48 Days to Go
Just a brief update to let you know that Blaine made it home safe and sound (and relatively quickly; it's a miracle!) yesterday and is now relaxing quietly and comfortably on the sofa. Ha, yeah right. He wasn’t home ten minutes and the kids were all over him, but at least he knows he was missed. In between him and his Percocet, and my mom and her Lortab, we’re running a veritable Narcotics Hospital in the kitchen, but at least everyone feels pretty good.
Also wanted to share with you this years version of The Lazy Man’s Guide To Carving Pumpkins:
Kendrie, Brayden, and Kellen show off their Halloween 2005 Masterpieces.
Those of you who live in the Atlanta area are familiar with CURE: “CURE Childhood Cancer was founded in 1975 as a non-profit organization dedicated to conquering childhood cancer through research, education and support of patients and their families. Until there is a cure for every child diagnosed with cancer - CURE will be there.”
The rest of you might not know that CURE is a wonderful organization that helps families affected by childhood cancer in a variety of ways, in addition to working towards finding a cure for pediatric cancer. Each year, they send out a fundraising letter, asking the parent of a local child to contribute to the letter. I was really flattered to be asked this year and thought I would share the text of the letter with all of you. For more information, or to make a donation, please visit CURE's website.
There are certain moments in life when you have no choice but to laugh: like when you come out of the ladies restroom and realize your skirt is tucked into your pantyhose. There are other moments in life when you really *shouldn’t* laugh, but can’t help yourself: like when your sister comes out with her skirt tucked into her pantyhose. And, then, there are certain moments when a person wonders if they’ll ever laugh again: when their child’s doctor places his or her hand on their shoulder and says gently, “I’m so sorry, it’s cancer.”
That moment came for our family in October of 2003 when our daughter Kendrie, who had just turned four, was diagnosed with leukemia. Devastated, disbelieving, distraught, despairing -- there aren’t enough “D” words to express how we felt at that moment. When the security of your boring, normal life spins away from you in the blink of an eye, what exactly do you DO? Well, you worry, lose sleep, experience fear like you’ve never known, cry, bargain with God, obsessively surf the web, and in MY case, stress-eat a boatload of chocolate. Then you wake up and realize “Thank goodness we don’t have to go it alone.”
Researchers have made amazing strides in the treatments for childhood cancer. Although still the #1 disease killer in children, statistics have improved greatly. In 1975, a child diagnosed with leukemia had only a 20 percent chance of survival. Today, that chance is closer to 80 percent. Sounds good, huh? But when it’s YOUR child, anything less than 100 percent isn’t acceptable. Consider this: If one in five kids died on the soccer field, would you sign your child up to play? And we’re the “lucky” ones with leukemia; other forms of childhood cancer have odds nowhere near as high as 80 percent.
CURE Childhood Cancer is dedicated to conquering childhood cancer through research, education, and the support of patients and their families. Our first day in the hospital after Kendrie was diagnosed, we received a Welcome Bag from CURE and an invitation to their weekly Open Arms gathering at Scottish Rite. On this, their 30th anniversary, CURE continues to help fund research so a cure can be found in our lifetime. In the meantime, they are providing valuable support and services for families. So much progress has been made in 30 years -- won’t it be wonderful to reach the day when NO child dies of cancer?
You can help make that day possible by donating to CURE. Feel confident that you are helping CURE fulfill its mission of helping families both in the short-term, and towards the long-term goal of eradicating childhood cancer.
As for us, Kendrie is enjoying kindergarten, doing well and is slated to finish treatment this December, after 26 months of chemotherapy. It’s been a long two years, and at times, a struggle to remain cheerful and to remember that laughter is the best medicine. (Well, laughter, steroids, vincristine, 6mp, methotrexate … the list goes on and on!) For our family, though, there is light at the end of the tunnel. And unlike those dark days at the beginning, we no longer think that light is a train headed our way. Other families, however, are in the thick of the fight, or just beginning. Please donate to CURE and help those families to realize, like we did, “Thank goodness we don’t have to go it alone.”
Well, I hope all of you have a wonderful Halloween on Monday --- assuming my kids survive the sugar high, I'll post photos afterwards. :)
Take care and have a nice weekend,