a chance is a chance

I had a hard time sleeping last night. I rarely have a hard time sleeping. My friend begins the process of receiving an auto transplant today, well the beginning process of it. I hate Cancer and I hate that his odds stink. I hate hearing numbers like 40% of not working instead of 30% chance of this being successful. Maybe I am an annoying optimist, I know he is, but I would rather hear my chance of survival no matter how small.

A chance is a chance.

There are so many interesting things that happen in my line of work (Pediatric emergency nurse) that bond us to one another. Like the time I delivered a baby in the bathroom, he and I remember that all of the time. It was one of those situations where you just look at each other and say a Hail Mary and wonder if this is really happening.

He's shaved his head for years so I told him that when I donated my hair a few weeks ago it was for a wig for him. I am just waiting for him to show up at work with a foot of brown hair.

It's his attitude that will keep him in the odds of survival. He's learned that all we have is one day at a time. All we have is today and this very moment. Through my years I have learned to soak it all up.

To be honest with you I could not sleep because I for some reason had a vision of his funeral. I don't want there to be a funeral and I don't want it to be his. Odds are odds and odds are meant to be broken. But it scared me. It scared me a lot. I know enough now however to remember, that a chance is a chance no matter how small.

When I go to work tomorrow he won't be working but he will make his rounds through the dept wheeling his chemo and smiling. Smiling like he always does. I will remind him that I am sure the nutritional benefits of a garbage plate (Rochester specialty) do wonders for Cancer patients I hear. He will joke that they are clinically proven to help.

I will ask him if he needs anything. He will tell me bone marrow. I am on the registry and if there was one person I could donate my bone marrow to it would be him.

I will offer to make him cookies and he will decline with the comment that he doesn't want to die sooner than he has to.

He's donating his own bone marrow to himself, and this is a long process. He will hopefully be back to work in October and I dread those days where I visit him instead of work with him.

It's people like him that are reminders that every day is a gift, and even when we are faced with impossible situations there is hope. There is always always hope. No matter what, no matter the situation, no matter how big the odds are stacked against you.

There is always a chance.