do I have the strength to maintain this fight? My doctors and I, are both, beginning to ponder said question.
The second day at the cancer center carried a much darker, and more intense feeling. I sat down individually with each of my new physicians. We spoke in depth about my "case", and my tumors. Everyone loves to chat about themselves now and then, but in this situation, I couldn't wait until these conversations were over. I anxiously sat with each doctor as they asked me a battery of questions. By the time I got to the last oncologist interview, I was filled to the brim with tension and anxiety. I could not wait to leave his office, and jump in the medi-van back home. The questions had become torture. I was passively answering, in hopes to swiftly maneuver through the interrogation. It was working to my advantage until he shocked me with his final statement of our meeting. He told me that the oncological staff will work tirelessly to accommodate my healthcare, but he doesn't foresee a long lifespan in my future.
What the hell? Who pitches that statement at someone, stands up, shakes my hand, and proceeds to usher me out of his office? I was left in utter shock. I kept my composure until I sat down in the car. The minute I fell into the seat, the tears began welling up in my eyes. It was truly the longest ride home of my life. How do you digest that kind of information? I decided I wasn't going to share what the last doctor told me the day before, until I spoke to the other physicians.
The next day I stormed into the cancer center with a mission. I was going to confront the entire oncological staff. I was absolutely sure they would discredit what the doctor told me the previous day. I was floored at what I heard. The consensus was that my life will be cut short due to cancer. They couldn't give me a timeline because I have defied the odds before, but the science doesn't lie. I will most likely run out of treatment options if the tumors don't stop spreading soon. In that moment, I felt my heart sink to my stomach. What have the past four and a half years of treatments, surgeries, and procedures done for me? Why have I been subjected to immense pain, fear, and heartache for so long? Why did I even bother to fight?
I wallowed in that empty feeling for a few days. I'll be the first to admit, I was a SUPER bitch during that time. I was ready to lay down and die. I fully succumbed to my illness, until I looked over at a picture of my family and friends on my wedding day. We all had smiles on our faces, and happiness in our eyes. I could feel the love pouring out of that picture. In that moment, I realized that I got married while battling cancer. The most wonderful day of my life happened amidst my cancer fight. Why should I give in to my illness now?
My life may be cut short, and I will to fight until I take my last breath. My cancer will most likely kill me, but I vow to keep living until that day. I am not just living for me. I am living for the family and friends from the picture that surrounded me on my wedding day, and for all of those who where there in spirit. I'm living for all of the patients that have crossed my path along this cancer journey, and for those I have yet to meet. I'm not giving up. I'm living.
My bad piece of news came on the second day of treatment in Syracuse. The first day was mostly orientation. I met many members of the hospital staff, my new doctors, and got familiarized with the my new surroundings. The mood was light, and overall quite positive. I remember feeling terribly nervous about the introduction to my new oncologist. What would they think of me? Are they looking forward to working with me? Am I going to be just another name on their list of patients? Will I be just another number? To my surprise, the introductions were successful, as well as, fairly pleasant. I felt confident embarking on a new treatment path. That all changed on day two at the cancer center in Syracuse. I continue to have complete faith in the facility, and the wonderful staff at the hospital. The doubts lie completely within myself. The question at the forefront of all my healthcare concerns is: Do I have the strength to maintain this fight? My doctors and I, are both, beginning to ponder said question.
The second day at the cancer center carried a much darker, and more intense feeling. I sat down individually with each of my new physicians. We spoke in depth about my "case", and my tumors. Everyone loves to chat about themselves now and then, but in this situation, I couldn't wait until these conversations were over. I anxiously sat with each doctor as they asked me a battery of questions. By the time I got to the last oncologist interview, I was filled to the brim with tension and anxiety. I could not wait to leave his office, and jump in the medi-van back home. The questions had become torture. I was passively answering, in hopes to swiftly maneuver through the interrogation. It was working to my advantage until he shocked me with his final statement of our meeting. He told me that the oncological staff will work tirelessly to accommodate my healthcare, but he doesn't foresee a long lifespan in my future.
What the hell? Who pitches that statement at someone, stands up, shakes my hand, and proceeds to usher me out of his office? I was left in utter shock. I kept my composure until I sat down in the car. The minute I fell into the seat, the tears began welling up in my eyes. It was truly the longest ride home of my life. How do you digest that kind of information? I decided I wasn't going to share what the last doctor told me the day before, until I spoke to the other physicians.
