Wrapped in Love
Donation protected
My name is Eve I am currently a high school junior. I started a new organization called Wrapped in Love to better serve women undergoing chemotherapy treatment for various cancers. After spending some time with a family friend who recently underwent chemotherapy for breast cancer, I realized that there seemed to be an unserved need. She shared with me some of the challenges she faced during their treatment and recovery. Of course, one of the many things that helped her through the process was the kindness shown by others. For example, the gift of a shawl by a staff member to stay warm in the chemotherapy suite. I was moved by her story and started trying to think of ways to help others going through this very difficult treatment. I have learned in the last few months as I have been working to launch this project that any gesture of kindness could mean more than you imagined.
This Go Fund Me campaign was formed to raise money to buy head scarves for women to be included in the chemotherapy suite or to be given directly. All funds raised through this campaign will be used to purchase scarves for patients attending the chemotherapy suite at Norwalk Hospital in Norwalk, Connecticut The scarves are $25 each. Our goal is to raise enough money through this campaign to make a scarf available to any patient that needs one. The initial plan is to stock the suite with twenty scarves.
Attached is a personal anecdote written by our family friend who has shared her experience with us.
It was almost two dozen times. Almost two dozen times I had called my husband letting out a big sigh and saying breast cancer was not going to devastate our lives for at least another six months. Since my sister got breast cancer in her mid 40s, when I was in my late 30s, every six months I had either had a mammogram or an MRI. Almost two dozen times I had gone to the large waiting room and had felt terrified to be one of “those” women – the ones with the head coverings or wigs or were bald – the markers of chemo - there was such a range – from some who looked so ill, gray, fragile and forlorn to others who were loquacious and looked strong and as if they were taking the world by storm. But I was on the other side and scared to be on their side. This time I could not let out the sigh. This time I told my husband about the sonogram and biopsy after the mammogram. I wasn’t even sure whether I should tell him. How do you tell someone you love that our lives together were about to implode? Part of me did not even think I was talking about myself, but the other part sobbed – after I had gotten off the phone and passed through the waiting room and knew I was going to join the club no one wants to be a member of.
Long story short, thank goodness my sister is well a dozen years after her diagnosis. Thank goodness it has been almost one year since that mammogram and I am past surgery and chemotherapy and I am surprised by how well I am feeling. I know that it sounds cliché, but I look back on this year and it was often the “small” daily acts of others that made a difference in helping me keep my spirits up and in my recovery. I know others tried not to look at me differently, but I knew I was one of “those” women now. In many ways, losing my hair was less of a big deal to me than others around me. As I have often heard other women say it can feel the least of the issues, but it hurt to feel like I could not hide the big screaming “C” for cancer my head revealed and that no one looked at me quite the same. I splurged on a beautiful wig, but as I had heard others often felt, I found I did not like to wear it. It helped when I had a scarf or a cap that helped me to feel as if I could look less “ill” or maybe, something such as tie-dyed one, I could laugh about with others and tell some stories I might not have shared otherwise. I could not believe the outpouring from family and friends, but also from “strangers.” I was coached by my treatment team to learn to not feel guilty and just say “thank you” when people brought meals, or gave me a handmade crocheted shawl because the chemo suite can be chilly, or a special pack of helpful items to have in the hospital with a handwritten note.
When staring mortality in the face, experiencing warm, connected humanity is very moving. When Eve asked what she could do to help, I thought about the variety of head coverings I drew on and the many meanings they had during my journey. Wearing one that represents the kindness of a “stranger” would be deeply meaningful. Her efforts, and the ones of those who join her, will make more of a difference than might be imagined. -Breast Cancer Survivor in Year 1
This Go Fund Me campaign was formed to raise money to buy head scarves for women to be included in the chemotherapy suite or to be given directly. All funds raised through this campaign will be used to purchase scarves for patients attending the chemotherapy suite at Norwalk Hospital in Norwalk, Connecticut The scarves are $25 each. Our goal is to raise enough money through this campaign to make a scarf available to any patient that needs one. The initial plan is to stock the suite with twenty scarves.
Attached is a personal anecdote written by our family friend who has shared her experience with us.
It was almost two dozen times. Almost two dozen times I had called my husband letting out a big sigh and saying breast cancer was not going to devastate our lives for at least another six months. Since my sister got breast cancer in her mid 40s, when I was in my late 30s, every six months I had either had a mammogram or an MRI. Almost two dozen times I had gone to the large waiting room and had felt terrified to be one of “those” women – the ones with the head coverings or wigs or were bald – the markers of chemo - there was such a range – from some who looked so ill, gray, fragile and forlorn to others who were loquacious and looked strong and as if they were taking the world by storm. But I was on the other side and scared to be on their side. This time I could not let out the sigh. This time I told my husband about the sonogram and biopsy after the mammogram. I wasn’t even sure whether I should tell him. How do you tell someone you love that our lives together were about to implode? Part of me did not even think I was talking about myself, but the other part sobbed – after I had gotten off the phone and passed through the waiting room and knew I was going to join the club no one wants to be a member of.
Long story short, thank goodness my sister is well a dozen years after her diagnosis. Thank goodness it has been almost one year since that mammogram and I am past surgery and chemotherapy and I am surprised by how well I am feeling. I know that it sounds cliché, but I look back on this year and it was often the “small” daily acts of others that made a difference in helping me keep my spirits up and in my recovery. I know others tried not to look at me differently, but I knew I was one of “those” women now. In many ways, losing my hair was less of a big deal to me than others around me. As I have often heard other women say it can feel the least of the issues, but it hurt to feel like I could not hide the big screaming “C” for cancer my head revealed and that no one looked at me quite the same. I splurged on a beautiful wig, but as I had heard others often felt, I found I did not like to wear it. It helped when I had a scarf or a cap that helped me to feel as if I could look less “ill” or maybe, something such as tie-dyed one, I could laugh about with others and tell some stories I might not have shared otherwise. I could not believe the outpouring from family and friends, but also from “strangers.” I was coached by my treatment team to learn to not feel guilty and just say “thank you” when people brought meals, or gave me a handmade crocheted shawl because the chemo suite can be chilly, or a special pack of helpful items to have in the hospital with a handwritten note.
When staring mortality in the face, experiencing warm, connected humanity is very moving. When Eve asked what she could do to help, I thought about the variety of head coverings I drew on and the many meanings they had during my journey. Wearing one that represents the kindness of a “stranger” would be deeply meaningful. Her efforts, and the ones of those who join her, will make more of a difference than might be imagined. -Breast Cancer Survivor in Year 1
Organizer
Eve Korus
Organizer
Westport, CT
