I was humbled from the first day I started.
Every Thursday night for the past four years, I was inspired by people I’d never met before. I’ve been changed in a way that goes beyond words. I’ve witnessed adversity, suffering, agonizing pain, and desperation…..as well as resolve, steadfast determination, and an unwavering sense of bravery, defeat, and triumph. I saw a world so vastly different than my own, one that I’m not sure I will ever truly understand. I realized just how often we take the simplest things in life for granted.
I saw children confront a cruel and merciless monster…..the most ruthless and unforgiving monster you could ever encounter! He is a treacherous creature that overtakes your body. He robs children of their childhood, taking away precious moments of their lives. I’ve seen the nightmares this horrible monster creates and wish I could make him disappear.
This monster’s name is cancer.
I was privileged to volunteer at Children’s Memorial Hospital each week and I will never be the same because of it.
Every Thursday at 5:00, after a long day of teaching, I would get on my way to the city. Per usual, I’d sit in bumper to bumper traffic, gritting my teeth, pulling out my hair, and sighing heavily in pure frustration at the traffic that never seemed to cease. Over and over again, I would think the same thought to myself, “This commute is awful. I can’t stand this. I have so much to do and I have to sit here and wait. I can make such better use of my time than being in my car!” And every single time I walked through the corridors of that hospital an hour later, I was slapped in the face with reality, provided with a new perspective. I had the nerve to think those selfish thoughts on my drive. I actually thought my life was hectic, stressful, and difficult?! I had to wait an entire hour in traffic, while families wait day after day for better news, a glimmer of hope for a chance at survival. I was in my car with the windows rolled down, the breeze coming in, sun beaming down, all the while thinking about how I wish I wasn’t so hot and couldn’t stand being cooped up in my car, where these kids and families only wished for the day they could go outside for that breath of fresh air, to feel the wind blowing and the warmth of the sun shining on their face. Oh, what we take for granted.
At any given moment, any day, our lives could be changed in unimaginable ways. Who in the world was I to think my days were rough because of something such as traffic or papers that needed to be graded or an upsetting phone call with a parent? Rough…is an upsetting report from the doctor that your child must undergo yet another round of Chemo. Rough…is seeing a 4 year old having to lethargically push an IV cart to the playroom. Rough…is the quiet lull that surrounds you as the monitors are rhythmically beeping every so softly. Rough…is seeing a child endure radiation with anguish in their eyes. Rough…is seeing the feeble bodies too weak to sit up, eat, talk, laugh, or smile. Rough…is seeing parents sleeping on a cot, sitting bedside with stuffed animals and books to read, and hearing them ask for a mere 5 minutes to take a shower or eat dinner, followed up with an apology for taking up a parcel of your time. What other situation would you see a helpless child battling this relentless monster with tubes, IVs, and massive amounts of medicine pumping into their body. All the while, family members force a smile on their face to hide the horror from their child. The parents continually exude strength, embody bravery and courage, demonstrate resilience, and portray an exceptional sense of optimism, which is far more than I could ever muster.
I complain about the most mundane things in my day that make it seem “hectic or crazy”. My problems are quite trivial, and typically, my worst day pales in comparison to theirs. What in the world do I have to complain about. These families are holding onto hope, every minute of every day, having faith in treatments, relying on doctors and nurses for answers, and trusting that GOD has a purpose for all of this. The next time I think to say I’ve had a rough day or wish I could change what has happened, I quickly remind myself of the moments I had on the 4th floor at Children’s.
Although many times I encountered dreary and gloomy situations, scenarios that were bleak and difficult to bear, I gathered more insight in the last four years than I have in my previous 29 years of living on this earth. The patients and families I was so fortunate to meet were simply amazing. Their strong spirit and perseverance helped them to confront this disease with courage every day. Regardless of how weak or helpless they felt, they fought with a smile on their face. Even though kids’ abilities were limited, they didn’t give in because they knew that nothing is impossible. The children taught me to laugh at myself more, to see the beauty in the world around you, to enjoy the moment as it comes, to hold your head up high and keep your chin up, and to realize no feat is too big to achieve.
Some of my favorite memories took place in the playroom, where kids came to find normalcy, to be treated the same way anyone else would be treated. They didn’t want to feel different. They yearned to live a life like any other kid their age and I promised to create that for them. They were innoncent, curious, playful, engaging, like any other child. A sweet, little five year old asks if you can come to her birthday party with the utmost sincerity in her voice. Although you know you are not allowed to ever say yes, how do you find the words to say no, when those eyes are looking at you like a playful puppy dog and want to know the answer to their simple and straightforward question. The feelings of disappointing her overtakes you. She genuinely, wholeheartedly wants you, her newly acquired friend, to come to her birthday party. It breaks your heart into a million little pieces.
Meanwhile, a 3 year old sits beside me at the craft table making pink and purple “puh-sketti” (spaghetti) out of playdoh, accompanied by a 4 year old making specialty tacos, including bananas, pepperoni, peanut butter, mustard, sprinkles, and ice cream inside….you name it, it contained it! That’s the part I love most about kids….their creativity, imagination, raw sense of inquistion, and overall love for life! They are brutally honest and completely transform your world. These kids happened to have bald heads, frail and fragile bodies, struggled with communicating, and became tired more easily than usual, but none of these symptoms prevail. These kids are stronger than what you can imagine. Through their fight, through their eyes, through their challenges, through their smiles, through their laughter, through their words, I have wholeheartedly learned the importance of humility, grace, and self-sacrifice. Kids live life without fear and have an incredible sense of hope, something adults just don’t always exhibit.
These experiences are mine alone. In no way am I trying to compare, discredit, or minimize the magnitude of the many struggles that people withstand on a daily basis or the challenges they stare in the face. I know there is addiction, abuse, homelessness, illness and disorders, single parents trying to keep their head above water, families raising special needs children, people evicted from their home, tragedies of all sorts that are inexplicable, etc. All of these trials and hardships are things I can’t fathom and wrap my head around, but the one that I happened to experience has opened my eyes immensely. To watch nurses pour out their hearts and rush to the aid of a child, to watch a parent recognize joy in the moment, choosing to show appreciation and gratitude rather than harboring bitterness is something that transcends. The part that remains etched in my memory is the helpless faces that don’t have a choice in this matter….when they seek answers and ask the infamous question, “why?”. They have big dreams and wishes. They should have the opportunities to live them out and grow up to share their unique talents and gifts with the world!
Tonight was my last time volunteering at the hospital. The patients and their families have impacted me in ways I will forever remember. I walk away with a newfound appreciation for life and all that I have been blessed with! As one of my favorite quotes states, “There is more to be learned in one day of discomfort, poverty, and anxiety, than in a lifetime of apparent happiness, security, riches, and power.”
