Moments in Sarcoma
If you have been touched by sarcoma, you have a moment to share with theworld. If you were to share just one moment on your journey with sarcomawith others, what would it be? Imagine a collection of moments from peoplearound the world who have dealt with all kinds of sarcomas. What insightswould surface? What would we learn? "Moments in Sarcoma" is a new project that will publish moments from thelives of patients and their families, doctors, researchers, and friends.Submissions are invited during the month of February. Then one submissionwill be published daily on the Team Sarcoma Website starting in May or June,continuing through the International Sarcoma Awareness Week in July andending when all chosen moments have been published. As a part of this very special project, one patient or survivor who submitsa Moment by March 1 will be awarded a sponsorship of at least $2,000 (theremay also be the possibility of some travel assistance) to participate in the2009 "Core" Team Sarcoma Bike Tour during July 18-25, 2009. Everyone who has been touched by sarcoma is invited to participate in thisproject. Learn more, and share a moment today at http://moments.team-sarcoma.net Bruce S.Liddy's dad
I HOPE
I HOPE...
I hope you never have to hear the words, "Your child has cancer."
I hope you never have to hear, "The prognosis is not good."
I hope you never have to prepare to undergo radiation or chemotherapy, have a port surgically inserted into their chest, be connected to IV poles.
Look at you with fear in their eyes and say, "Don't worry Mommy, everything will be okay."
I hope you never have to hold your child as they vomit green bile.
I hope you never have to feed them ice chips for lunch.
I hope you never have to watch the "cure" you pray for slowly take away their identity,
as theylose their hair,
become skeletal,
swell up from steroids,
develop severe acne,
become barely or unable to walk or move,
and look at you with hope in their eyes and say,"It's going to be okay, Mommy."
I hope that you never have to stay in the hospital for weeks, months, or years at a time, where there is no privacy, sleeping on a slab, with your face to the wall, where you cry in muffled silence.
I hope you never have to see a mother, alone, huddled, in a dark hospital corridor...crying quietly, after just being told, "There is nothing more we can do."
I hope you never have to watch a family wander aimlessly, minutes after their child's body has been removed.
I hope you never have to use every bit of energy you have left, with all of this going on around you to remain positive, and the feelings of guilt, sorrow, hope and fear, overwhelm you.
I hope you never have to see a child's head bolted to the table as they receive radiation.
I hope you never have to take your child home (grateful but so afraid) in a wheelchair because the chemo and radiation has damaged their muscles, 35 pounds lighter, pale, bald, and scarred.
And they look at you with faith in their eyes and say, "It's going to be okay Mommy."
I hope you never have to face the few friends that have stuck beside you and hear them say, "Thank God that is over with,"...because you know it never will be.
Your life becomes a whirl of doctors, blood tests and MRI's and you try to get your life back to "normal".
While living in mind-numbing fear that any one of those tests could result in hearing the dreaded words..."The cancer has returned" or "The tumor is growing."
And your friends become even fewer.
I hope you never have to experience any of these things...Because...only then...Will you understand...
Author: Carol Baan
I hope you never have to hear the words, "Your child has cancer."
I hope you never have to hear, "The prognosis is not good."
I hope you never have to prepare to undergo radiation or chemotherapy, have a port surgically inserted into their chest, be connected to IV poles.
Look at you with fear in their eyes and say, "Don't worry Mommy, everything will be okay."
I hope you never have to hold your child as they vomit green bile.
I hope you never have to feed them ice chips for lunch.
I hope you never have to watch the "cure" you pray for slowly take away their identity,
as theylose their hair,
become skeletal,
swell up from steroids,
develop severe acne,
become barely or unable to walk or move,
and look at you with hope in their eyes and say,"It's going to be okay, Mommy."
I hope that you never have to stay in the hospital for weeks, months, or years at a time, where there is no privacy, sleeping on a slab, with your face to the wall, where you cry in muffled silence.
I hope you never have to see a mother, alone, huddled, in a dark hospital corridor...crying quietly, after just being told, "There is nothing more we can do."
I hope you never have to watch a family wander aimlessly, minutes after their child's body has been removed.
I hope you never have to use every bit of energy you have left, with all of this going on around you to remain positive, and the feelings of guilt, sorrow, hope and fear, overwhelm you.
I hope you never have to see a child's head bolted to the table as they receive radiation.
I hope you never have to take your child home (grateful but so afraid) in a wheelchair because the chemo and radiation has damaged their muscles, 35 pounds lighter, pale, bald, and scarred.
And they look at you with faith in their eyes and say, "It's going to be okay Mommy."
I hope you never have to face the few friends that have stuck beside you and hear them say, "Thank God that is over with,"...because you know it never will be.
Your life becomes a whirl of doctors, blood tests and MRI's and you try to get your life back to "normal".
While living in mind-numbing fear that any one of those tests could result in hearing the dreaded words..."The cancer has returned" or "The tumor is growing."
And your friends become even fewer.
I hope you never have to experience any of these things...Because...only then...Will you understand...
Author: Carol Baan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)