I planned to spend Thanksgiving helping out at a soup kitchen. Instead I found myself eating in one.
EARLY THAT NOVEMBER back in 1977, I eagerly signed up to dish out Thanksgiving turkey and all the trimmings to the folks who frequented the City Mission in my West Virginia town. Helping others gave me such purpose and peace. It was why I’d become a nurse.
Then my mother was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer and was referred to The Cleveland Clinic. A radical mastectomy was scheduled for the week before Thanksgiving. “It would mean a lot if you came with us,” my father said. “With you being a nurse and all, it would make us feel easier.” I gave my apologies at the mission.
The surgery went well. Afterwards I did everything I could to keep Mom’s spirits high and speed her recovery. I assisted her with arm exercises and made certain she ate everything on her tray, just like she made me finish my plate when I was a girl. Early Thanksgiving morning, the surgical team made their rounds. “You’ve made excellent progress,” Mom’s doctor told her. “I’m discharging you to have your turkey dinner elsewhere.”
この記事は Angels on Earth の November - December 2016 版に掲載されています。
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この記事は Angels on Earth の November - December 2016 版に掲載されています。
7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、9,000 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。
すでに購読者です? サインイン
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