My granddaughter told me something quite alarming yesterday. She had not seen one of her friends for a week, so she called him to see what was going on. He told her that he had been diagnosed with Stage Two testicular cancer - and he's only sixteen years old! That can really make a person change their perspective of their own problems, when a kid who is just starting out in life has to face such a scary, heartbreaking situation. I have noticed that more and more people I know are dealing and suffering with some pretty major health issues, and are handling them with grace and dignity. I guess the lesson here is not to be blubbering, "Why ME? WHY ME?" 'cause it isn't just one person - it's a lot of people.
I recall that my mother went through a lot of health problems when she was quite young (we're talking twenties and thirties). I'm sure she was scared sick sometimes, thinking about handling some of crap that she went through and knowing that she had four little girls at home while she was in the hospital. She had her appendix and gall bladder removed. She had a hellacious time with her thyroid and dealing with a big goiter in her throat. During this time, her overactive thyroid pushed her into warp-speed mode. I remember her dashing around the house, putting groceries away. Uh, the purse went into the refrigerator and the milk in the cupboard. She was so wound up, she didn't realize that she wasn't acting normally. She would be up at 3:00 in the morning cleaning because she could not stop herself from constantly moving. Because her metabolism was running so fast, she could eat constantly but would lose weight rapidly. Eventually, she had her goiter removed and only a small piece of thyroid gland was left. After that, Mother made a habit of wearing really cool chunky bead necklaces to conceal the big, thick scar that she had all across the front of her neck.
When Mother got a pancreatic disease, I was in Fourth Grade. One of my classmates (who is actually a very sweet lady now) was a real little shit, and would taunt me that my mom was going to die. I sat at my desk, shaking in fear until my teacher dragged me out into the hallway and was rather matter-of-fact. "For Heaven's sake, Janene, my sister had the very same thing and she is fine!" She was making that up to calm me down and to get me to think that this was not going to be a big deal. Her no-nonsense attitude made me feel better and Mother did up being okay. I learned later that the form of problem she had was rather serious, and one out of every three people who had it did die. Scary odds.
Whenever Mother had to be hospitalized, Dad would go to visit her every night, and she would send home treats for us kids via Dad. At that time kids had to be a least fourteen years old to visit anyone in the hospital (wow) so we couldn't go to see her. Anyhoo, Candy Striper Volunteers would push gift carts from room to room, selling magazines, candy, etc. to the patients. Every day, Mom would buy four candy bars for us girls. My bar, however, always had the wrapper torn back a little bit, a small bite taken out of it, and a tiny note attached, that said, "From Mrs. Mouse." It tickled me that there was a mouse in my mama's hospital room, who was sneaking a little bite of candy bar before Mother had a chance to send it home to me.
GOD BLESS YOU ALL