Thinking back....

Last week was an extremely trying week at Winslow High School--and with life in general. First of all, there was this supposed 'super storm' thing that was supposed to kill the world. And you know what ended up happening up here? Basically nothing. Well....something....but nothing like Armegeddon or anything....I feel like all those meteorologists should be held accountable for giving everyone heart attacks....

Secondly, there were two student deaths at Winslow High School. A boy named Scott and a girl named Allie died in a car accident last Friday. I didnt really know Allie that well. And, unfortunately, my only experience with Scott was that, as I told fellow students, he remains the only kid I have ever thrown out of detention...not a great memory I know.

The mood and aura and tone and setting at school last week was just abysmal--and the weather didnt help much. In fact, we didnt have school last Tuesday as a "preemptive" storm day. Some students and faculty were heavily affected in many different ways by these deaths; for me, it was simply a call-to-arms, if you will, of reminiscing about my senior year of high school when I began my cancer treatments for lymphoma.

As a relatively young parent myself, the first thing I immediately thought of upon hearing of Scott and Allie's death was my parents, Anne and Hank...and then I thought of Scott and Allie's parents. I remember being told for the first time that I had cancer, and, like many who probably hear this, I thought it was an immediate death sentence. I will never forget the looks on the faces of my parents when they heard the news. What an indescribable feeling it must be to lose one's own children. Just sitting here typing this, I cant escape the horrifying and disgusting thought of how I would act or feel should something happen to my kids. My parents dealt with this for a couple of years when I treated, and it must have been pure hell. I dont even know what else to say....

The death of these two students touched me in many other ways, particularly thinking about my sensitivity to seeing children suffer and die--most notably because of the children I, personally, saw suffer and die. Five immediately come to mind: Zapponara and Jenna-two kids I used to see in the chemo clinic all the time--Zapponara, an Asian kid, his cheeks blown up like a pufferfish due to all his prednisone steroid treatments, and Jenna, my age, who treated for leukemia and then, as a side effect of the chemo, developed terminal brain cancer. I think of Andrew, from Kentucky, my roommate during my longest stint at New England Medical Center (when I had a blood clot in my arm); he was there getting advanced treatment for acute brain cancer. It was in March and, temporarily, he made me a Kentucky basketball fan, when he got to see his dream come true when Kentucky won the NCAA championship that year. We watched some of the game in my room. I think of Paulie Kober, a boy I never met, but a boy who inspired me to write what would become a  very requested song at my concerts: 'Paulie Kober: He Loved to Rock. Sitting in the treatment room at NEMC, I used to notice a rocking chair emblazoned with a plaque that read those words. I invented a whole story about Pauly, and I told it through song. And, finally, I think of the unnamed kid who died beside me one evening, a kid whose face I dont think I ever really saw--they brought him back from surgery (during my long blood clot stint) and hours later a "code blue" exploded on the floor of 7 West. He didnt last long.

I had not thought about this time in my life for a while. But hearing the news that two young people in my school died certainly reignited these thoughts; it is something that has been weighing on my heart and conscience for a while. And this was something I feel I needed to write. If you read this, then thank you for taking the time. If you saw that there were no pictures of the kids and decided to not, then that is fine too. This post, selfishly enough, was just for me. To serve as a reminder. And a call to everyone to treasure your experiences. And children. And those you love.

(PS: This is the wing known as 7 West in the "Floating Hospital" at New England Medical Center. I spent all my inpatient time on this wing, and, despite it being a hospital, it nevertheless was one of the warmest places I have ever experienced--the amazing nurses, doctors, and Tufts Medical School interns made this so....)