The next day I stormed into the cancer center with a mission. I was going to confront the entire oncological staff. I was absolutely sure they would discredit what the doctor told me the previous day. I was floored at what I heard. The consensus was that my life will be cut short due to cancer. They couldn't give me a timeline because I have defied the odds before, but the science doesn't lie. I will most likely run out of treatment options if the tumors don't stop spreading soon. In that moment, I felt my heart sink to my stomach. What have the past four and a half years of treatments, surgeries, and procedures done for me? Why have I been subjected to immense pain, fear, and heartache for so long? Why did I even bother to fight?
I wallowed in that empty feeling for a few days. I'll be the first to admit, I was a SUPER bitch during that time. I was ready to lay down and die. I fully succumbed to my illness, until I looked over at a picture of my family and friends on my wedding day. We all had smiles on our faces, and happiness in our eyes. I could feel the love pouring out of that picture. In that moment, I realized that I got married while battling cancer. The most wonderful day of my life happened amidst my cancer fight. Why should I give in to my illness now?
My life may be cut short, and I will to fight until I take my last breath. My cancer will most likely kill me, but I vow to keep living until that day. I am not just living for me. I am living for the family and friends from the picture that surrounded me on my wedding day, and for all of those who where there in spirit. I'm living for all of the patients that have crossed my path along this cancer journey, and for those I have yet to meet. I'm not giving up. I'm living.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Superhero Day
The best part about being treated at a the bigger cancer center in Syracuse is the fact that they have a children's floor. I was devestated when I found out that the small hospital I started at serviced only adults. I truly enjoy visiting the children each day, and help them conquer their horrible illnesses, any way I can. I have found that we feed off of each other's strengths to help ease the pains of everyday life.
After my first treatment at the cancer center, I found my way to the children's floor. I wanted to familiarize myself with the nursing staff, so they knew I was a friendly face, and not some creeper. I asked if I could take a little time each day to read to the kids. My request was granted, and I have visited the children everyday since. The children and I have become fast friends. I have grown particularly close to a young boy named Nathan.
Nathan was quiet, and extremely shy from the first day I met him. Last Friday he opened up to me. Every time I saw Nathan he looked scared and/or nervous. After I a few days of visiting, I thought I would ask him about it, in hopes he would explain to me what he was afraid of. To my surprise, he expressed his fears to me. He is a fairly new patient to the hospital, and he would be undergoing his first ever surgery on Monday(today). I understood his apprehension. My first surgery was at age 15, and it was my tonsils. His first surgery is at the age of 6, and is a much more evasive operation. I sat there listening to this adorable little boy talk about how scared he was for his upcoming surgery. My mind immediately started churning out ideas to cheer him up. Nothing sparked my interest until I saw that he had some comic books on his nightstand. That gave me an idea.
After talking to Nathan on Friday, I spoke to the nursing staff, Nathan's parents, and family members of the other children. With permission from all parities involved I organized "Superhero Day". I volunteered to bring the supplies if the families would help construct capes and masks for the kids Sunday. The idea sparked from Nathan's surgery, but I knew that all the children could benefit from the superpowers given that day.
Sunday morning I went to a local fabric store, and asked if I could buy all the their scrap pieces of fabric from the weekend. They gladly gave me the scrapes, and I headed to the hospital with fabric, some glitter, needles, thread, and a hot glue gun. I couldn't sit still the entire car ride to the hospital. I was so excited to get there, and start "Superhero Day"! I practically ran to the children's floor when I reached the cancer center. I walked into the community room with multiple bags on each arm. The kids had no idea what was planned. I put down the bags as I looked up at the children and their families. Just then the families all shouted "It's Superhero Day"! All of the kids cheered, and we began making capes and masks. We helped all of the children get fitted for a cape, and personalize them with their first initial on the back. The room was filled with vibrate colors, children playing, families laughing, and a sea of glitter! For the first time, I saw happiness of Nathan's face instead of fear. Being the giant sap that I am, I had to choke back the tears. "Superhero Day" gave us all strength and courage that day.
I woke up this morning to the buzzing of my cell phone. Nathan had a early morning procedure, and his parents sent me a picture of him wearing his cape while being wheeled into surgery. A few hours later I received another picture of him after his operation. He was laying in bed with his caped draped over him, and he was giving a thumbs up. The caption read: Thanks for the superpowers Meg! You're helping me kick cancer's butt!
Nathan, like so many of the other children I have met battling cancer, give me the strength to fighting. They are all of the superpowers I could ever need!
After my first treatment at the cancer center, I found my way to the children's floor. I wanted to familiarize myself with the nursing staff, so they knew I was a friendly face, and not some creeper. I asked if I could take a little time each day to read to the kids. My request was granted, and I have visited the children everyday since. The children and I have become fast friends. I have grown particularly close to a young boy named Nathan.
