My Hero . . .

. . . is actually a "she." No. She's not faster than a speeding bullet, but when I flash the Ms. B signal, she's there quicker than the speed of sound. I don't think she has x-ray vision although I'm certain she's psychic. No. I have not seen her leap across tall buildings. But, she's whip smart, beautiful, diligent, wise, strong, big-hearted, gentle, immensely creative, absolutely emphatic, wickedly funny, loyal, kind, intuitive, and incredibly strong -- -- all packed in a petite sprite of a person that is Ms. B. Yep! She's all that and a bag of chips (well, maybe a bag of baby carrots instead, since we're trying to be healthy here).

She sounds too good to be true, doesn't she? If I didn't have the fortune of working next to her each and every day, I would say so too. But, I did, and I still do. Her presence in my life has had such a grounding effect on me. She alone truly understood what it was like to battle cancer. She was attuned to its very obvious side-effects to the very stealth effects of chemotherapy. Though cancer manifested itself very obviously, there are so many other subtle (yet very deep and significant ) side effects of cancer that escape the naked eye. And how absolutely invaluable it was for me to have Ms. B by my side to validate that what I was going through was legitimate, no matter how seemingly trivial. She perceived what no one else saw and heard what no one else heard.

This is not only because of her incredible capacity for empathy but also unfortunately because she had also had her own bout with Lymphoma about a year or so before I was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer. I didn't know her as well then. But, I remember watching her navigate her illness with so much resolve, strength and dignity. One could not help but admire her resilient courage and determined cadence. And while I had my boyfriend with whom to partner during my illness, Ms. B did not have her fiance by her side when she was sick (he's in another state because that's where his work has taken him). I often wondered how scary and lonely it must have been during those times when the " cancer goonies" visited you in the middle of the night (for example) and Ms. B didn't have him there to tell her that she was going to be okay. But, without fail, she was always there, at work, soldiering on, as if she weren't sick at all. She never wanted extra special dispensation, but was always gracious to accept help from us, her colleagues, her friends and her loved ones.

Ms. B "set the tone" for me. By example, she showed me how to fight, and fight well. It's as if she passed her "boxing gloves" on to me and then continued to cheer me on. My only regret now is that I wasn't able to be for her (during her illness) what she had been for me when I was sick. I wish I could have given to her even a fraction of all that she had given to to me. Absent that, it is my hope to "pay it forward" some day and be able to be for someone else what she was for me.

This post is but a minor tribute to my sister-in-arms and my amiga sympatico! The heavens had sent so many gifts when I was sick and certainly one of the most endearingly wonderful ones was (and still is) Ms. B -- my hero!

The Man Who Took The Wheel

Dr. T introduced himself with a big handshake accompanied by a luminescent smile that lit up his apple cheeks. Even more fetching was his very bold and colorful shirt and tie combination which paled his white coat all the more. I don't know what oncologists are supposed to look like or seem to be, but, "bright and smiley" were not words I would immediately associate with them. Beneath his shiny veneer, Dr. T is a well-credentialed and experienced oncologist and hematologist. (Wow! Two birds with one stone. Begone! pesky blood clots!). Naturally, because of his good reputation, he had a busy practice. And it was apparently difficult to get an appointment to see him. "He's one of the best. You're blessed," said the Chaplain to me.

Yes, his credentials and reputation were certainly important. But, I knew that I wanted him as my oncologist when I shook his hands and looked into his eyes. Dr. T exuded confidence, but not ego. He was professional, yet cordial. He was also very forthright, assuring and compassionate as he delivered the news that he couldn't tell what cancer it was. Were he another doctor, I probably would have fallen apart. Instead, I appreciated that he wanted to have more tests done, including further examination of the biopsy by the pathologist. Without my asking for it, Dr. T was going for the "second opinion."

