[Credit: Iron Gate Motor Condos]I’m not a car person.
Yes, I have had a favorite car in my life, I can recognize an expensive one when I see it, and I did the popular momentary cringe over our first mini van before wholeheartedly embracing the extra space — but I’m not a car person.
Until last week, that is…
For last week I stood on a red carpet and watched line after line of shiny, beautiful, cars I could not identify pull to a stop and load children with cancer into their perfect interiors, revving their engines and taking off with their tiny, precious cargo screaming joyfully – many of whom barely cleared the windowsills to see their route.
[Credit: Iron Gate Motor Condos]And then the organizers were on their radios, talking excitedly that “they were about a minute out” as a line of nearly 30 beautiful cars snaked up the long drive, all with “Ultimate Road Rally” magnets affixed to their doors and many with “We Rally for Sami” on their windshields – an homage to a dear brother, violently gone far too soon.
[Credit: Iron Gate Motor Condos]The rally drivers then joined the other drivers, each taking one child into the passenger seat and the child, eagerly clutching a rally map, helped the drivers earn more points before returning to the drop off. It’s hard to describe the beauty of drivers and organizers setting aside walking devices, helping parents adjust children out of wheelchairs, and then as the children exited the cars, their smiles were huge, their arms were laden with gifts, and I saw softness, joy, and even tears in the eyes of these tough drivers with their breath-taking cars. And how I wish you could see what I saw.
[Credit: Iron Gate Motor Condos]But perhaps my favorite memory of that day was the two brothers in the shiny black…I want to say a Mustang, but like I told you, I’m not a car person…can we just leave it that it was shiny and black and absolutely gorgeous?... Anyway, the two brothers, took two of my darling boy brothers out for a spin, as as they returned, I could see the tops of Aid and Chase’s heads and hear their laughter and joy. No doors opened to exit the boys, but one of their escorts simply stuck his head out the window with a giant grin and said; “They want to go again.” And with that, the car leapt forward with a roar out of the drive and I could hear Aidan laughing and Chase screaming “Go faster! I feel like I’m going to throw up! This is AWESOME!!”
And all those drivers? Well, besides giving my kids one of the best afternoons of their entire lives, they raised $30,000 for Cal’s Angels.
And me? Well, I’ll never see those beautiful cars the same way again. That day changed me a little. Now, even though I still can’t identify what I’m looking at on the outside, I see so much heart on the inside and it blesses me.
“I know Sami would have wanted us to do something special. We couldn’t save his life, but there were lots of kids’ and their families’ lives that we touched.” – Omar Salaymeh, Marketing Consultant at Chicago Motor Cars, Founder of Ultimate Road Rally, and Sami’s dear brother
**With gratitude to Cal’s Angels, Omar Salaymeh, Ultimate Road Rally, Iron Gate Motor Condos, and all the amazing drivers and workers who made this wonderful day possible**
At the time I started writing this post, Chase had completed 17 of his 30 radiation treatments. He has now completed 22! These radiation days can be pretty intense and it’s not unusual to start the day in one location (usually home) and end the day in a completely different location (the hospital). So as you can imagine, these days are never, ever dull. [sidenote: “Chase” and “dull” are rarely in the same sentence]
Here’s what a normal radiation day looks like … no wait, scratch that. Here’s what a radiation day last week looked like (we reserve the word “normal” for the days we don’t arrive in an ambulance).
Chase arrives for radiation on the hospital transport. The mask is to hopefully minimize the germs…when he remembers to hold it in front of his face.
There is a beautiful built-in fireplace which runs the length of the waiting room wall (picture a lovely five start hotel lobby) and Chase loves it. In fact, he refers to the radiation center as his “firehospital” – not to be confused with his “fishyhospital” (a name derived from the aquarium in the lobby of his primary care hospital).
First, Chase gets his vitals done (blood pressure, oxygen saturation, etc) – which he hates – and then he gets to put a sticker on his sticker chart – which he loves. The radiation center staff kindly provided a sticker chart tailored to each child so that they can “check off” the days and see the progress they’re making. Chase’s chart was presented to him with Cars characters on it. Do they know him or what?
Here’s the sticker chart from around Day #6…Chasey with his radiation nurse, Roshena. He loves his “Miss Roshena” and I believe he’s actually proposing to her with a plastic ring he found in the sticker box. So classy.
After he’s “cleared” for radiation, we walk to the room he calls his “spaceship“. This is the time when he’s usually clutching the iPod and listening to/singing with 10,000 Reasons. I wish I had better pictures of this room. One of the most striking things is his mask lying by the table. I can actually see his profile in the contours of the mask and I find myself staring at it every time we go in.
The radiation maskIn the “Spaceship” – the anesthesiologist administers the drug as Chase falls asleep on my shoulder (sorry about the blurry quality – this was as good as we could get)
Almost every day, as Chase falls asleep, he says “I’m so brave, I’m so brave...” over and over to himself. It took me almost two weeks of this to get to the point where I wasn’t crying as I walked out of the room.
After Chase is asleep, I leave him in the “spaceship” and wait in the lobby. On this particular day, I had a particularly wonderful “Good Samaritan” who brought me a particularly needed drink. In other words, my dad brought me coffee.
Thanks, Dad!
After radiation is complete, the nurses allow Chase to sleep off the anesthesia for a little while, at which time, I join him in recovery and once they’re sure he’s stable and alert, we are free to go. Sidenote: for Chase, “alert” usually means “ninja“. A side affect of anesthesia for him is crabbiness – which means it takes three people to get him dressed on many days. A sidenote on my sidenote: when you read that last sentence, please don’t shake your head or cry at the thought of adults struggling with a small boy. Picture with a small, wry smile on my face as I type because I love his fight and although it is at times overwhelming, his stubborn, ninja-fighting, never-say-die attitude is a perfect God-given match for his cancer.
This day (that I took most of the pictures), we finished it as we’d started: on an ambulance. Once he got back to the hospital, he was given a little more chemo and then we were able to be discharged!
Back in the ambulance bay and sleeping off the morning – head shining with post-radiation lotion.
…and that is one of our more average radiation days! (ambulance and chemo not included)
![[Credit: Iron Gate Motor Condos]](https://i0.wp.com/www.chaseawaycancer.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/13422241_1047235062022769_6491619367526789309_o-732x1024.jpg?resize=732%2C1024)
![[Credit: Iron Gate Motor Condos]](https://i0.wp.com/www.chaseawaycancer.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/13403949_1045987322147543_5877547215634708944_o-1024x732.jpg?resize=760%2C543)
![[Credit: Iron Gate Motor Condos]](https://i0.wp.com/www.chaseawaycancer.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/13422296_1047233905356218_1258784345025060391_o-1024x732.jpg?resize=760%2C543)