Nathan was quiet, and extremely shy from the first day I met him. Last Friday he opened up to me. Every time I saw Nathan he looked scared and/or nervous. After I a few days of visiting, I thought I would ask him about it, in hopes he would explain to me what he was afraid of. To my surprise, he expressed his fears to me. He is a fairly new patient to the hospital, and he would be undergoing his first ever surgery on Monday(today). I understood his apprehension. My first surgery was at age 15, and it was my tonsils. His first surgery is at the age of 6, and is a much more evasive operation. I sat there listening to this adorable little boy talk about how scared he was for his upcoming surgery. My mind immediately started churning out ideas to cheer him up. Nothing sparked my interest until I saw that he had some comic books on his nightstand. That gave me an idea.
After talking to Nathan on Friday, I spoke to the nursing staff, Nathan's parents, and family members of the other children. With permission from all parities involved I organized "Superhero Day". I volunteered to bring the supplies if the families would help construct capes and masks for the kids Sunday. The idea sparked from Nathan's surgery, but I knew that all the children could benefit from the superpowers given that day.
Sunday morning I went to a local fabric store, and asked if I could buy all the their scrap pieces of fabric from the weekend. They gladly gave me the scrapes, and I headed to the hospital with fabric, some glitter, needles, thread, and a hot glue gun. I couldn't sit still the entire car ride to the hospital. I was so excited to get there, and start "Superhero Day"! I practically ran to the children's floor when I reached the cancer center. I walked into the community room with multiple bags on each arm. The kids had no idea what was planned. I put down the bags as I looked up at the children and their families. Just then the families all shouted "It's Superhero Day"! All of the kids cheered, and we began making capes and masks. We helped all of the children get fitted for a cape, and personalize them with their first initial on the back. The room was filled with vibrate colors, children playing, families laughing, and a sea of glitter! For the first time, I saw happiness of Nathan's face instead of fear. Being the giant sap that I am, I had to choke back the tears. "Superhero Day" gave us all strength and courage that day.
I woke up this morning to the buzzing of my cell phone. Nathan had a early morning procedure, and his parents sent me a picture of him wearing his cape while being wheeled into surgery. A few hours later I received another picture of him after his operation. He was laying in bed with his caped draped over him, and he was giving a thumbs up. The caption read: Thanks for the superpowers Meg! You're helping me kick cancer's butt!
Nathan, like so many of the other children I have met battling cancer, give me the strength to fighting. They are all of the superpowers I could ever need!
Fresh Start
After a short hiatus, I am back! Life has been busy lately. As most of you know, Jeff and I moved from Memphis to Central New York. We love it here, but adjusting to our new lives have taken some time. Transitioning to our new home, and social life has been simple. We adore our house, and our surroundings remind both Jeff, and myself of the towns we grew up in. I can see us setting down roots here, and hopefully starting a family of our own someday.
My healthcare has been a different story. My body punished me for taking time off the treatment schedule to move. It took some time to procure the medications, treatment plan, and the correct hospital to best facilitate my illness. My doctors from Memphis transferred me to a wonderful doctor here, but the hospital did not have the technological advancements required to treat my tumors. The physician here worked tirelessly to find the perfect cancer center for my specific needs. I am truly grateful for his persistence. Fortunately, I am now, back on track.
I have been at my new hospital in Syracuse for a week, and my healthcare future is looking brighter. My cancer still presents itself with an abundance of challenges, but this new facility has brought me much joy. The hospital I started at was small, and had few "regular" patients. I found it difficult to meet people, and make friends. The hospital staff was outstanding, but I didn't have much social interaction. I missed that, especially coming from large hospitals in Arizona and Tennessee with a ever-revolving door of new, and "regular" patients. The first day at the cancer center in Syracuse I felt the sense of community I was used to feeling at previous hospitals. In fact, the first person I had a conversation with had ties to a patient/friend I knew in Arizona. We chatting the entire afternoon, and I left for the day feeling happy. For the first time since moving to CNY I felt comfortable, and secure with my healthcare center.
The next morning I got a call from my friend in Arizona who knew the woman I met the day before. She explained to me that the woman, I met the day before, called her the minute she returned home from the hospital. She told me how happy her friend was that she met me, and how much she appreciated the time I took to talk to her. She went on to express how wonderful it was for a young woman like me to take interests in old ladies like them(her words, not mine). What she said next took me by surprise, and truly struck a cord with me. She told me that I am doing my life's work. I am a saint sent to patients stricken with terrible diseases to help them cope, and guide them through their healthcare. Lastly, she told me that I have been put on this Earth to mend people's hearts, and revive their souls. Those are extremely powerful words. I didn't know how to react to that. I sat speechless on the other end of the line, and began to cry.
