Mike and I drove down to Utah, so grateful to have a room at the Hope Lodge. It’s an absolutely gorgeous facility, and we felt extremely lucky to get a room where they have wonderful amenities and even an amazing kitchen area with a fancy coffee maker! Any Huntsman patient who lives over 60 miles from the cancer center can apply for free lodging there, and we lucked out.
I’ve been nervous to do this because I know there are people who need the help much more than we do and are in much worse situations. I didn’t want to take a room from someone else. “You’re the last on the list for that day,” the receptionist told me. “You’re not taking it from anyone. And you need this just as much as anyone else. I’ve seen your appointments and your diagnosis.” The woman had been given access to my chart to verify my situation and approve my stay. “You’re going through a lot.”
I tried keeping the tears from my voice. “Thank you for saying that. We’re so grateful for the help—we’ll take the room.”
Mike and I checked into the Hope Lodge, and they gave me a gift bag along with the CUTEST stuffed animal. Then we went to the hospital, and I even got to play my violin for fellow patients.
It was the most wonderful morning, but then things went downhill.
I met with my main oncologist, and he got so concerned after getting my labs and speaking with me that he actually hospitalized me.
“But I was supposed to get treatments today,” I said. “And we got a room at the Hope Lodge… Can’t I just stay there tonight and come to the E.R. if things get worse?”
“Elisa, the tumor in your L2 might be pushing on your spinal cord. You need an emergency MRI. I’m sorry. I know this is hard. But if something like that is happening, we’ll need to do surgery to prevent permanent nerve damage.”
My heart clenched, and within a couple of hours, I rested in a hospital bed, waiting for MRI results. “Excuse me?” a night nurse came in. I’d spoke with him earlier, and he said it was a surprisingly slow night. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“It’s just… You seem like you’re handling things so well. And life can be hard even for people who aren’t fighting cancer.”
I looked at him, wondering what hardship he might be facing. I know most problems aren’t as obvious as terminal cancer, but that doesn’t make other things any easier. Life can be hard. In fact, the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced wasn’t this fight against cancer. It was when my baby died years and years ago. You never know what things other people might be facing—things we can’t readily see.
“How do you cope?” he finally asked.
“I play the violin,” I said, “and when I first started, I sounded terrible. But no matter what, I told myself that I had to keep going.” I sighed. “Quitting wasn’t an option… So, I guess I cope by looking at my end-goal. I want more time with my family. And no matter how hard any of this might be, I’m fighting for even one more second with them. I remember learning to play the violin, and how incredible it felt when I could finally play.” I took a deep breath. “Even though doctors say this is terminal, at least I know I can look back and say I did my best. I tried. There will be a time when I’ll have to say that I’m done. Cancer won’t ’win,’ but maybe I’ll call it a draw. But until then, I have to tell myself I can’t quit. I just have to keep going. That’s all.”
He nodded. And thank goodness, he seemed somehow heartened even though I was still having a tough time myself.
“I do have really tough times though,” I admitted, wanting him to know. “I cried earlier. I was supposed to go on a date with my husband tonight. But… after getting hospitalized, I had to take a deep breath and tell myself to find the good things around me. One of the good things tonight is that I got to talk with you.”
He gave me a huge smile, and I hoped that whatever he was facing, he’d find hope somewhere in the mix.
When I did get discharged (thank goodness the tumor isn’t pressing on my spinal cord!), Mike wanted to brighten my day, and he surprised me. “I know we didn’t get to go on a date, but we can coin-flip to see where we can stop by on our way home. Even if you just want to take a nap in a park, we can find something fun.”
“Really?” He always seems to know what’ll get my mind off of things.
He took out a coin, and we flipped to go East, up toward Park City. So, we went to watch skiers train at the Olympic training area.
Athletes there put on snow boots, carry skis, and walk up several flights of stairs until they ski off a massive jump that leads right into a swimming pool. Mike and I watched as skier after skier face-planted, bellyflopped, and plummeted into the water. Then, despite being sopping wet, they still climbed up the flights of stairs repeatedly—just for a chance to perfect a flip they could eventually land on a real snowy slope.
As we watched them, I went from feeling a bit dismal to quite invigorated. If these young athletes can keep going despite epic fails, serious fatigue, and various other hardships… If they can get up over and over just for the hope of getting a gold medal, impressing the world, and making a name for themselves, then I can keep fighting for more time with my family.
The advice I gave that young nurse was the best I had at the time, but I felt it even more after watching the Olympians get up even after they’d failed repeatedly. That’s sometimes how life can feel. It can kick us down and make us want to give up. But no matter what we’re facing, it’s so important to remember how strong we are. We can do this. We can overcome hardships and come out shining on the other side. Even in my situation… Sure I don’t know where my road will lead, BUT the best I can do is keep moving forward. If those Olympians can persevere despite odds stacked against them, then we can keep going too. Like my dad says, “The key to overcoming, is to just keep going. It’s as simple as that.”
No comments:
Post a Comment