Compassion or Selfish; You decide
Clinging onto a selfish thread, I vowed not to ever let my personal life get out into the world until after my big debut. Two big things you know about me. You know I’ve finished the science fiction novel that I have been working on for five years. As I wait on others to finish their part, I have tried to remain obsolete in politics because I have been labeled selfish.
After crying on the shoulder of a busy man’s schedule, I promised him that I would no longer hide behind fear. Fear to express myself ending in a loss of fans. The congressman’s secretary encouraged me to put a face with a story. So here I am. I am praying you stand strong in compassion for others.
Here is the one fact you know that I will expand on. My son was three when he was diagnosed with A.L.L. Every day of my life, I remember the day he was diagnosed. As I write, my stomach burns, my throat constricts and acid churns in my belly. My hands shake as my palms sweat. My feet yearn to run to the bathroom as my body attempts to fluctuate with temporal anomalies.
Growing up, I found myself an adolescent with no adult to understand me. Being told, I was overreacting, It took a year or more to diagnose Endometriosis. Pain restricted me at times. There were times I bled for months. The doctor gave me an experimental drug call depro-lupron which was chemical induced menopause. You try having menopause at the ripe age of 16. Normal teenagers have a hard time connecting with their peers. I didn’t get along with anyone except adults and even then, they are restricted to be friends at that age. I was completely alone.
Jumping ahead through some college and a divorce, I married a man who still suffers because of my endometriosis. A week after a surgery on my cervix for precancerous cells, we traveled. My pads were mildly soaked and every time we stopped at a gas station, I ran to the bathroom to sit on the toilet and drop fistfuls of blood clots. I begged to go to the hospital. My husband thought I was an overreacting female until we arrived home. I wailed as I allowed the huge clots to drop in my pants on the steps. When hubby came and found me standing in the tub with huge clots under me, he rushed me to the hospital. There, they thought I was dying until they concluded from the blood tests that I was miscarrying. What? Miscarry a baby? I couldn’t get pregnant? After three days on bed rest in the hospital, I returned home with the miracle baby inside of me. Evidently, the baby was in the fallopian tubes during surgery. What a miracle! The cervix was trying to preform double duty; heal and prepare for birth. Considered high risk, I delivered a beautiful boy.
Three years later, we were in the minor emergency room begging for help. He had stopped standing, crawling, potty training, eating, drinking. The lady said she would draw a blood sample if it would make us leave her facility. After the blood came back as cancer, we went out into the parking lot and there, I heaved and miscarried a month old baby. I just wanted to throw up. All I wanted to do was morph into the pavement.
Through insurance and donations, we made it through cancer with mental and physical scars. My son would sit up in bed asleep, throw up and sleep. For three years during chemo, my life was numb. Ever hear your child beg to be taken away from the evil people holding him down and crying, “Save me. Save me!” I have. Have you held your flesh and blood down while the doctors do blood tests, bone marrow biopsis, and all sorts of procedures including shots in the leg every week for a year? I have. “Save me,” he said. “Why won’t you save me?” If I had had a choice, I would have gone with more herbal care, but with the state taking over, parents aren’t allowed to choose how to save their children.
When my son attended a cancer camp, he met children. Children who came from socialized medicine countries where they were denied care and treatment. They came here to America to be treated and cared for like my son. Unlike their government who got to decide who will and wont be treated. What about that young girl who was denied a lung?
Now, people are fighting for freedom. We are not fighting to kill people or let people have no care, we are fighting for the right to save someone else’s baby’s life.
I don’t want socialized medicine which will deny cancer treatment to the babies and adullts of the world. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to have socialised health care. Canada is trying to change into what America had, and the anti-rights peopole are trying to destroy freedom and change America into other countries. I want the freedom to save babies lives.
You can’t change stupid which is when you know the right way and choose to ignore it, but you can change ignorance. You were once ignorant of my story, and now, you know, the rest of the story.
My son had a wish granted by those who specialize in wishes for cancer children. Did you know, there are no organizations to grant wishes to the parents or siblings. We suffer from stress, hate, anger, fatique, and post traumatic stress just like everyone else. One thing we do learn, it’s to fight a seemingless endless battle. I have damaged my dream which would have granted my other children their wishes. My one wish that I have worked for. I have worked hard to get my science fiction novel out there. No one else gave me my wish. I had to work for it. My dream is crashing now because I have shared my political view. I… I cannot sacrifice someone else’s baby at the expense of my book. It’s just a book. It wont save a life. It wont save a baby. A miracle child. A child that was gifted to someone else. I cannot be so selfish to not share my story and stop the insanity of socialized medicine. Here is my new wish.
Here is my gift to you, mother of a cancer victim. Here is your wish granted. The health of your child in a free market for medicine.
Go. Stand strong. Stand strong for the babies who can’t have cancer treatment in socialized medicine. Give them the opportunity my son had. A free market in medicine.
Keep your change. I’ll keep my compassion.
Your loving servant,