I came downstairs about half an hour ago because I felt nauseous and was beginning to experience one of those other painful side effects of this chemo: random joint pain. I got out the Zofran and some ice to numb the pain of the heel. Normally I'd grab some Tylenol, too, because that will help take away the edge of the pain. Unfortunately, my family and I were at a family get-together earlier in the day and left our Tylenol in the car. I didn't want to go out and get it now because a) it's 4:30 in the morning, and b) my heel hurts. I figured the ice would help at least dull the pain a bit, and the Zofran would take away the nausea. I'd have to make do. I began to get ready for an uncomfortable night on the couch with an ice pack at my feet and a bucket nearby just in case, when I heard someone walking around upstairs. I knew it had to be my mom or my dad, because my brothers never wake up during the middle of the night. I waited until they had come out of the bathroom, and then I called up to whoever it was. My barely-awake dad stumbled out, and asked what was wrong. I told him that I wasn't feeling well and that my heel really hurt, so I had come downstairs for some ice and Zofran. I told him that the Tylenol was in the car so I'd just sleep down here with the ice, and that I just wanted to let him know so that he didn't get startled when he came down in the morning. He mumbled something in reply and I interpreted that as being close enough to understanding, so I went back to the couch.
A few minutes later, my dad came downstairs. "I'll go get the Tylenol," he said, and walked out the door in just his pajama pants at 4:30 in the morning.
For some reason this almost made me cry.
Back during my senior year of high school, when I was on my Senior Class Trip to Disneyworld, a similar thing happened. To this day, I'm not exactly sure what made my foot swell up and ache to such epic proportions, but it did, and by the end of the very first day down in Florida I was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of the trip. When the nurse told me in my hotel room that I probably shouldn't walk on it and that she'd get me a wheelchair, my hotel roommates - all of whom I had barely spent much time with recently - assured me immediately that they'd be happy to push me around in the wheelchair and take me with them.
I immediately started crying.
It actually makes me laugh to think about, because they all got so worried that maybe my foot was hurting more, and they all told me it was okay, that things would be okay. Two things about this are funny: the first thing is that they were right - things were okay, then and after; we became good friends after that trip. The second thing is this: I wasn't crying because of the pain. Not at all. I've cried because of pain before, but it takes so much more than a swollen foot to get me to cry because of pain! I was crying because I wasn't expecting that sudden rush of love that they all showed me then and there. They didn't have to do that; I wasn't even expecting it. Same with my dad tonight; he didn't have to get me the Tylenol. Heck, I didn't even know he was paying attention. But just that extra bit of care really got to me. And maybe there's something more to it. Maybe I was crying also because of how often things like this happen; maybe I was upset that I even needed the Tylenol, or somebody to push me in a wheelchair. Maybe it was a combination of everything. But the thing that definitely pushed me over the edge was the simple unexpected kindness.
So, thanks. To everyone who has ever shown someone a kindness when they didn't have to and when nothing was expected in return: thanks. Maybe someday someone will write a blog post about you.
No comments:
Post a Comment