So I attended National Cancer Survivor Day at Cook County Hospital
Back in September 8, 2014, two days after my fifth chemo, my mom and I attended the National Cancer Survivor Day celebration at Cook County Hospital. The event is supposed to be a celebration for those who made it through the chemo and other procedures, and a way to give hope to people who are still going through it.
I didn't write anything about it at the time because, well, I didn't have much to add to what my mom wrote (see previous link). Well, that and the fact that, while the celebration was certainly uplifting, I spent it under the pall of knowing that I still had ways to go before I could consider myself a survivor. And I kept wondering whether (a) I would be able to eat anything and (b) whether I would wind up throwing it back out (Yes, and no, thankfully). So, while it was a nice event, I wanted to go back when I was cancer-free.
I missed it in 2015. I didn't know that National Cancer Survivors Day is supposed to be celebrated on the first Sunday of June. I have no idea why Cook County Hospital celebrated it in September in 2014, but in 2015, they did it when they were supposed to. And nobody told me - in large part because I was coming in for check-ups once every three months instead of once every three weeks. I would have missed it this year, too, if my most recent check-up didn't fall on June 2. My doctor asked me if I would be attending the June 5 event, and I said that nobody told me about it, pretty much shoved that RSVP information in my hands.
My mom had plans that she couldn't cancel on such short notice, so I went alone. (In retrospect, there are some people i could've invited, but given how short-notice it was, they probably couldn't have made it either).
The overall schedule wasn't that much different from 2014. Survivors and patients got goodie bags and some food (the red stuff is watermelon slices)
Over to the right of the stage area, several cancer support groups set up booths, and there was a table worth of raffle prices. Interestingly, those support groups specifically aimed at patients who are currently going through treatment.
There are plenty of tables further back, but most people sat in the chairs closer to the podium.
Everyone had to sign media releases on the way in. I was kind of expecting a large media presence, but all i saw was one Fox Chicago news camera.
The event began with an invocation. As Brienda Crosby-Avenheart, the celebrations MC, noted, Cook County hospital's patients and doctors are a very ethnically diverse bunch, so it's traditional for different faiths to handle invocation each year. This year, Dr. Ankit Magla read from Hindu holy texts.
And Dr Nic Agarwal, Mangla's wife, sang a "Spiritual song." No idea what it was, but it sounded lovely.
After a moment of silence to remember all those who succumbed to cancer, Toni Preckwinckle, the president of Cook County Board of Commissioners (and de facto county head) addressed the crowd.
In 2014, my mom was surprised when she saw her walking around before the ceremony started, but to me, it made a lot of sense. The Cook County health system is one of the county's biggest expenses. And, as we would later found out, Preckwinkle lost family members to cancer.
Then, we had one of the several musical acts as Tridia Baker performed for the survivors...
...Who were encouraged to get up a dance - and many of them did
After Cook County Health System CEO Jay Shannon spoke, Manuel Cervantes and the Marichi Nuevo Mexicanismo serenaded the survivors.
And some of the doctors who made up the hospital's National Cancer Survivors Day Celebration Committee wound up dancing along.
The woman in a blue blazer is Dr. Rosalind Catchatorian. I have always assumed that she was the head of hematology & encology clinic, but now that I tried to double-check it, I can't find any confirmation. But that should tell you what kind of doctor she is. There isn't a patient that walked through the doors of Clinic H she didn't interact with at some point, and every doctor and nurse I ran across deferred to her.
When I got a think on my chest (that turned out to be a simple infection made worse by my chemo-compromised immune system) she was the one who fast-tracked me to an enchology appointment so I could get some skin samples taken that very same day. And she was the one who made a decision to put me on antibiotics when I had to get chemo two days later even before the samples came back. If it was an infection, she didn't want to take chances. And when my mom and I went to the 2014 cancer survivor day event, she was the one who reassured my mom not to worry, because everything was under control.
After that, we had several speakers, and several more musical acts. Illinois State Representative Marcus Evans (D-33) and WVON radio station host Art "Chat Daddy" Sims gave emotional testimonials. Both men had cancer, and both were successfully treated at Cook County Hospital.
"When Dr. Catchatorian tells you to be here, you better be here," said Evans, to some scattered laughter from the audience.
Oh, and in between speakers, Crosby-Averhart announced raffle prizes. I entered this raffle, but I didn't expect anything to come out of it. In my 19 years in these United States, I never won a single raffle price. So imagine my shock when she actually called out the number of my ticket.
I won a portable digital camera - similar to the one I took all the pictures with. At first, I figured I would keep my price just in case I ever needed to replace it. But the woman who manned the raffle price table noticed me taking pictures and ever-so-sweetly and politely asked me if I would like to get another price - an Android tablet - instead.
