Here's to Hope

Last Saturday, I went to visit my great aunt who's recovering from surgery that eradicated cancer in her lungs. She's staying at The American Cancer Society's Hope Lodge, a phenomenal residential facility for people receiving cancer treatment far from their home.

Finding myself on I HEART NY soil, I exited the bus I took from DC and headed straight to Dunkin Donuts. I was cranky from the cramped seating (yes, even people who are 5'2" need leg room) and in need of a DD fix. Only in New York City does DD have soy milk. God bless 'em.

A few sips into my brew and hostility in check, I called my aunt to let her know I was close by. She said to call her again when I was at Hope Lodge and she'd come down to the lobby to meet me because my great uncle was at the dollar store. Okay.

I waited for just a few minutes in the building's lobby and then appeared my aunt. I immediately started crying, the kind of heavy crying that is audible and not attractive because it also makes your nose run (heavily).

My aunt was wearing a pink sweat suit and a white baseball hat (to conceal her lack of hair from chemo to treat her breast cancer) from a 2002 Super Bowl – not sure where she got that. I couldn't really hug her because her back was still very tender from the surgery. Instead, I kissed her and cried.

She took me up to the 6th floor, a multi-purpose space complete with a meditation room, computer lab, large kitchen, TV and lounge area, and an outdoor deck the length of the building (yowsa).

My aunt introduced me to this guy and one of her favorite staff members. She's like the Miss Congeniality of Hope Lodge. She told me to take some life savers from a jar on the reception desk before we went back to her room.

My great uncle came back from the dollar store with three items: slippers, vacuum-packed salami, and a new wallet. Mmmhhhm. And that was his second trip there that day. Apparently the dollar store has a grocery section.

He then proceeded to make my aunt a salami sandwich on rye bread. I offered mild protest, believing that she should be eating foods more macrobiotic-esque and less E-coli-prone. My voice was not heard.

I looked over at the desk in the room they've been sharing for the past month and saw a big cup of life savers.

"Did you take those from the 6th floor?" I asked my aunt.

"Yeah. Sure I did."

Ok, don't argue propriety with someone recovering from cancer.

My parents arrived and got a tour of the 6th floor, too. My aunt has a way of intending to whisper but actually being quite loud.

Just as someone would pass us in the hallway, she'd whisper (i.e. shout), "Pancreatic cancer. Doesn't have a chance." Or, "That one…full of cancer!"

To which I would exhale heavily and send my bangs upward. Story of my life.

When we got back to her room, she – in her usual way – only wanted to offer us food. There was a mini-fridge marked "For medication only" and inside I saw tomato juice, Trader Joe's organic yogurt, vacuum-packed Kiełbasa (also from the dollar store), and other things that didn't require a prescription.

There's a journal in each person's room so the patient can write about their stay before leaving. My aunt asked me to write something for her based on how she felt about Hope Lodge. She told me her ideas, and then we went to the computer lab so I could make prose out of her sincere gratitude.

I printed two copies of the letter, which she retrieved from the printer. As we were getting ready to leave, I saw a thick stack of paper in her hand.

"What do you have there? Are you taking that stack of blank paper back to your room?" I asked.

"Yeah. Sure I am."

Again, not the time to point out ethics.