Tragedy's Gift: Surviving Cancer by Kevin Sharp, Jeanne Gere
Authors: Kevin Sharp, Jeanne Gere
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would be revealed to me.
Round Two
The events that occurred in my life during my second year of treatment were beyond my comprehension. I reached my all time lowest point and I experienced an all-time highest point in my nineteen years.
The effects of the chemo this time went beyond torture. When my doctors told me that I would come close to death they weren’t exaggerating. Within a month of the first cycle I was convinced I would not survive. I started to deal with the fact that I was going to die. I accepted it. I wondered how I could have prayed for victory just weeks before and now wished I could just blow away. The hardest part for me still was watching the faces of the friends and family that visited me. I felt so sad for them. I wished I could comfort their pain.
Every time I had to go for another round of chemo I would start to get sick before I got into the car to leave the driveway. The ride to the hospital was like slow torture. The smell when I entered the building started my body’s gag reflex and I would throw up before I got through the lobby. By the time I reached the pediatrics or cancer ward I was already so sick I needed a few hours of recovery time before I could start my actual treatments. There are certain smells and sounds that go hand in hand with cancer and chemotherapy that only a cancer patient can understand.
Most of the time I was able to stay in the pediatrics ward of the hospital, which was a blessing for me. The nurses and caregivers there seemed to have more kindness and there was a sense of hope as compared to the few times I had to be in the adult cancer ward. I guess there is something that brings out compassion when a child suffers. The nurses used to fight over who would be my caregiver for the week that I would be there, partly because I didn’t require constant care. Unlike most of the other patients, I didn’t require spoon feedings, diapers, or the immediate care that a small child would. Although I felt terrible, I was able to be alone and still with my thoughts. At that time, I daydreamed a lot about becoming a singer and what it would be like to have an audience while I sang my favorite songs. It was daydreaming that helped me through my living nightmare. It was the hope of becoming a singer that kept me alive.
When I was in the middle of a week in the hospital being pumped full of toxic waste or lying on my parents couch trying not to throw up, I would lose my ability to fight. I would struggle to survive for five minutes, only to find that five more awaited me with even more pain and suffering. Visualizing my success as a singer was the only thing that kept me sane. I would lie there and let my mind transport me to a performance or road trip. I could close my eyes and imagine every aspect of being on stage singing to my fans or on the bus writing songs with my musician friends. I would envision fine details like what I would wear, what cities we would play, and names of the songs I would sing and to whom I would dedicate each one to. I became so engrossed in my dreams that before I knew it an hour might have passed. (In chemo time, an hour is equal to an eternity.) There were a few times that I could have just quit and followed the peacefulness of the light on the other side. However, I would always return knowing I couldn’t stop fighting yet. I could never fault anyone for following that warmth and peace that comes from the other side. I was so tempted, but it just wasn’t my time.
Kelly
Most of the new people I met while I was sick were nurses, doctors, hospital personnel or children who had cancer. My choices were either people who were going to cause me pain, see me naked and helpless, or those that had the same cloud of death hanging over them as I did. That was not such a great beginning to a lasting
Round Two
The events that occurred in my life during my second year of treatment were beyond my comprehension. I reached my all time lowest point and I experienced an all-time highest point in my nineteen years.
The effects of the chemo this time went beyond torture. When my doctors told me that I would come close to death they weren’t exaggerating. Within a month of the first cycle I was convinced I would not survive. I started to deal with the fact that I was going to die. I accepted it. I wondered how I could have prayed for victory just weeks before and now wished I could just blow away. The hardest part for me still was watching the faces of the friends and family that visited me. I felt so sad for them. I wished I could comfort their pain.
Every time I had to go for another round of chemo I would start to get sick before I got into the car to leave the driveway. The ride to the hospital was like slow torture. The smell when I entered the building started my body’s gag reflex and I would throw up before I got through the lobby. By the time I reached the pediatrics or cancer ward I was already so sick I needed a few hours of recovery time before I could start my actual treatments. There are certain smells and sounds that go hand in hand with cancer and chemotherapy that only a cancer patient can understand.
Most of the time I was able to stay in the pediatrics ward of the hospital, which was a blessing for me. The nurses and caregivers there seemed to have more kindness and there was a sense of hope as compared to the few times I had to be in the adult cancer ward. I guess there is something that brings out compassion when a child suffers. The nurses used to fight over who would be my caregiver for the week that I would be there, partly because I didn’t require constant care. Unlike most of the other patients, I didn’t require spoon feedings, diapers, or the immediate care that a small child would. Although I felt terrible, I was able to be alone and still with my thoughts. At that time, I daydreamed a lot about becoming a singer and what it would be like to have an audience while I sang my favorite songs. It was daydreaming that helped me through my living nightmare. It was the hope of becoming a singer that kept me alive.
When I was in the middle of a week in the hospital being pumped full of toxic waste or lying on my parents couch trying not to throw up, I would lose my ability to fight. I would struggle to survive for five minutes, only to find that five more awaited me with even more pain and suffering. Visualizing my success as a singer was the only thing that kept me sane. I would lie there and let my mind transport me to a performance or road trip. I could close my eyes and imagine every aspect of being on stage singing to my fans or on the bus writing songs with my musician friends. I would envision fine details like what I would wear, what cities we would play, and names of the songs I would sing and to whom I would dedicate each one to. I became so engrossed in my dreams that before I knew it an hour might have passed. (In chemo time, an hour is equal to an eternity.) There were a few times that I could have just quit and followed the peacefulness of the light on the other side. However, I would always return knowing I couldn’t stop fighting yet. I could never fault anyone for following that warmth and peace that comes from the other side. I was so tempted, but it just wasn’t my time.
Kelly
Most of the new people I met while I was sick were nurses, doctors, hospital personnel or children who had cancer. My choices were either people who were going to cause me pain, see me naked and helpless, or those that had the same cloud of death hanging over them as I did. That was not such a great beginning to a lasting
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