To be honest, if the camera had better specks then my current one, I would have just kept it. But I noticed that the specks were mostly the same and, in some case, worse. Which is when it occurred to me that a camera would be a better price for a person who never had one. So I traded it.
What? You know what to expect from this Livejournal. I try to tell you the truth, even when it's not terribly flattering.
Then, we had a "world music" dance break, where everybody could go up and dance.
That was the only picture I got, because, after that, I danced right along with them. Because, even if I'm not a very good dancer, I survived six months of chemo, damn it.
Speaking of surviving... After the dancing was over, it was time for the testimonials. Survivors were invited to come up to the front and tell their stories. Last time around, my mom had to catch a train back to the burbs, so we left mid-way through, but since it wasn't an issue this time, I stuck around.
(For the record, my mom did say I could stay, but I decided to leave with her. It just didn't feel right not to walk her to the train terminal)
Everybody was supposed to say no more then two sentences. Some people did. Some stretched out their two sentences to almost Russian-like lengths, and some simply ignored the limit altogether. Me, I stuck to the rules, and while what came out of my mouth wasn't quite as elegant as what I had in my head, I didn't make a fool out of myself, either.
AS the testimonials ended, everyone was invited to give ourselves a big round of applause.
After that, the SARAH gospel group - which was made up of doctors - arrived to perform.
And then the celebration came to the roaring conclusion. Survivors were invited to walk under a balloon arch along the red carpet. Cameras flashed and everyone cheered them on as they passed through.
After they walked to the podium, everyone was invited to get cake
And their Survivor Rose
Here's mine
Later, I would call my mom, asking how the hell I'm supposed to take care of a rose. She told me that I should just cut a bit off the stem, cut off the leaves and put it in the water, occasionally changing it.
"Let's see how long it will last," my mom said, which sounded oh so reassuring. And, in fairness, her skepticism was kind of justified. It's pretty much wilted now - at least the top part - even though I changed water and everything.
But that unfortunate detail aside... I liked the event. I certainly enjoyed it a lot more without the seven more chemos and the uncertainly over whether any of them would work hanging over my head.
But it would have been better if I could enjoy it with someone. My mom. vladiatorr. tweelore. annanov, if I could somehow get her to visit for a day. randirogue, if the whole her living on the East Coast thing wasn't an issue. I would have to choose one, but any one of them would have been great company.
Oh well. There is always next year. And this time, we'll know what date to look for.
Unless they decide to move the date to September again.
I didn't write anything about it at the time because, well, I didn't have much to add to what my mom wrote (see previous link). Well, that and the fact that, while the celebration was certainly uplifting, I spent it under the pall of knowing that I still had ways to go before I could consider myself a survivor. And I kept wondering whether (a) I would be able to eat anything and (b) whether I would wind up throwing it back out (Yes, and no, thankfully). So, while it was a nice event, I wanted to go back when I was cancer-free.
I missed it in 2015. I didn't know that National Cancer Survivors Day is supposed to be celebrated on the first Sunday of June. I have no idea why Cook County Hospital celebrated it in September in 2014, but in 2015, they did it when they were supposed to. And nobody told me - in large part because I was coming in for check-ups once every three months instead of once every three weeks. I would have missed it this year, too, if my most recent check-up didn't fall on June 2. My doctor asked me if I would be attending the June 5 event, and I said that nobody told me about it, pretty much shoved that RSVP information in my hands.
My mom had plans that she couldn't cancel on such short notice, so I went alone. (In retrospect, there are some people i could've invited, but given how short-notice it was, they probably couldn't have made it either).
The overall schedule wasn't that much different from 2014. Survivors and patients got goodie bags and some food (the red stuff is watermelon slices)
Over to the right of the stage area, several cancer support groups set up booths, and there was a table worth of raffle prices. Interestingly, those support groups specifically aimed at patients who are currently going through treatment.
There are plenty of tables further back, but most people sat in the chairs closer to the podium.
Everyone had to sign media releases on the way in. I was kind of expecting a large media presence, but all i saw was one Fox Chicago news camera.
The event began with an invocation. As Brienda Crosby-Avenheart, the celebrations MC, noted, Cook County hospital's patients and doctors are a very ethnically diverse bunch, so it's traditional for different faiths to handle invocation each year. This year, Dr. Ankit Magla read from Hindu holy texts.
And Dr Nic Agarwal, Mangla's wife, sang a "Spiritual song." No idea what it was, but it sounded lovely.
Click to viewAfter a moment of silence to remember all those who succumbed to cancer, Toni Preckwinckle, the president of Cook County Board of Commissioners (and de facto county head) addressed the crowd.
