The OMG I Need to Help Tip #7

The OMG (oh my God) I Need to Help Tuesday Tip
© 2009

Starting today, every Tuesday I will post a tip on how you can help someone you love and who is in need. During this journey I discovered that help comes in many alternative ways, beyond bringing a meal.

If you want 24 more tips now, go to http://www.cancercrisistips.com/ and sign up and receive a list of 25 of the most helpful things people did for us!

All gestures of kindness are worthy, it's just that some are more helpful than others!
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TIP # 7

Take their car to have an oil change.
Both times when Art was sick, maintaining our daily lives was impossible, including keeping the car maintained...which was really low on my priority list! A neighbor called and asked "When was the last time you had your oil checked?" I couldn't answer him. He showed up the next day, took the key from its hiding place and returned the car later fully serviced!

It's funny but I didn't realize until it was done that the worry of the car had been on my mind!

Why the neighbor did it.
I am good with cars. I wanted to help. It was something I could offer and if she didn't need it then, I knew she'd need it later. We live in LA. Our cars are our way of getting around. All I could think of is what if it breaks down while she is driving Art to the cancer center!

Tip For Getting the Person To Let You Help
Remind them that this is not necessarily about them. Use humor! "I just thought what can I do today to make myself feel good about me? Will you help me do that?"

Art was the world's best speller. All errors are to give him something to do while he looks over my shoulder, laughing!

Have a googlem aim or yahoo account? Become a follower please (to the right). It will help when I approach literary agents!

© 2009 Kim Hamer

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June 29, 2009

I am a pheonix rising...

Daily I find the strength and pleasure in living this new life.

I do not discover it alone.

The words of friends and readers, the cards, the anomyous massge gift certificates all push me up and out of the ashes.

They say
You are brave.
You are amazing.
Be weak...we still love you.
Go easy, Kim, go easy.

Reminding me that in the deepest darkest hole, I have people pulling, tugging, digging in with prayers and hope and words and actions and love and....and....and...

The wisdom of the whole is greater than the wisdom of one

THANK GOD!!

Your words are sometimes the only thing that gets me through a day. Today, they make me laugh.

I am back in this moment.

I am back.

Thank you friends.
Thank you readers.
Thank you self.

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March 26, 2009

Yesterday, I was afraid of Art.

He had a PetScan.

We arrive

and wait

for wheel chair transport, compliments of the Cancer Center, to take us to the imaging Mark Taper Imaging Center.

At Taper Imaging,

we wait…

and fill in paperwork.

We move to the you-are-responsible-to-pay-for-uncovered-costs-associated-with-this-procedure-sign-here window.

We move to the waiting room with the TV that no one is watching

And wait.

We are led to a small, muted yellow toned room where they remove, from a lead lined cylinder, radioactive material. The nurse injects it into his just-put-in-for this-procedure IV line.

We are led to a purple waiting room with semi-comfortable chairs where…

he moves from the wheel chair to the semi comfortable chair.

I wait for him and

we wait

for an hour.

They come for him.

The nurse we know. She is sad to see him again, looking unhealthy.

We wait

for Art to get back into the wheel chair. He and the nurse leave.

Art waits in a tube that takes pictures of him, six inches at a time.

I wait in the purple room.

He and the nurse return.

Three hours have passed since we have arrived.

We wait for the elevator to go to the cafeteria.

He waits…

at a table while I get lunch.

We go to the cancer center to have his picc line cleaned.

He waits.

I wait

and worry. He is looking uncomfortable and is telling me he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

I insist we wait.

He insists we go home.

I debate. Infected Picc line? Clogged Picc line means new picc line on Tuesday or worse another hospital stay.

He starts to get mad.

I hold my ground.

I offer my lap, where he can lay his head and sleep.

He sleeps.

I wait.

Nurse comes.

She waits while I rouse him.

He sits up, he gets his bearings

The nurse leaves. I wait 20 minutes before he can move to the wheelchair.


I wheel him into the Picc line cleaning room.

We wait for the nurse.

He gets weighed. 160lbs!!!!!

We wait for the nurse.

He gets mad.

“I’m not waiting.” he says.

“We need to leave!” he says.

I ignore him.

I try to find the nurse.

“We need to do labs on him.” She says.

“I am waiting for doctor’s orders.” She says

He raises his voice to me.

“I’m not staying. We need to leave…now.”

I think “Who the hell do you think you are?”

He raises his voice to the nurse, “I am not waiting for labs.” He blusters.

I leave the room.

And I see that I am afraid.

Afraid of his anger, afraid of what it says about me. I take on its message, believing that it speaks the truth.

"Unworthy."

it says.

"Not good enough!"

it screams.

Later,

I am either brave enough to look at it

Or too exhausted to care.

Either way, I know, the anger was lying.

I am good enough.

I am worthy too.

The cancer has made that clear.

And so has he.

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