You would have thought it would have been a stormy, mundane day- filled with minor troubles toppling over each other, one at a time, like dominoes. But it wasn't like that at all. See, life is like that. There's always those beautiful details almost everywhere, seeming as though they're almost making a mockery of the troubling situation one is apart of, but logically, you know they aren't. Life is just an amalgam of the good and the bad. As of right now there are people celebrating for whichever reason- new life, another year, a new promotion. And there are people mourning- for whatever reason, too- a lost love, death, disease.
I was about seven years old, brown hair reaching the end of my small waist. I wore my blue little dress with flowers that day, and I had been planning to my aunt's wedding shower. It was supposed to be a beautiful day. But then the worried faces and silence became more prominent, and suddenly my view of the world had become bittersweet. A few hours later, I was on the top of the floor of the Children's Hospital in Minneapolis with my mother on my right, and my father on my left. I remember waiting for the doctor to arrive, looking out at gentle blue sky surround the city. I remember the sunshine casting warm light on the tile floor, and the air smelling like rubbing alcohol. I remember the doctor eventually coming in the room, trying to describe my diagnosis to me in a way a child would understand, but at that time, I think it would have been impossible to comprehend what the disease really entailed and what my upcoming journey really meant. He told me that I was diagnosed with something called ALL Leukemia, a form of blood cancer. It wasn't my first diagnosis- as I'd been diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis only about a year prior, but I knew this meant something different. it was more serious.
The months went by, and I eventually lost my long brown hair. The chemotherapy affected my body in the worst possible ways- making me gain lots of weight, lose some weight, and gain it again. Children at school couldn't understand, and as a result, either make fun of me or ignore me completely. I can understand now why those children reacted the way they did, but from a child's perspective, all I wanted was for them to accept me. Amidst all of that, there was some good, too. I remember my child life specialist at the hospital. Her name was Sarah. She helped me through those dark times and helped me find my love in art, by bringing me endless art supplies and helping me feel inspired. Her relentless kindness and friendship was something I deeply appreciated. When I couldn't understand the surgeries I was about to go through, she would break it down into terms I could understand using stuffed animals and analogies. In a sense, she felt like a really amazing older sister.
Eventually I went into remission, and I was pronounced cured in 2003. The years went by, and I stopped going to the Children's Hospital. Eventually my Ulcerative Colitis caught up with me in the later years of my adolescence, which I dealt with. But my journey with cancer proved to be something that really influenced how I began to see the world, and what I wanted to do with this gift of life.
About a week ago, I was sitting in a coffee shop, overlooking the snowy forest near me, and thinking about that time in my life. I wondered about Sarah, and thought about trying to get into contact with her to thoroughly thank her. Right now, I'm majoring in psychology because I want to be a Child Life Specialist. And she's the biggest reason for that. I want to be able to do what she did for me, for another child. Inspiration and hope is so important and when you have it, it's an incredible power. And she gave that to me.
I decided to go onto the Children's Hospital website to seek her out. I looked through multiple staff directories in the hospitals throughout the Minneapolis area, but could not seem to locate her. I began to realize at this point that she probably had relocated or found a different specialty or job, and I accepted the idea that I may not be able to get into contact with her afterall. But, I wanted to put one last shot out in the dark anyway. I emailed the webhost of the Children's Hospital I had received treatment at, briefly giving an overview of my cancer experience during those years, and asking if Sarah still worked at the hospital. I never actually expected a reply, but I decided it was worth a try.
Today I woke up, checked my email, and saw a response from none other than Sarah. It amazed me how she remembered me after all these years! She remembered my parents and my little sister and all the art projects we did. And it warmed my heart knowing that all the goodness of that time has truly lingered in memory, even though the struggles of that time have been obliterated. I'm putting this out there because I want to emphasize how thankful I am for the wonderful souls that have crossed paths with mine thus far. Because the truth is, you may not think the kindness you do for a brief moment will have a long-lasting effect on anyone, but it could. It very well could. A small gesture, a small window of time, a kind glance, a loving sentence. It could mean everything. It could mean the entire world.
