Heavy Heart
Last night as I was driving home from work I passed by a cancer center which is located on the campus of the hospital that shares the same street as we do. It doesn’t seem like very long ago that my cousin, Stephanie, spent many Monday’s there receiving chemotherapy. If you’ve never been inside a chemo treatment room, it feels like death. Seeing all these balding people looking weak, scared and fragile sitting in recliners with IV’s hooked up to the port in their chest or arm.
Visiting her on treatment days was difficult. I always had this sinking feeling where my heart felt like it was falling. A wave of numbness comes over you and suddenly you feel guilty walking past these people who are fighting for their lives when your biggest problem is deciding where to eat lunch that day. But we did visit her. She would ask us to come because sitting there for hours on end while toxins are poured into your body leaves your mind to wander and the distraction was welcome.
There are good memories from being with her and my aunt; playing cards to pass the time, picking up Olive Garden to eat lunch with her, and my mom bringing her the biggest chocolate bar I’ve ever seen and Stephanie finding it hilarious.
And with the good come the bad; remembering what she looked like with no hair, how her skin would turn red and react to the chemo, and watching her rest her eyes and praying it wouldn’t be forever.
As I drove by tonight the building was lit up and so was the treatment room where we spent several Monday’s. In the shadows I could see the metal IV poles lingering, all waiting for patients to be hooked up to them the next day.
I wonder how many of the cancer patients that have sat in that same recliner are alive today. In some ways the recliner mimics an electric chair. So many people know what is coming. And for those who do make it, they live in fear for the rest of their lives of what might return.
It was 2 years ago today that Stephanie left this Earth for a more peaceful place where she could be healed. A large pink ribbon is hanging from the brick exterior of the cancer center building. It just happens to sit directly above the window of the room we sat with Stephanie in.
My heart is heavy tonight.
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My name is Emily. I’m 30 years old. I have often been told that I ask a lot of questions, but I think I have more to say than ask.
I’m so sorry you lost Stephanie in this painful way. I’ve seen what chemotherapy does. A relative of mine went through it a few years ago and is doing well now. It turned her life upside-down, though…. I’m sorry your heart is heavy tonight. I hope you feel better tomorrow.
u gotta be kidding me. after 33 people died today at VT u are complaining about a loss 2 years ago? 33 vs. 1. git over it already.
@gitoverit: Maybe the loss at VT reminded her of her personal loss. Take your harassment elsewhere.
I’m so sorry for your loss. I saw my grandmother go through a very similar thing. It’s strange, but it’s almost harder seeing them go through it then it is to see them pass away. No matter what your belief, they’re in a better place now.
And in response to your comment, I believe I have seen most episodes of that show. And I don’t think there is one episode of Spongebob I haven’t seen. But that’s OK. At least they’re somewhat entertaining for adults as well as children.
In response to Gitoverit, I would NEVER compare one lost life to another. All lives are precious, no matter how they are taken from us. That tragic event unfortunately coincided with a loss my family experienced.
GITOVERIT—- YOU NEED TO GET OVER IT. I THINK YOU NEED MORE PRAYERS THAN VT OR FENICLE NEEDS. YOU MEASURE THINGS IN NUMBERS. HOW COLD AND UNFEELING YOU ARE? THE ANGER IN THAT STATEMENT REVEALS THAT YOU ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN YOUR LIFE. SO SORRY FOR YOU!!!!
I’m so sorry for your loss. My stepfather died of cancer a couple of years ago as well. I’ll never forget what he looked like the last time I saw him: thin, like a holocaust victim, and grinning from ear to ear.
I’m also sorry that your beautiful post had to be wrecked by someone who thinks it’s okay to compare and rank tragedies and loss. It’s not okay. Every single life is precious, and every single loss of life is tragic.
I won’t even deign to discuss your troll up there.
What a lovely tribute to Stephanie.
I am so sorry for your loss
emily this is very very beautiful post. you are so strong for bringing your thoughts to this public forum. you are a lovely soul who helped your cousin by visiting her and comforting her any way that you could. my heart goes out to you today. i am so sorry for your family’s loss.
the photos is just fantastic.
Thank you. I can’t take credit for the photo, but it is one of my favorites. Stephanie was the maid of honor in my wedding & our photographer took it of her.
so sorry about Stephanie, and the loss of that long battle. i think your post honours her….and i love the photo.
and i’m also sorry that gitoverit is such a complete asshat, invading your space here. those comments do nothing to honour the people who died at VT, they’re just sanctimonious cruelty. those truly grieving seldom criticize or minimize others’ grief, or set a timeline or a scale on it.
I’ve let go of too many friends to cancer. It never gets easier. It never seems fair. I’m so sorry for your loss, even though it’s been two years, I know how the memories still seem so fresh.
To gitoverit : The loss of one person known closely vs. the loss of 33 people unknown to her at all — well, those are very two things. Comparing the two is quite idiotic. All she did was write an entry in remembrance of a friend. Take your hatred elsewhere.
What a lovely picture and a great tribute to Stephanie. I’m so sorry for your loss. Cancer sucks - there’s no way around it.
I’m very sorry about Stephanie. I hate cancer.
I am so very very sorry for the loss of your dear cousin Stephanie. It never goes away does it?There is always a bit of your heart which is missing for someone truly loved and gone.
I am so very sorry for your heavy heart. And I know this pain too well…And it truly never goes away but comes and goes in waves with a song,or in the way a light can shimmer off a pink ribbon.
Today was my aunt’s first (and hopefully last) gamma ray treatment. She’s got a disease called neurofibromatosis, and the latest treatment is for about her 5th encounter with cancer.
Last time she had a tumor on her optic nerve, before that she’s had various spots of melanoma removed from her arms. This time, the doctors found were two tumors (one large, the other small, both melanoma) on her brain. She was flown to HUP for surgery the day after they found out they were there. Luckily, she’s managed to stay very strong throughout all that she’s been through.
Even though my aunt is still with me, I can understand the pain you felt. Keep your chin up