The year was 1968, the disease, cancer.
Childhood cancer called Wilm's Tumor.
Back then, without the development of MRI's or CT scans,
there was X-ray, radiation and chemotherapy and surgery.
and although these treatments are still used today,
they were much different than today's treatments.
Wilm's Tumor back then was considered only to have a 10 percent
survival rate, now is almost always curable.
So, I come across this small photo today and I remember
the event well. How much a 5 year old can remember still
amazes me. This photograph, taken by the Time Picayune
made the newspaper to showcase this young artist who was
painting the halls of Touro Infirmary where I had recently
been diagnosed with cancer. I was chosen to model with her.
No, they did not let me really paint but how
prolific that 52 years later, I would hang up my
nursing cap to become an artist.
It was a good day. I had not yet started chemotherapy so my hair
was still there and I did not know yet just how sick those medicines
would make me. I had the 'train marks' on my belly put there
by some doctors and nurses who were in charge of
radiation, and although they brought me into a treatment
room without my parents to draw these marks I had
yet to receive the radiation that would burn my skin
and cause lasting problems.
Yes, there I am at 5 years old, with my little pink robe and
bunny slippers innocent to the unknown that my parents and family
was facing. I can look at this little girl and now feel
compassion for her.
Although I have no bitterness for the things that saved my life back
then and am so very glad that I not only survived but have had
this beautiful life because of those treatments, I do wish back then
adults explained more to little children as they do now.
Ironic thing is, all the things they thought they were protecting
me from by not telling me did not do that.
Instead, this five year old little girl kept her feelings inside of herself.
Her fears were real and yet she kept them to herself because
isn't that what the others were teaching her?
Her fears were the same her loved ones had and yet
they were kept inside and sealed away because we were not
to speak of it. The little girl grew up and thankfully, beat the
odds given to her back in 1968.
Now I speak for that little girl and try to be a beacon of hope
and honesty for all those other little girls and boys out there
who face cancer, for all those who will grow up and beat their own
odds that are stacked against them. I write because I want those
little children and their families to know that hope must exist.
That even though their lives may not be into adulthood that
their path matters.
For one day there will be another child like
them facing the horrors of cancer and the treatments that are needed
to beat them and their lives has played a part in the
course of that other little child's hand that life had dealt them.
We don't always understand this life.
I don't believe it is meant for us.
However when little children suffer people not only hear it
but they feel it, deep down where their own souls live.
Every life matters and this is not noticed more than when
a small child faces unbeatable odds.
It is why I speak out, not for myself anymore but for the
job I must continue to do.
Because I survived I carry the torch for others who will walk
this unfavorable path. I must be a voice of hope as no matter the
treatments, the radiation, the surgeries, the long term effects of
those said treatments, life is still good...
so, so good and I have no doubt that the life after this one
will be as well.
Walk on my fellow childhood cancer peeps, speak out boldly
don't be afraid, you will be okay your family will be okay.
Oh, and....
THANK YOU!
Thank you for your life of service against this dreaded disease.
It matters, your life matters.
No comments:
Post a Comment