Ron Smith

Upon arriving on the 5th floor of my hospital, I was greeted by a large “Oncology” sign.  Here I was, 31-years old, and about to live on a floor dedicated to cancer patients.  What in the hell has happened?  Did they get off on the wrong floor?  Even through the excruciating pain, it was a surreal experience.

I slept.  I slept as an escape from the pain and my thoughts.  Its a toss-up as to which I was running from the fastest.    On my first day, while taking my medical history, the nurse told me the pain would subside once I had begun chemotherapy.  I am so thankful that he was right.  When would the relief come to my mind?  When would the nightmares of helplessness and suffocation end?  When would I be able to imagine my daughter’s face without tears welling up in my eyes?

On my first day in my room, the nurse brought in a small blue bag.  It was a CARE package of sorts, compiled by a local church, that is given to newly diagnosed cancer patients.  In it are a mix of toiletries, reading material, and other useful items that have been generously donated.  Also in there was a book titled, There is no place like Hope, by Vickie Girard.

At first I looked at the book with skepticism.  Throughout my life, I have had to overcome my share of trials.  Through that I have learned, when things go wrong, to pick myself up, dust myself off, and keep going.  The very idea of reading an inspirational or motivational book seemed an affront to my cynical,  self-reliant nature.    I was busy with visitors, on the phone, or as had become my most common activity, sleeping.   The book sat around my room unopened for days.

Friends would come and chide me that I had not lifted the blinds or turned on the lights in my room since my arrival.  I would laugh at the notion, as my office at home was always dark as well.  It was simply my hermit nature manifest in a new location.  One afternoon, when I was alone I sat on the couch and raised the blinds.  It was mid-day and I had a pretty good view from my hospital window.  If it had been oriented differently, I probably could have seen my house.

When I sat down, I noticed on the table next to me, Vickie’s book.  I decided to open it up an take a look. I opened it to the dedication page, and stopped.  Within a few sentences the tears were to thick to read through and I had to put the book down.  This process of reading a few sentences and wiping my eyes continued for the next half hour.  I managed to make it through the first page.

The book is divided into many sections, diagnosis, nighttime, children, hope and loss to name a few.  Each section has quotes, shared experiences and insight intended to help the reader maintain their resolve.  Each section is a treasure trove of hope unto itself.

Since my diagnosis, I have read articles on Leukemia, information of this drug or that, information about long-ago clinical trials, and details of those still on-going.  But out of all of it, nothing I have read has motivated me or prepared me to fight cancer more than Vickie’s book.

Thank you to whomever put together that little blue bag for newly diagnosed cancer survivors.  Thank you for including such an important and needed book.

Thanks Vickie.

cancer, hope, Personal Ramblings, there is no place like hope, vickie girard