A slice of (lawnmowing) life.
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A stuffed dog helps a boy endure cancer treatments.
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On to South Africa on our tour of medical experiences around the world.
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Our world tour continues with this experience from Canada.
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However, I did not like my hands to look like that and my inquisitive nature pushed me looked up the Merck Manual of Medicine when back at home. To my complete bewilderment I was sent to the chapter Lung Disease, CANCER!
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One Sunday afternoon, my 22-year-old daughter Teresa made an unscheduled trip to the E.R. with a very strange—and potentially dangerous—sign of brain injury.
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We don't really know what triggered it; it might have been a comfy, multi-colored bean-bag chair my Grandmother gave me, but it could just as well have been any particular environmental allergen or even simply an errant blast of cold, holiday air.
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“Rheumatoid Arthritis!” I groaned. He had to be kidding, arthritis was for old folks. I was young, too young, just starting to live and raise my baby girl.
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It has been thirteen years, this month, since my husband lost his battle with cancer. The battle lasted only nine months. The loss, for our family, continues.
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I have a ringing in my ears. It’s the sound I hear when there is no sound.
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It all began rather innocently; at least that’s how I saw it in my befuddled brain. I had a blister on my foot which, for some reason, was taking its own sweet time healing.
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I doubt there's anyone who, at one time or another, hasn't thought about how nice it might be to not have to work and simply lead of life of leisure.
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Coming from a relatively close knit family, I didn’t want to cause unnecessary stress to my parents and siblings, and thus foolishly tolerated the pain through sleepless nights.
And then it got really bad.
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I had blamed these worrisome symptoms on my super jock husband who had dragged me over miles of hot sandy beaches and some death defying hikes along the cliffs of the Na Pali Coast.
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If I bottled it now I would have to settle for a double J Cup size for ever and if I lived to be 80, then I would have to carry this huge weight up and down the stairs for another ten years.
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Then in a few months my chest would be split open to take out the Thymus gland I no longer needed. Leaving a scar running from the hollow of my throat, down the valley of my breasts like a zipper. I was weak, scared, and in pain but most of all I was...
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I always felt that news of my pregnancy made her feel bad about her own child. I would be keeping my child, she could not. I received congratulations, she had received scorn.
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Sometimes in life, it's either laugh or cry, and you might as well make the best of it....
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