November 15, 2014
As we enter the Thanksgiving season, I felt it would be appropriate to talk some about this special holiday – perhaps the only major holiday that has yet to be tainted by commercialism and consumerism. Somehow, Thanksgiving has managed to retain its innocence and its dignity, which is why it is my favorite of all holidays. It is what it claims to be – a time to reflect, to take note of all there is to be grateful for.
For me, this time of year always brings me back to November of 1983, when I spent almost the entire month at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, receiving treatment for a rare and potentially fatal blood disease, aplastic anemia. The treatment was highly experimental at the time. My doctor, who was head of hematology, said it had only been in existence for three years.
I was fed horse serum intravenously twice a day for eight days. Somehow, the horse serum was supposed to reactivate my bone marrow, so that it would once again produce new blood cells on its own.
The success rate was less than 50% at the time, but, long story short, it worked for me. I made a miraculous recovery. My blood counts were back to normal within two months. I was able to return to school, finish my senior year, compete on the track team.
Throughout my hospital stay, while dealing with the severe side effects of the treatment, I ran hurdles in my sleep, I ran hurdles in my dreams. The hunger to return to the track again, to run over hurdles again, kept alive my will to live.
I wept openly only one time during the three weeks I spent in the hospital. That was the morning after the treatment ended, when the realization hit me that it might not work, that I may never hurdle again.
I was released a couple days prior to Thanksgiving. I spent the holiday with my family. But as glad as I felt to be home, I missed my doctors and nurses. And I will forever miss my doctors and nurses. I will forever be grateful to them for taking care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself, for being present for me when I was too weak to be present for myself, for infusing me with their strength when I had no strength of my own.
Prior to entering the hospital, I couldn’t jog a lap around the track without needing to stop for a rest. That’s how sick I was. Three months later I was able to run three miles with a big finishing kick. A miracle. Every time I run it’s a miracle. Every time I jump over a hurdle, even if it’s a practice hurdle set at 27 inches, it’s a miracle. I’m not supposed to be alive right now.
For a long time, I felt guilty about the fact that I survived an illness that most patients never recover from. Many of the good deeds I’ve done throughout my life I’ve done as an attempt to justify my existence. But I realize now there is nothing to feel guilty about. Now, I feel grateful.
Gratitude is such a beautiful emotion. It is the most beautiful of emotions. The most pure.
When Thanksgiving rolls around I also think of my stepson Akil, who was born three months prematurely in April of 1985. My wife says he was so small she literally held him in the palm of her hand. For many years now he has suffered from ulcerative colitis, a chronic stomach ailment that prevents him from being able to hold down a job. But he’s here. It’s a miracle that he’s here.
Three years ago, my mom, who is now 85 years old, had open heart surgery. There was excessive internal bleeding after the initial surgery, so the doctors had to open her up again later the same night to stop the bleeding. Two surgeries in one day for an 82-year-old woman.
Visiting her room the next day, my siblings and I thought she was going to die. We regretted not discouraging her against going through with the procedure. But in the next few weeks and months, she gradually regained her strength. Her will to live was incredible to witness. And now, three years later, I’m so aware that every time I talk to her on the phone, it’s a miracle. Just hearing her voice … is a miracle.
A couple weeks ago, my daughter Sanura – a junior in high school – was inducted into the National Honor Society. The first person I told was my mom. And she was so proud….
These are a few of my stories. Everybody has stories. As brutally difficult as life can be sometimes, we all have reasons to be grateful. In track we tend to wait until something “big” happens before we feel grateful. When we finally qualify for states, or regionals, or nationals. When we finally win the gold medal. When “all the hard work pays off.” But Thanksgiving reminds us that we shouldn’t wait for something big to happen. Every ordinary, simple moment is big. Every time you step on that track to practice your skills is a miracle.
So, be grateful.
