A Moment of Kindness I’ll Never Forget During Cancer Treatment

As we celebrate World Cancer Support Month, I look back on a moment when I felt supported by a group of women, and one woman in particular, in an unexpected way. 

It was 2012. I was in the middle of my daily radiation treatments for breast cancer. The treatments were in the afternoon, at 4:00. But before I went to the hospital, I had to go to my son’s school to pick him up. He was only six, so I went in to meet him in his classroom. As I was walking there, I ran into one of his teachers, Mrs. Reed. She greeted me and said, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Is everything OK?” I asked. My son sometimes got in trouble, and I didn’t know if this was one of those times. 

“Yes. I just wanted to give you this.” She handed me a cornflower blue envelope. “Open it,” she said.

I did, and in it, I saw a beautiful get-well card. I don’t remember the verse on it, but I’m sure it was stunningly appropriate. Inside was a gift card to Bob Evans restaurant. Someone had written $80.00 on it with a black Sharpie.

“Oh, my goodness,” I said. “This is too much.”

“The teachers chipped in. We wanted to do something.”

“This is so nice,” I said.

“You can use it at the restaurant, or you can get family meals to carry out.”

“How thoughtful.” Then, I said something I won’t ever forget. I said, “This is just the vote of confidence I needed.” I had no idea what I meant when I said it, but just as I did, Mrs. Reed began to cry. I must have seemed pathetic to her. Wasn’t I the one who was supposed to be crying? Suddenly, she seemed eager to get away. She didn’t want me to see her weeping for me. Over the course of this moment, I remained calm and didn’t break down. But there she was, crying, sobbing now with her back toward me. The whole experience was surreal and unforgettable.

My husband, son and I went to Bob Evans that night. We ate homey food and relaxed a little because there was no cooking to do, nor were there dishes. The greatest side effect I experienced from the radiation treatments was fatigue, so this gift card was truly welcomed.

Other friends brought meals and/or gave us gift cards for food, but none of them wept like Mrs. Reed. She might have been a very sensitive person, or maybe I just seemed lost in a cancer fog; maybe my son had done something wrong that day, and that caused her great turmoil, so much so that she broke down.

I haven’t seen Mrs. Reed since. But I haven’t forgotten her. Nor have I forgotten the group of women, each of whom donated $10.00 to my cancer meal fund. There was something so special about a group of women coming together to support a mother of one of their kiddos (that’s what those teachers called their students).

My family made it out alive from my cancer. Cancer is a group thing. It affects every member of the family, and it affected my son’s circle of teachers as well.

Now, 13 years later, I want to say thank you to Mrs. Reed and the other teachers who gave us nourishment during my cancer days.

If Mrs. Reed is out there, I’m sorry I made you cry. There was no need to. I was stronger than you perceived, and so was my son.

You will always be a peach in my memory.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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