Sometimes, something happens before your eyes and it changes you. It can last only a brief moment, or a few seconds, and yet you can feel it change you. This happened to me a few weeks ago. I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer almost a year ago. Luckily, I had surgery and since then, I’ve been doing really well and improving. This is unimportant in this story but provides some necessary background knowledge. A few weeks ago, I was at Barnes Jewish Hospital in St. Louis for my next round of treatment. I was pretty antsy and anxious, hoping to see my tumor levels at zero. However, while in the waiting room, something occurred that hasn’t left my mind ever since.
Typically in this waiting room, it is filled with elderly or middle-aged people. I’m no stranger to being the youngest one in the room. So I was somewhat surprised when a little girl was wheeled into the room in a wheelchair. She held a bucket on her lap and looked very sick. She looked like a young teenager, maybe thirteen or fourteen. She shivered and whimpered and struggled to keep herself from vomiting. She was with her mother, who looked like she was handling this with ease. However, I knew it was probably so incredibly difficult to see her child struggling like this. It was unreal to see the strength she exhibited for her daughter. This waiting room was pretty packed and a few minutes after arriving, the girl began to cry. She said to her mother, “Everyone is probably looking at me and judging me.” Hearing those words from her instantly broke my heart. I wished she could see herself through my eyes, or through the eyes of anyone else in that waiting room.
To me, she is a hero. She is strong and graceful and a true miracle. And if I, or anyone else, was ever staring, that is why. To herself, she is weak and unhealthy, but to the world, she is an inspiration. I wanted so badly to reach out to her, to correct her and tell her how special she was, but I felt it would be useless and foolish. Of course, I didn’t understand her struggle. She was fighting this every day. Treatment for her was a daily occurrence, not a semi-annually one like it was for me. She had lost her hair and was very clearly sick. And here I am, a walking and talking, seemingly healthy 19-year-old, not missing a strand of hair. So I kept my distance. But she hasn’t left my mind ever since. Since that day, I have prayed for her every night. A few days later, I returned for follow up of my treatment. And as fate would have it, she was there again for more treatment. However, she seemed to be doing better. She smiled and laughed with her mom, which was truly comforting to see. I couldn’t help but think my prayers had helped lift her just a little bit.
But peeking into this brave girl’s life for just a few moments had struck a nerve with me. In the weeks since my treatment, I have felt worried and anxious. I struggle with survivor's guilt every day. To witness so much tragedy and pain, and know it could've so easily been me. To know that those as fortunate as I am are in the vast minority takes a mental toll. Cancer has no mercy. It takes from the most innocent, the most undeserving. It sucks away children’s innocence and thrusts them into a harsh reality. It forces them to grow up prematurely. It's not something you can understand or provide reasoning for. I have found myself sometimes focusing on this. Focusing on the death and the pain and the unfairness. Most often, that’s all you hear about. And if you focus on this, it will likely drive you insane. But in the darkest of nights, shine the brightest of stars. And looking back, I remembered something else incredible happened in that waiting room.
While in the waiting room, my attention was fixated on the little girl. Watching her, tears had filled my eyes and my heart was resting in my stomach. However, at that same moment, an elderly man returned to the waiting room following his treatment. But when I say “returned,” he wasn't walking slowly or hobbling weakly. Instead, he was running and jumping. In the waiting room was the cancer free bell, which patients rang when they had completed their last treatment. That bell remains as my goal. He rang the bell with pride, shouting and smiling. Everyone in the waiting room clapped and cheered. He yelled “I’m outta here!” and ran out the doors, happy to never return again. (Until he realized he left his glasses and had to come back.) My heart swelled and almost burst. And that’s when I realized something very important. Cancer stole the little girl's innocence but it had given this elderly man his innocence back.
You have to take the good with the bad. If you focus on tragedy and pain, not only will you be sad and depressed, but you will also miss out on the beautiful things. In the news or on social media, death tolls are reported much more often than acts of kindness or little miracles. But they do exist. In a world that seems to be littered with crime, injustice, and tragedy remember that sometimes the good things won’t fall into your lap. In the darkest of hours, you may have to search for them. But I promise you, they are there. No matter how dim, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel.
Some days, I wake up with a heaviness in my heart that I hadn't felt before being diagnosed with cancer. I still pray for both the little girl and the elderly man every night. And I encourage everyone to do the same. For all the little girls and boys who deal with such pain and all the survivors who have fought against the odds.
And remember, keep searching for your light, no matter how dim.