I am FAR from a saint. There are many aspects of my life, and personality I could improve upon. Her words have stuck with me though. I have a lot of guilt when it comes to the type of daughter, sister, wife, and friend I am. I wish I was better at being all of them, but I am comforted knowing that I have helped, even one person, navigate their way through cancer treatment.
My healthcare has been a different story. My body punished me for taking time off the treatment schedule to move. It took some time to procure the medications, treatment plan, and the correct hospital to best facilitate my illness. My doctors from Memphis transferred me to a wonderful doctor here, but the hospital did not have the technological advancements required to treat my tumors. The physician here worked tirelessly to find the perfect cancer center for my specific needs. I am truly grateful for his persistence. Fortunately, I am now, back on track.
I have been at my new hospital in Syracuse for a week, and my healthcare future is looking brighter. My cancer still presents itself with an abundance of challenges, but this new facility has brought me much joy. The hospital I started at was small, and had few "regular" patients. I found it difficult to meet people, and make friends. The hospital staff was outstanding, but I didn't have much social interaction. I missed that, especially coming from large hospitals in Arizona and Tennessee with a ever-revolving door of new, and "regular" patients. The first day at the cancer center in Syracuse I felt the sense of community I was used to feeling at previous hospitals. In fact, the first person I had a conversation with had ties to a patient/friend I knew in Arizona. We chatting the entire afternoon, and I left for the day feeling happy. For the first time since moving to CNY I felt comfortable, and secure with my healthcare center.
The next morning I got a call from my friend in Arizona who knew the woman I met the day before. She explained to me that the woman, I met the day before, called her the minute she returned home from the hospital. She told me how happy her friend was that she met me, and how much she appreciated the time I took to talk to her. She went on to express how wonderful it was for a young woman like me to take interests in old ladies like them(her words, not mine). What she said next took me by surprise, and truly struck a cord with me. She told me that I am doing my life's work. I am a saint sent to patients stricken with terrible diseases to help them cope, and guide them through their healthcare. Lastly, she told me that I have been put on this Earth to mend people's hearts, and revive their souls. Those are extremely powerful words. I didn't know how to react to that. I sat speechless on the other end of the line, and began to cry.
I am FAR from a saint. There are many aspects of my life, and personality I could improve upon. Her words have stuck with me though. I have a lot of guilt when it comes to the type of daughter, sister, wife, and friend I am. I wish I was better at being all of them, but I am comforted knowing that I have helped, even one person, navigate their way through cancer treatment.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: I'll Be Seeing You
The life of a 20-something cancer patient: I'll Be Seeing You: We all go through life dodging curveballs, and searching for happiness. As I age, it becomes more and more challenging to bounce back after...
I'll Be Seeing You
We all go through life dodging curveballs, and searching for happiness. As I age, it becomes more and more challenging to bounce back after a fall. Not only the physical aspect, but the emotional fatigue that consumes me. The fear, anxiety, guilt, and sorrow beat me down so viciously sometimes, that I no longer know which way is up. I truly believe that taking chances, and forging ahead on the path unknown, brings great reward. Doing what is right for me and my family is the most important decision I could ever make. Moving on, and turning the page in my "Book of Life" will hopefully lead me to my "Happily Ever After". That is the ultimate goal in life, right?
Living with cancer, and spending most days with other seriously ill patients, I have grown somewhat accustomed to death. That sounds incredibly morbid. Unfortunately, it's the truth. I am in NO WAY saying that I am used to watching people die. Death is unpredictable, and a horrible experience. It doesn't matter if I am extremely close to the person, or barely know them. When a person passes away, the news is always unsettling. Another casualty of spending so much time in a hospital is saying goodbye.
Saying farewell to a fellow patient and their family is always difficult. It is a mix of so many emotions. If the patient is leaving because their condition has improved, the whirlwind of emotions are all over the map. Feelings ranging from elation to sadness run wild. It is always wonderful to hear that a friend's health is improving, but it is also hard to say goodbye. Suddenly a person who has become a staple in your life is no longer there. Not seeing them everyday creates a missing piece in your life. All the modern conveniences of today allow us to stay connected, but it is inevitable that there will be a strain on the relationship. On the other hand, if the cause for farewell is due to death, saying goodbye becomes much more permanent. The emotional flood that comes with a person's passing is unpredictable, and quite often unbearable.
