The Gifts of Strangers

I’ve thought a lot about strangers this week and how they touch our lives.  The last chemo treatment (my fourth) brought my blood counts to new lows, so three days ago I sat in a chair at the hospital and had a platelet transfusion.  Yesterday, I was back at the hospital receiving two units of blood.  Both times, I pondered how, if not for the generosity of complete strangers, I would not be able to receive these transfusions that are vital for my health. People had made the time to give of themselves, literally, not knowing who they might help along the way.  Today’s transfusion was the third blood transfusion I’ve received during chemo, so a lot of strangers are helping me out!

Those giving their blood and platelets aren’t the only strangers who have supported me during the past seven months.  During the winter, I received a cozy quilt and two beautiful prayer shawls, all handmade by strangers in an effort to surround me with warmth and remind me that I am being lifted up in thoughts and prayers.  I’ve received cards from friends of friends who don’t know me but wanted to send along encouraging words.  Fresh fruits and vegetables have been left at my door by neighbors who I don’t really know.

Then there are the countless people at Roswell Park Cancer Institute who I don’t know but certainly don’t treat me like a stranger during my hospital stays for chemo: the clown who visited and told me corny jokes, the volunteer who made me origami art, the nice young man who cleaned my room, the musicians who played in the lobby, the patient advocate, and many more.

I know many of you reading this are yourselves strangers to those you are helping who may never know who you are.  If you’ve donated blood or are assisting “behind-the-scenes” in any way, please know that you are making a huge difference in the lives of others.  On behalf of all of us receiving the gifts of strangers, thank you.

Update (6/28):  After reading this post, a friend commented to me that she had registered on a bone marrow transplant website and actually was matched with someone who needed bone marrow.  Please visit BeTheMatch.org for more information.  And, while we’re at it, you can find a blood drive near you at  the American Red Cross website.

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A Broader Lens

When I first started my blog, I envisioned a place where other people who had been diagnosed with the same rare cancer I was, soft tissue sarcoma, could come and discuss their experiences.  Somewhere along the way, however, it grew into something else.  Instead of focusing on sarcoma, my little blog began to quickly evolve into a series of musings about life, and even though these thoughts were written through the lens of cancer, I found out that they were finding their way into people’s lives who didn’t have cancer – and they still held meaning.

I have deeply appreciated the readership support of my family and friends and am humbled by their kind responses to the blog: “I have been deeply moved by all your writing,” “Wonderful words of strength, courage, encouragement,” “We all have or will have similar challenges and it is helpful and inspiring to know that we are not, and will never be, alone.”  To say I’m touched would be an understatement.  I feel blessed that God has given me words to share that mean something to others and feel certain that this is part of a path I’m supposed to be on right now.

So today I’ve changed the tagline of my blog from “A Gathering Place for Those with Soft Tissue Sarcoma and Other Cancers” to “Learning About Life Through the Lens of Cancer.”  However, my original hopes for the blog remain the same as stated in the welcome message: “to have this little portion of cyberspace offer you calmness during uncertainty, light when it seems the darkest, and strength when you feel you have none left.  Sharing the strength, we can all get through.”  Thank you for all your continued encouragement, support and inspiration.

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Just Brow-sing

When you’re surprised, your eyebrows go up.  When you’re angry, they furrow.  Eyebrows are a nonverbal way that help other people know the emotions we’re feeling.  But what happens if you don’t have any eyebrows?  Losing the hair on your head is typically associated with undergoing chemotherapy, but many people don’t know that you often also lose your eyebrows.  Mine are almost gone.  My eyelashes, too.

I probably would not have chosen to be bald.  However, I actually don’t mind it.  I figured out I’m saving at least $600 in salon expenses!  In addition, the time I spend getting ready to go out has been cut in half, and I rather like the exotic look of scarves and turbans.  Losing eyebrows and eyelashes, on the other hand, causes a bit more of a problem because of their usefulness.

While eyebrows assist in us conveying our feelings, eyelashes frame “the windows to the soul.”  They serve a major purpose – they protect the eye from debris getting in it and act as a sensor when something gets too close to the eye, not to mention they enable you to give butterfly kisses and make wishes when one falls on your cheek.  Of course, the multibillion dollar cosmetic industry will tell you that those eyelashes are meant for flirting (and, well, that’s true, too!).  The allure of making up the eye goes back to ancient Egypt and has become only more popular through the ages.  In fact, sales continue to rise in an ever-increasingly competitive marketplace.  Mascara is one of the top sellers in the cosmetic industry.  A woman will spend an average of nearly $4,000 on mascara in her lifetime and nearly $3,000 on eye shadow (actually, these figures seem a bit low to me).

So, what’s a girl to do when she’s missing these important facial features?   There are makeup tricks for chemo patients, like eyebrow stencils, but I don’t dare try them for fear of ending up looking like Joan Crawford.  Eyeliner is suggested as the solution for missing eyelashes, creating an illusion that lashes are still framing your eye.  Well, just try to apply that without having eyelashes as a guide.  I have enough trouble putting it on when I have eyelashes; without them, my eyeliner looks more like a road map than an outline of an eye.

My solution is to simply ride it out, because it actually is no big deal in the major scheme of things.  However, it would helpful if you remember a few things.  Next time you see me with tears in my eyes, there’s a good chance I’m not crying.  My tear ducts are taking over the job of my missing eyelashes and trying to keep foreign matter out of my eyes by watering them.  If I’m flapping my eyelids together, I may also be trying to do get something out of my eye, not flirting (then, again, perhaps I am . . .).  And if I have deep wrinkles in my forehead, I’m probably not angry; I’m more likely puzzled about something.  Of course, the one facial expression that clearly relays its true meaning and is not affected by chemo is a smile. You can’t go wrong with that one, and I intend on keeping mine!