Even though he had no answers by the time we said "goodbye" at the hospital, Dr. T sent me home with this comfort: Whatever type of cancer he found, it was going to be treatable and "We might even be able to make it go away." Again, said with THAT smile. What a great big dollop of hope! And what a lot of boost, as I set to left the cocoon the hospital to face the world. At least at that juncture "Now what?" had an answer. Unequivocally, that answer was to put my life in this man's hands. Altough very sad and scared, I felt assured that Dr. T had taken control of the wheel of the most out-of-control and scary ride of my life. After that, I was prepared to ride that car where ever Dr. T took it; because I knew that he had mapped it to go to a place called "Treatable."

A week from my hospital releas, I was going to meet with Dr. T so he could tell me what kind of cancer I had and we could start treatment. It would still be a scary ride. But, I had confidence in the driver. I knew he had it under control.

THE Nurse

By the time I was wheeled into the hospital's TCCU (Transitional Cardiac Care Unit) that night, my body was "road weary", my mind was in shock, and my soul was parched. The two weeks leading to this moment had been peppered with multitudes of tests, doctors, needles, drugs, and even a biopsy, and then finished off with what I thought to be my death sentence. I felt like an empty, used paper cup.

Thankfully, my bed was greeted by a warm, strong voice, accompanied by a big smile. "I'm 'J,' your nurse; and I'm going to be taking care of you tonight. You're here because you need to be watched closely. Those clots can be dangerous. So we have to get rid of them as quickly as possible!" Her presence was assuring. She radiated care and comfort. This might sound trite, but is absolutely true. As soon as J crossed my plane of consciousness, I knew that the crazy ride was over -- for that moment. It was time to stop and recuperate sanity. I started to see the light at the end of the seemingly never-ending gray tunnel. I felt the ground beneath me. I could feel my heart beat again. Exhale......

J was compassionate without being overbearing; professional without being distant; and, most importantly, present. Her presence shored up my then-weak foundation. She was diligent, informative, assuring, and patient -- the quintessential care-giver. She took care of me for only two 8 hour shifts of the 2.5 days I was in the hospital, but the impact she made was quite significant. Particularly, I am really grateful for one short piece of advice she gave me. It became one of the helpful tools I used consistently during my bout with cancer.

One of the hardest things I had to do after I found out about the cancer was to relay this to my children. I was at a loss. What a daunting and heart-breaking prospect! It weighed heavier in my mind more than the cancer did. How do you tell your children that you are gravely ill? What an awful, awful thing to have to do! I wished more than anything that I could spare them, keep the cancer away from them. They're two young adults, with their whole lives in front of them. Cancer need not get in the way. I wondered if there was a way around this. There wasn't, of course! And I needed to tell them immediately. I was in a panic.

J, listened to my dilemma intently. Then, she offered the most perfectly brilliant solution: "Set the tone. Set the tone and they will follow." Wow! It was so simple and obvious -- and so true! How empowering were those 4 little words! Set the tone. Of course! How they would take the news would be up to me, largely. They're my kids and they will negotiate this difficulty based on the tone I set. I had to take the reins and not fall apart. If I needed to be surrounded by positivity and strength, I needed to demonstrate that. It had to start from me. What a great gift to have gotten from the Nurse! And for that I will eternally be grateful.

Nurses, I think are the unsung heroes of the business of curing folks. Their role is so substantial, yet (it seems to me) mostly unsung. If the doctors cure, then the nurses care. But that's even a gross oversimplification. Yes, doctors can come up with the course of treatment. But who is there with the patient, making sure that the course is executed properly? In my vast experience with health care professionals this past year, I can say with great conviction that without the nurses like J, I wouldn't have been able to do it. They were there to clarify, care, listen, and carry out the course of my treatment and provide the grounding and sanity needed to "stay the course."

So, J really is the the perfect example of all the nurses to whom I owe so much; from those who assisted me in the ERs to the other shift nurses at the hospital to the wonderful, wonderful oncology nurses who administered my chemo with so much care and compassion. Thanks for sanity and grounding over the past year.

I wouldn't be here without you.