Dear Friends and Family,
Well, as you might surmise from the previous letter, I have been feeling sorry for myself today. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly bear to see pain etched across Nancy’s face again—or just when I wondered how I would make Jaret feel safe, or just when I wondered how I could convince Jayna to be twenty-two years old again (her first reaction to the new information was “I guess I won’t be going back to college”)—I discovered our newest neighbors on the eighth (cancer) floor: a family who has given me the gift of perspective.
As part of my daily routine, I had ventured to the cafeteria to get Nancy two large scoops of strawberry ice cream and was heading back to the eighth floor. I often take the stairs, but for some reason, I took the elevator back “home” because I needed to get there quickly. My excuse? I didn’t want the ice cream to melt. In reality, I was simply too weary for the nine flights of stairs from the basement restaurant. (These are the “rationalization” games I sometimes play to get through the day.)
When the elevator stopped on the ground floor, a man and woman in their midforties walked into the elevator. In an instant, I realized that they looked familiar. I actually knew them—Kevin and Marie. I had been their family’s doctor on and off for years and Marie was a friend of Nancy’s. In fact, Jayna had been in a play with one of the family’s two daughters. It was an awkward moment as we exchanged greetings.
Should I ask why they are here?
Should I tell them why I am here?
Before I could decide, Marie said, “Winnie, I’ve heard about Nancy’s illness. I am so sorry.”
My normal reaction, tears welling up and a momentary inability to speak, kicked in. I looked at the floor. Finally, lifting my head up I recovered enough composure to respond, “Thanks, Marie. What brings you and your family here?” (Fortunately, I didn’t say, “This late and after normal visiting hours.”)
I was stunned by Marie’s answer: “You probably remember our oldest daughter Megan. You took care of her when she was growing up. She just graduated from college in Virginia and came home for the summer. Megan has just been transferred from the recovery room after ten hours of surgery. She is on the same floor as Nancy.”
I thought to myself, “Why is she on the cancer floor?”
After a brief momentary pause, Marie continued and I learned the answer: “Megan started having stomach pains two weeks ago. It turns out she has ovarian cancer.”
My legs nearly buckled under me, but fortuitously we arrived at the eighth floor and the ding of the elevator gave us all a needed break as we exited. Marie continued after the elevator door closed: “It’s pretty bad, Winnie. They had to remove her right ovary, part of her bowel, part of her bladder, and part of her liver. The cancer had spread everywhere.” Marie’s tears matched those of Kevin. I gave them both a hug, trying to hide my own wet face.
As I walked to Nancy’s room, I realized how selfish I have been with our family’s plight. Megan is a mere twenty-two years old. She faces drugs with horrible side effects at best and more painful surgeries at worst. She has a prognosis far more grave than Nancy’s, probably less than a 1% chance of reaching the age of twenty-five. My heart broke into little pieces and I wanted to curse a supreme being, if he or she exists. How could this happen to someone so young and so full of promise? It took over ten minutes to regain my composure before delivering Nancy’s ice cream.
“You must have walked up those steps, Winnie,” Nancy chided. “It’s almost melted.”
I didn’t explain—at least for now.
Instead, I hugged Nancy more tightly than usual, hoping not to cause bruises.
Nancy’s spirit is strong and mine is regaining its vigor. During the good hours, we laugh and kid each other, and I tell her of the incredible energy coming from your direction. She is upbeat and positive.
I will write more soon, next time, with any luck, from a view at the top of a summit on our continuing roller coaster ride. I hope this letter hasn’t been too negative. Tonight, I gained new perspective and thought it might help to share it with you.
There is a bright side to this experience: Our daughter has arrived safely home. Our son is doing well. I am able to feel the strength of family relationships as never before. And with regard to our friends, I am truly astounded at how lucky we are each and every day.
I had no idea so many people care about and love Nancy.
Summary: Despite our setback, Nancy sees more light than darkness. I have a new perspective, and am trying to see things through the lens of Nancy’s eyes.
All my love,
Winnie