Gratitude

I have been loved on, taken care of, and fussed over from the time I entered this world. Partially because I was brought into a family with big hearts and partially because I was born with Sickle Cell Anemia Disease, a genetic blood disorder. Upon my diagnosis, you rallied beside me and poured your love over me. My Village- you’ve always been present. You then grew in numbers upon my breast cancer diagnosis and another portion of love came to me. I’ve always been amazed at your heart for me and for doing good by others. Through out the years:
You’ve claimed me as your friend even after I flashed the male nurse under my morphine endured stupper.
You’ve took me to the emergency room and sat with me in the early hours of the morning.
You’ve committed to wheelchair races and strolls through hospital gardens. How did I always win?
You’ve pressed the nurses button more times that you can count at the slightest chance that I may be uncomfortable.
You’ve listen to that damn machine’s beep, beep, beep, beep… beep.
You’ve memorized the medications I was allergic to, so that you could inform doctors and nurses. 
You’ve come to understand my treatment plan better than I do. Morphine, I. V fluids, heating pads. Repeat.
You’ve prayed.
You’ve held buckets while I threw up in them.
You’ve seen more blood and needles than you ever cared to. You haven’t passed out yet.
You ever so subtlety placed water bottles in front of me as your plea to hydrate. “Drink you water.”
You’ve turned up the heat so that I may not get too cold, while you wiped the perspiration off of your own face.
You’ve brought me balloons, flowers, games and treats to my hospital room.
You held my IV bag up in the air for 20 minutes while we waited for an IV pole, which was quite the task for someone with little arms.
You’ve spent the night with me, sacrificing the comfort of a bed and shower, to watch movies with me until I fell asleep.
You’ve listen to me complain and told me to suck it up- there’s work to be done.
You prayed again.
You’ve cooked for me. Fed me. Stolen my hospital jello and replaced it with candy.
You’ve intentionally made laugh, to keep my mind off of the physical pain.
You’ve called my parents and family to update them on my health. They’re numbers are saved in your phone.
You’ve run errands for me, gathering my prescriptions and miscilaniois items through the city.
You’ve endured a rediculius amount of hospital cafeteria food. And it ain’t all been gravy.
You’ve packed many a hospital bad, both for you and me. It’s required you to rummage through my underwear drawer and you were never judgmental.
You’ve been my chemo & hospital entertainer, is coming to never ending games of uno, cards and checkers.
You’ve collected my homework for me and committed to helping me play catch-up once I returned to school.
You’ve held my hand while I was in pain. You’ve endured my grip, which is strong.
You’ve lied to nurses, telling them you were my sister, so that you could stay with me in the absence of my family.
You’ve wiped my tears while you hid your own.
You’ve taken me to chemo appointments, enduring the disgusting sounds and smells of the clinic.
You’ve sent me care packages from across the county, that carried healing supplies, fun activities, words of encouragement and items to sooth my soul.
You’ve thrown me “No More Chemo” parties, reminding me that I didn’t do it alone. I’ve never done it alone.
You’ve loved me relentlessly, unapologetically, wholeheartedly and sacrificially.
Thank you.
I believe it’s my turn to do the same for you.
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