If you don’t thank the man upstairs (my friends would expect me to add “or woman”) for your blessings on a daily basis, try spending some time in the chemo area of a hospital and you will.
Over the last several months, I have had the privilege of taking a friend to the doctor where she receives a drug similar to chemo in the same treatment ward. As I look around the many cubicles where folks of all ages and stages of healing or unraveling are receiving the drugs, I can tell you it is a humbling experience.
I have heard the saying, “there are no atheists in a foxhole.” I would have to say the same about a chemo ward after watching these people, pale and wan with handkerchiefs covering their thinning hair as they sit for several hours receiving medicine into their body, sometimes five days a week. Hope and faith are about all they have. With drips connected to their arms, most look blankly into space while others peer solemnly at the television hanging high over their chair. Occasionally, one will laugh and tease a nurse, whose compassion far exceeds her paycheck.
As many of these people come in, I sit silently watching. They are really sick; I am not certain whether it is from the disease or the cruelty of the medicine that is supposed to make them better, but probably a combination of both. Their good morning nods and smiles light up my day. They don’t know me and yet they smile. I feel guilty for feeling good. My initial thought is what do they have to smile about, but then it hits me like a brick. They have today, a fact they might not have been certain of yesterday. As I look into their eyes, it is a haunting reminder of how fragile our time is on this earth.
My emotions vacillate from sadness to thankfulness and then to hopefulness as I sit with my friend. She tells me of a conversation she had with another woman the week before about how they hold up so positively from treatment to treatment. The other woman told her. “My granddaughter greets me everyday after my chemo and asks me how I feel. The other day, she drew a picture with her colored marker on my bald head. It was beautiful. She’s beautiful. That’s why I do this—to see her at the end of the day.”
I don’t know about you, but that’s enough to remind me to count my blessings and make every day count.