One thing I’ve learned (there are many, many things) from my brain tumor is that there really isn’t any room for my pride these days. I am constantly asking others for help.
It’s kind of a trend that started in early February when I was admitted to Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis, where I was diagnosed with a Grade II Astrocytoma (that’s medical jargon for a cancerous brain tumor) on my brain stem.
So you know I’m not kidding about setting aside my pride, here’s the kind of stuff I’ve been helped with so far:
In the ICU after my brain surgery, nurses wiped my nethers for me.
A physical therapist carried my pee bag while I walked for the first time post-surgery.
My husband drove me to the hospital every weekday for five weeks during my radiation treatments. He wheeled me to every treatment, lab, and doctor appointment while there. He made me food, fetched me clothes from the dresser, dressed my wounds, and helped me roll over in bed. The night I went to the ER (and before I was formally admitted and given a real hospital room) he slept by my side in a small, hard chair. He rested his head on a table like he was 16 and in study hall again. He used his computer bag as a pillow.
My brother and sister-in-law took our pets into their home for two months.
My parents let Dan and I essentially move in with them for two months.
My friends and family sent money for gas and dining, followed my progress and offered encouragement and support, mailed me cards, sent me gifts, hosted fundraisers, and so much more.
And here I am again. Asking for more help, but only in whatever way that you are able. A small donation if you’ve got it to spare. A like. A share. A tweet.
If you have already helped us, please know how deeply I appreciate it. This is not a second request. It’s just a more formal, organized way for me to accept financial help from those still asking how they can contribute.