Evidently, the phlebotomist got the boxing memo

What you see in this photo is the post-blood draw wrap from my annual oncologist check-up. If you think it looks a lot like a boxer’s hand wrap, well, so do I. After 15 years of needles, I find it curious that the first time I’m given this bandage—instead of the ubiquitous cotton ball and tape—it happens to be a just few months before my Fight For Charity boxing event. And, no, they weren’t aware I was boxing.

Except those who have known me for a while (or read my Blog, of course), most are not aware that I am a cancer survivor. It’s just not something I often share, nor is it something that comes up easily in casual conversation.

About 15 years ago I went through an approximately 6-month odyssey of chemotherapy and radiation treatment to combat Hodgkins Lymphoma. The trek was riddled with tests upon tests and needles upon needles, among other unpleasantries, but the outcome was a success—thank God! The emotional trauma, however, has remained part of my life for nearly every day since. By my rough calculations, that’s somewhere around 5,500 nightmare memories… and counting. <sigh>

It was while having my blood drawn before meeting with the doctor that I realized I have been doing this for fifteen years already—I couldn’t believe it. As time goes on, the visits become less frequent—now only annually—but the eerie visions are [still] as fresh in my mind as they were when I first experienced them. Despite my best efforts, recollections of fear, pain, nausea, and sadness consumed my thoughts. Holding back the tears and staying composed became a significant challenge. As is the case, now, as I write this blog post.

Sitting next to me was an older gentleman having his blood drawn. Out of nowhere, he said to his nurse, “did you ever wonder why they swab with alcohol before giving a lethal injection?” And, just at the moment I needed it: comic relief. The room filled with chuckles and I began to gather my composure.

I then had a bittersweet memory. I remembered how blessed I felt, back during my treatments, to be going through this experience in my mid-20s. At each doctor visit I was constantly surrounded by [mostly] older and less [physically] able folks going through the same thing I was. You can usually tell who’s in “the club” by the similar hair do and knit beanie caps. I used to remind myself that I was fortunate to have youth on my side as that was an advantage to getting through this tough time. It was very upsetting to me to see the older warriors fight this fight. It was only worse when I was alongside children.

To know me is to know a very optimistic and positive personality. I’m blessed to have a matching positive outlook and can-do demeanor. Upsetting thoughts aside, I can see many good takeaways from this experience—as well as many other experiences in my life. I can see how easy dwelling on the sad, unfortunately core of this particular experience can be but, conversely, how equally effortless it is to focus on the positive outcome. Sometimes, though tough, it’s as simple as making a choice—allowing yourself to think positively or to think negatively.

To button up these thoughts in a way that relates to boxing or, more accurately, my involvement with this charity boxing event… it’s simple: When I’m asked how I can get into a ring and fight, it’s my cache of triumphant experiences [such as these] that I can draw upon to remind myself that I’ve been through worse and conquered tougher. Sometimes, you just have to remind yourself.