They're Going to Take Care of Us Someday, You Know?

Fourteen years ago, my aunt was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. She fought bravely and fiercely, but lost her battle with cancer about 8 months later. Watching her go through this silent disease, watching her body weaken, watching her suffer through treatments has never really left me. It has always been a fear of mine that ovarian cancer would be a future diagnosis for me; after all, it is known as the cancer that whispers. This spring, as I had a yearly appointment with my OBGYN, she asked me if I had ever considered a hysterectomy. She told me that research is now showing that ovarian cancer is 80% genetic. Knowing that our family was complete and we planned on having no more babies, my husband and I began making arrangements for this next step. I read the research provided by my doctor as well as information that I found online. I made separate appointments with my doctor to talk about what to expect, the procedure itself, hormone replacement, and even my fears of being old enough to make such an important decision. Once we decided this was in my best interest (100% elimination of reproductive cancers and a 50% deduction in my risk for future breast cancer), we scheduled a date: May 31st.

The procedure itself went as well as could be expected. My pre-op nurses, my doctor, and my recovery nurses were amazing. But you see, there is one caregiver who stands out to me, and that is my CNA, Lizzy. As I was coming off of my anesthesia, I got sick a few times. My bladder also didn't want to wake up, so using the bathroom was not an easy chore. But my aide, Lizzy, never complained about cleaning up after me once I had gotten sick to my stomach, holding my gown shut, unhooking my machines, bringing me ice chips, or helping me get up from the toilet. Her concern the entire time was about me, my comfort level, and keeping me safe. To me, it seemed she was a seasoned veteran at her job, and it was not until the grogginess fully wore off that I realized she had graduated from my high school a few years ago. I was surprised at how comfortable I was with her taking care of me. As she helped me to the bathroom, I apologized for mooning her as she closed my gown. As she helped me adjust my heating pad, we discussed how my getting a belly button ring at nineteen really probably wasn't the smartest thing I had ever done (my parents were right - imagine that!). She was my nurse's aide - no longer a student or a kid in the hallway; I was her patient - no longer a teacher at that moment in time.  I was amazed at how quickly that transition occurred.

It made me think about how often I hear people say in regards to education funding, "They're going to take care of us someday, you know?" Naively I always thought of my parents as they are reaching retirement; not once did I apply that to myself. I am so thankful that this student had such an amazing education. I am so thankful that she was able to take care of me at a time that I could not take care of myself. This experience is just another reason why teachers do what we do each day. I truly believe these kids can change the world - be it through a public stance like politics or non-profit organizations, or privately through helping a woman in her hospital room who had just gone through major surgery. Lizzy made a difference in my recovery - my world became her world for a 12 hour shift, and I am so grateful for her. As educators, we must continue to develop curriculum and learning environments that will foster this type of success for students once they leave the four walls of our schools. They deserve it, and so do we.

And now - six more weeks of taking it easy. Good thing I've got some good books lined up to read...