It is no secret that Jeff and I have moved around a lot in the past few years. We are logical and methodical when it comes to uprooting our lives. Each move has been for the betterment of both of our lives. Job opportunities, healthcare advancements, and an improved quality of life has always been at the forefront of every move. It is no different in regards to our upcoming move to New York. The chance at a fresh start, and a better life is leading us to the east coast. We are thrilled to begin this new chapter, but that does not make saying goodbye any easier.
Today was the beginning of the end in my Memphis journey. Learning from my Phoenix departure, I knew that the children are the most stubborn when it comes to change. I wish I would have given the kids at Mayo in Scottsdale more time to adjust to me leaving before moving away. This past Sunday, I visited the group of children and parents that I have grown particularly close to. I explained to the kids that I would soon be leaving Memphis to get the healthcare I need in New York. They, of course, understand the importance of getting the best healthcare for my condition. Most of them have traveled from their homes to receive care in Tennessee. The children and I both took the conversation very seriously. We both understand that this move is imperative to my well-being, but none of us want to say goodbye. I know that we will always be in each other's hearts, but sometimes we need something a bit more tangible to hold on to.
The children have a community iPod and speaker dock in their room. I downloaded a special song to the iPod for the kids. After I spoke to the children and parents about my leaving, and they voiced their questions and concerns, I told them I had something I wanted to share with them. I cued up the iPod, and played the song I had uploaded for them. Most of the music on their iPod is trendy, and recent. I wanted to expose them to a song with some depth and meaning. I told them that whenever they missed me, they could play this song, and they would know I was still right there with them. I told them that I would do the same when I missed them...which will be everyday. I hugged them all, and let them know that I would be back to visit them soon. I pressed play as I walked out of the room. I heard "I'll Be Seeing You" by Billie Holiday play as I walked down the hall.
I went to see the kids today before I had my treatment. They were all in great spirits this morning. We chatted about our weekends, and caught up on all the gossip. I brought in some make up and nail polish for the girls. We gave each other makeovers, and mock manicures. I brought in some scrap fabric for the boys. We made superhero outfits out of the various pieces. It was so much fun! All too soon the time came for me to head downstairs for my treatments. The kids were still laughing and playing when I left the room. Two steps into the hallway, I heard a faint melody. Soon after I heard Billie Holiday softly sing, "I'll be seeing you. In all the old familiar places"... I was stopped in my tracks. My heart melted. I couldn't hold back the tears. I stood outside the doorway while the song played. I began to hear little voices sing along with the tune. I was a ball of emotion, crying my eyes out. Then suddenly a smile came to my face as I heard the children singing with Billie. I was overwhelmed by the love we share.
Goodbye never get easier, but the memories stay with us forever. I will be able to relive that moment for the rest of my life, and for that I am truly fortunate. I'll be seeing you Memphis.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Fitting In
I have been trying to "fit in" my entire life. To be honest, I will deny it to anyone who asks. If anyone inquires about clicks I have been in, or the types of people I flock to, I will always answer the same way. "I am an independent individual." Or, my personal favorite. "I am a free-spirit". These statements are partially true. I wouldn't classify myself as any particular type of person. I get along with almost everyone. I love to chat with a variety of people. I can talk to anyone for hours. It doesn't matter their age, race, or social status. Even though I no longer actively search to be a part of the "in-crowd", I continue to seek acceptance in social settings. I never want to feel like a "loser", or "outcast". I became all too familiar with that feeling in my younger years. That pain, and sadness is something I will carry in my heart for years to come. It is an emotional scar, but it will never define who I have, or will become.
We have all experienced rejection from friends, family, and/or complete strangers. I am lucky that for every person who rejected me, I have had a wonderful friend/family member who has love me exponentially more. As I age, I learn much more about myself, and those around me. In the past I thought I needed to change who I was to better "fit in". I was willing to alter my personality, and my interests to be popular. I wouldn't dare change who I am these days. I am satisfied with the person I have become. Of course, there is always room for improvement. Instead of letting my surroundings dictate the person I am, I incorporate new and different traits to enhance my personality.
The lesson that has made the biggest impact in my life is excepting, and appreciating change. It's no secret that I have moved around a lot in my lifetime. It started in college. Since age 18 I have lived in in seven different states. I have visited many more. In each state, I have grown and evolved as an individual. I have discovered the person I want to be. I have explored my passions. I have also opened myself up to wealth of knowledge, and experiences. Each state helped mold my ever-changing lifestyle.
I no longer strive to "fit in". Popularity really is not what it's cracked up to be. I prefer finding people and places that "fit" into my life. Happiness comes from within, and being surrounded by everything I love makes me happy.
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