In 2014, my mom was surprised when she saw her walking around before the ceremony started, but to me, it made a lot of sense. The Cook County health system is one of the county's biggest expenses. And, as we would later found out, Preckwinkle lost family members to cancer.
Then, we had one of the several musical acts as Tridia Baker performed for the survivors...
...Who were encouraged to get up a dance - and many of them did
After Cook County Health System CEO Jay Shannon spoke, Manuel Cervantes and the Marichi Nuevo Mexicanismo serenaded the survivors.
And some of the doctors who made up the hospital's National Cancer Survivors Day Celebration Committee wound up dancing along.
The woman in a blue blazer is Dr. Rosalind Catchatorian. I have always assumed that she was the head of hematology & encology clinic, but now that I tried to double-check it, I can't find any confirmation. But that should tell you what kind of doctor she is. There isn't a patient that walked through the doors of Clinic H she didn't interact with at some point, and every doctor and nurse I ran across deferred to her.
When I got a think on my chest (that turned out to be a simple infection made worse by my chemo-compromised immune system) she was the one who fast-tracked me to an enchology appointment so I could get some skin samples taken that very same day. And she was the one who made a decision to put me on antibiotics when I had to get chemo two days later even before the samples came back. If it was an infection, she didn't want to take chances. And when my mom and I went to the 2014 cancer survivor day event, she was the one who reassured my mom not to worry, because everything was under control.
After that, we had several speakers, and several more musical acts. Illinois State Representative Marcus Evans (D-33) and WVON radio station host Art "Chat Daddy" Sims gave emotional testimonials. Both men had cancer, and both were successfully treated at Cook County Hospital.
"When Dr. Catchatorian tells you to be here, you better be here," said Evans, to some scattered laughter from the audience.
Oh, and in between speakers, Crosby-Averhart announced raffle prizes. I entered this raffle, but I didn't expect anything to come out of it. In my 19 years in these United States, I never won a single raffle price. So imagine my shock when she actually called out the number of my ticket.
I won a portable digital camera - similar to the one I took all the pictures with. At first, I figured I would keep my price just in case I ever needed to replace it. But the woman who manned the raffle price table noticed me taking pictures and ever-so-sweetly and politely asked me if I would like to get another price - an Android tablet - instead.
To be honest, if the camera had better specks then my current one, I would have just kept it. But I noticed that the specks were mostly the same and, in some case, worse. Which is when it occurred to me that a camera would be a better price for a person who never had one. So I traded it.
What? You know what to expect from this Livejournal. I try to tell you the truth, even when it's not terribly flattering.
Then, we had a "world music" dance break, where everybody could go up and dance.
That was the only picture I got, because, after that, I danced right along with them. Because, even if I'm not a very good dancer, I survived six months of chemo, damn it.
Speaking of surviving... After the dancing was over, it was time for the testimonials. Survivors were invited to come up to the front and tell their stories. Last time around, my mom had to catch a train back to the burbs, so we left mid-way through, but since it wasn't an issue this time, I stuck around.
(For the record, my mom did say I could stay, but I decided to leave with her. It just didn't feel right not to walk her to the train terminal)
Everybody was supposed to say no more then two sentences. Some people did. Some stretched out their two sentences to almost Russian-like lengths, and some simply ignored the limit altogether. Me, I stuck to the rules, and while what came out of my mouth wasn't quite as elegant as what I had in my head, I didn't make a fool out of myself, either.
AS the testimonials ended, everyone was invited to give ourselves a big round of applause.
After that, the SARAH gospel group - which was made up of doctors - arrived to perform.
And then the celebration came to the roaring conclusion. Survivors were invited to walk under a balloon arch along the red carpet. Cameras flashed and everyone cheered them on as they passed through.
After they walked to the podium, everyone was invited to get cake
And their Survivor Rose
Here's mine
Later, I would call my mom, asking how the hell I'm supposed to take care of a rose. She told me that I should just cut a bit off the stem, cut off the leaves and put it in the water, occasionally changing it.
"Let's see how long it will last," my mom said, which sounded oh so reassuring. And, in fairness, her skepticism was kind of justified. It's pretty much wilted now - at least the top part - even though I changed water and everything.
But that unfortunate detail aside... I liked the event. I certainly enjoyed it a lot more without the seven more chemos and the uncertainly over whether any of them would work hanging over my head.
But it would have been better if I could enjoy it with someone. My mom. vladiatorr. tweelore. annanov, if I could somehow get her to visit for a day. randirogue, if the whole her living on the East Coast thing wasn't an issue. I would have to choose one, but any one of them would have been great company.
Oh well. There is always next year. And this time, we'll know what date to look for.
Unless they decide to move the date to September again.