Hello Lovely FOAMs
Can you believe it is November and therefore close to Christmas? Time when you look ahead seems like it will take forever—especially if something wonderful lies at the end. This year has moved much faster than I thought. In May, I knew it would travel slowly and I’d be glad when it had gone. Then I realised that I would then be wishing away an important part of my life and my history and who I am, so I have been grateful that I have kept a diary chronicling this part of my life.
Otherwise I may have forgotten little joys like the Breast Cancer Fashion Parade. It was a special night. Not because I got to wear clothes that each cost as much as a trip to England, but because it allowed me to be absorbed into a sea of support and love at a time I really needed friends and love.
Chemo has added about 7kgs to my small frame, the radiotherapy is leaving burn marks, my skin is mottled, and my hair is just starting to appear and it’s dark! But none of that matters when people, most of whom you have never met, can lighten your soul with a smile, a hug or a word of encouragement. Many of the audience were survivors of cancer, but many were there to just give us a symbolic emotional hug to keep on going.
If I rushed through this period I may not have appreciated how cancer can wonderfully give you a glimpse into the joy of living, like when Anthony spoke yesterday. Anthony’s little 5-year-old daughter Sarah has cancer and is ‘the face’ of the Children’s Hospital Foundation’s Christmas Appeal.
I had organised a corporate Christmas thank you for the RCHF sponsors and asked Anthony to say thank you on behalf of all the sick kids like Sarah. He spoke of his ‘walk through the valley of darkness’ and the terror of holding his daughter’s limp body after chemo. I sobbed through his address (as did even some of the most hardened businessmen) but I couldn’t help feeling the importance of living a joyous life and being grateful for God allowing me to come through.
But my magic moment came at the end of the breakfast, when Sarah and I sat chatting and laughing and she leaned over to me and took off her signature purple hat, stroked my head and offered to share her hat. Her mum told me it had never come off and absolutely no one is allowed wear it.
We’ve all read The Purple Hat story that is often circulated via email. It has always symbolised for me the freedom of growing old disgracefully and being our best selves. How could Sarah’s gift not be a special milestone for me when a 5-year-old can show such empathy! A moment I will carry with me to my grave. Thank you, Sarah. Such joy for living in that little girl is contagious and I am humbled and blessed to be ‘Sarah’s friend’.
I’ve still got another five weeks of radiotherapy. But Vanesa comes up this week for her birthday so I can look forward to sharing special family days with her, Ben, Kylie and the gorgeous Mads and Ella.
Now, if I can only go and find my own purple hat, I’ll be right … Smiling still
AM