Covered with Love, Inc. 501c3

been encountered by doctors at my local cancer center. Thankfully, I was led by my local oncologist, Dr. Blankstein, to a T cell lymphoma specialist, Dr. Steven Horwitz, at Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York City who had treated a number of patients with the same type of cancer and he designed an aggressive treatment plan for me. This was the beginning of a painful year-long battle which required intensive amounts of chemotherapy, radiation and a stem cell transplant. Needless to say, it was also the beginning of a scary, lonely and painful time that required extended periods laying in hospital beds. Comfort was a rare word in my vocabulary, at this time. After six months of week long chemotherapy sessions admitted to the hospital and 6 weeks of daily radiation, the final phase of my cancer treatment required an autologous stem cell transplant at Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York City. This was the most heart-wrenching, risky and essential part of my treatment and according to my doctor, the key to my ultimate healing. Due to the fact that stem cell transplants cause great immunity risks, this was going to be a long period of intense chemotherapy, blood transfusions, blood tests, pain, illness and isolation. Just after Thanksgiving, I hugged and kissed my 4, 6 and 9 year old sons goodbye, not knowing if and when I would hold them in my arms again. I felt like there was literally a whole punched in my heart. Thus began my very lonely hospital stay. I t was holiday time, but it didn't feel like the festive time of year I know and love. I was bald, nauseous, weak, attached to an IV pole 24/7, with a painful port in my chest, unable to leave my hospital room, and allowed very limited visitors. Those who made the long trek to NY to visit had to be completely healthy adult family members or close friends, who could visit for short periods of time while wearing a sterile gown, mask and gloves. I already felt so physically uncomfortable, and I couldn't even benefit from the loving touch of my own husband or mother, for fear of germs. As I lay there in my hospital bed one Sunday feeling quite hopeless, I had a thought that led to a phone call to my husband, Dan, at home. I had one request, I said "Dan, please go to the mall and get me a warm, comfortable blanket. One as soft as the boys' stuffed animals. I need something soft and cozy, so I can feel as good as possible." The very next day, I had my beautiful, plush blanket that my husband and sons had purchased for me the afternoon of my phone call. I was so grateful! That blanket was the sole source of my physical comfort for the duration of that hospital stay and continued to literally surround me for the many months that followed as I recovered at home. This was the beginning of this blanket's story. Jump ahead a few months, to June 2011, when I had mostly recovered from my cancer journey. With a grateful heart, I felt the need to do something to help others who were facing a battle similar to the one I had just endured. When I was ill, my family had received a hot meal eat night from friends we knew and others we had never met. So, I was inspired to pass along that precious gift of nourishment for families who had mothers battling cancer. This was how I met Sally. Sally was a local mom, who had adopted all three of her children and was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. As the months passed, I brought Sally's family a few meals and we became friends, bonded by cancer and our mothering hearts. One morning in early November, I received the tragic news that Sally's husband had unexpectedly passed away. Within days of burying her husband, Sally celebrated her 60th birthday. I felt compelled to bring this woman a birthday gift, but what do you give someone who is facing such horrible circumstances? Would anything really make a difference, at this point? So, I got my three boys off to school, hopped in the car and began the 45 minute drive to the mall. I knew just what to get her- The one gift that I knew from experience could give her some physical comfort. On Sally’s birthday, I delivered her the same plush blanket, in the same beautiful color, that I had been given almost one year prior. She loved her blanket. I believe it was a source of comfort from both physical and emotional pain. Sally even had her blanket, along with family and close friends surrounding her as she took her last breaths in the hospital just three weeks later. Before Sally died she asked if my husband and I would take her 12 year old daughter, Johanna, as our child. We, of course, felt honored, and accepted Sally’s request. Johanna became the eldest of our four children. She is a very loved member of our family and has her mommy’s blanket to give her continued comfort on cold or lonely nights. In the fall of 2013, I gave the gift of a third blanket to my friend Cathy, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Cathy and I had met 15 years ago when we taught first grade together, in Fairfax County, VA. I soon moved to NJ for my husband's job and she moved to Washington state for her husband's job. But cancer kept our lives intertwined, as she lived through her seven year old son’s battle with cancer, then I fought my battle with cancer, followed most recently by her own personal battle with breast cancer. When Cathy was diagnosed, I immediately flew out to attend doctor appointments with her, as they planned her mastectomy. During my visit, I gave Cathy a plush blanket. Neither I nor Cathy realized how necessary that blanket would soon become in her healing process and her comfort. Once Cathy returned home from her surgery, I received a photo of her under the comfort of her blanket, with a note from her husband saying it is the only blanket Cathy can stand the weight of on top of her healing wounds. Again, this same blanket was a great source of physical comfort in a time of great pain and suffering. The reason, I have taken the time to share this story with you, is because I have experienced what cancer can do to us as human beings and how it can make us feel. I also know that everyone of us already knows or soon will know someone who will face cancer in life. But, I also believe that together, through a small but very significant gesture, we can make a huge difference in the lives of others by giving them hope and a gift of physical comfort in a time of pain and despair. All it would take are some caring hearts and some very cozy, warm blankets!