magical light
I was diagnosed with cancer at 31 – Hodgkin’s lymphoma with a reasonable prognosis. The “one to have”, I was told. Not having one at all was better odds, I thought.
I worked in the public service and was vaguely aware of a colleague named Sally who was in my department. When she heard about my diagnosis, she approached me and was supportive, genuine and compassionate. I was surprised at the depth of concern because Sally was a stranger to me.
I had expressed apprehension about having chemotherapy. So just before my first chemo, she gave me a gift. She told me she’d be giving me one of these mementos just before every chemo until I was finished. I explained I’d be having chemo every two weeks for months – I didn’t want her to feel obligated. She told me that she wanted me to say, “What is that Sally going to turn up with this time?” instead of, “I’ve got another awful chemo session.”
Each time she found me and freely bestowed a present. I was a bit embarrassed by the fuss, but as treatment went on I found myself looking forward to a beautifully wrapped token – a candle, a book, a soap. Carefully chosen gifts every time. She never missed one.
The sceptic in me assumed it wouldn’t last, but it did. She never reneged on her promise and that touched me incredibly. It didn’t matter what the chemo gift was. It made a difference that she cared enough to think of me every fortnight knowing I was going through a gruelling course of action that would, in the end, save my life. I look at it now as though Sally turned a millstone into a milestone.
[article by Kirstie Anders, published in Reader’s Digest]
