Patrick’s Essay

Few relationships evoke vivid memories like that of childhood friendships. My friendship with T.J. fits that category, a bond forged all the stronger by the fact that both T.J. and I were childhood cancer patients. T.J. had brain cancer and I had leukemia that had invaded my brain and spine. We were both very high-risk patients, initially diagnosed as toddlers and both in relapse.

My favorite memory of the hospital is when we would race in the hallways – T.J. was usually in his wheel chair and I used my IV stand as a scooter – and the nurses hated it. One time we ate a half box of cheese crackers and then raced around in the hallway, which resulted in us suddenly and simultaneously throwing up on the floor. We laughed until we hurt. When we rode around we imagined we were racing against the night wind and nobody and nothing could catch us, not even cancer.

My last hours spent with T.J. were in the hospital room and we were tossing a ball back and forth. We kept getting tangled up in IV stands and tubing but we were laughing. The late winter sun was coming in the windows and it was reflecting off our bald heads and for a brief few warm moments life wasn’t about cancer and throwing up. T.J. was back in intensive care the next day and we couldn’t see each other. I wish we could have said goodbye. As time has moved forward, I miss our times together even more and I struggle with why cancer ended his life and not mine. Sometime when I see a couple of little guys playing together and the sun is bouncing light off their heads I think about T.J. and I feel sad and glad at the same time. In my finer moments, I like to that that when I remember, T.J. does too and a brief slice in the fabric of time and space allows us to be together for a few seconds. T.J. taught me that we should laugh hard and at every opportunity. Our treatment and the side effects were difficult but we forged positive attitudes and a strong sense of self.

Losing T.J. taught me all about fear – fear of losing someone close to me, fear of my own mortality, fear of my inability to control my own destiny. Fear is the greatest challenge a cancer patient faces and the ability to harness your fear is critical in defining living a life and simply existing. T.J. and I were too young to fully understand our diagnoses but we were old enough to understand fear. This last winter, my Grandpa Walkowiak, my greatest cheerleader and champion, was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. My mom and I, both cancer survivors , were the only two people with Grandpa when the doctor delivered the news. The walls in that small nursing home closed in and I instantly recognized what lay in my Grandpa’s eyes – fear. In the months that followed, our family walked Grandpa home and it was heartbreaking and painfully sad. When the time came, Grandpa courageously faced death head on, fully alert to the very end. And he saw something unimaginable, right before he slipped through the door. His face reflected total wonder and awe and that was his final gift – hope.

Hope crushes fear. Hope demands justice and accountability. Hope ensures that love and friendships always grow. Hope defeats doubt. Hope is a salve that soothes the soul’s pain. T.J. and my Grandpa left blueprints on my consciousness on how to live a hopeful, purposeful life, leaving a map to always find my way. I realize that greatness lies quietly and without fanfare within us and is measured in how many people remember us with a thankful heart.

As a patient with a life-threatening illness, you’ll undoubtedly get plenty of advice from well-meaning medical personnel, friends and survivors in the days to come. Some of it will be helpful, some of it will be totally useless and some of it will be annoying but remember what lies in the heart is often difficult to convey. I’m still a beginner student in life but here’s what I’ve learned so far:

• #1: You are responsible for your own happiness.
• In life’s darkest moments when you feel abandoned, remember you are held close in a communion of souls. When the crisis has passed and you look behind you, you will remember their presence
• Being realistic is an integral part of being optimistic.
• A threat on your life and well-being will result in some form of lingering trauma and side effects, be it physical or emotional. This will demand a positive attitude, a sense of purpose and humor.
• Just because others don’t see it or believe it, doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Don’t ever let a few people or a few events distort the way you view the world or your place in it. You have a right to be here, a right to be yourself, a right to dream what might be and a right to make your own decisions.
• Pack lightly and carefully for the journey – regret, anger, sadness, envy and frustration are heavy loads to carry for the distance.
• No matter how difficult or painful the journey, you can’t walk away from your destiny. Despite anything that might happen, the world on the whole is a good place and is inhabited by good people and at the end of your life you will be glad for all the people who travelled with you for a while.

And finally, take time to quiet yourself every day so you might hear the plans and recognize the gifts of Providence. It will require courage to accept both. Sometimes the gifts don’t look like gifts at all and they arrive in some mighty strange packaging – you’ll only recognize them if you open them with your soul.