April 6, 2012
Sometimes super heroes have capes. Sometimes super heroes have webs shoot from the palms of their hands. One thing that all heroes seem to have in common is perfect timing. They show up at just the right moment. The crucial minute that determines life or death. The moment that lives between despair and hope.
I had always hoped for a knight in shining armor. Someone to save me from my stupid mistakes, my poor decisions, my lack. A knight to come along with a bag of gold. Well, a bag of dollar bills, actually. To pay off my debts, buy me a house, a car, and a sewing machine. I like sewing.
A knight would fix everything that I had screwed up. Things that I now see weren’t ever really screwed up. It was just scenarios I had created by focusing on lack. Then, pulling on pity strings and waiting for that dang knight to show. I thought I was defeated. All of this pales in the shadow of a cancer diagnosis. A true wake up call. And of all times, I stopped wanting pity. No longer expecting a knight in shining armor. Probably when I need one the most. This was serious. I knew that I needed to make changes. But, occasionally, I’d still look up to see if a white knight was on the horizon. What I did not know is that I would get a hero.
And, that sometimes, a hero can be a hero even before he or she is born.
We just found out. It’s a boy. This baby boy who had the perfect timing of a true hero. Who stands on that thin thread between despair and hope, balancing like a practiced tight-rope walker, fists on hips, red cape bellowing in the wind. This little hero who puts a stiff arm up to the side of despair and takes my hand into hope. This little boy, yet to be born, has no idea what a true hero he is with just being.
Maybe we all are true heroes. If only we could just be. Just be. Nothing more. Just be who we are. Stop asking what do you want to be when you grow up. Start being. That’s enough. The people that I love the most, I love because of who they are, not because of what they have done. And, in this moment, I am finally realizing how this unborn child has already taught me this most important lesson. I hadn’t painted since high school. But, I wanted to paint a little hero series for him. Conceived at the most perfect time. He is a hero just by being born.
A perfect little hero.
I hope I can keep my mouth shut.
There is meaning behind each name. Chance, because it takes willingness and courage to take chances, to take risks and to not be afraid of failing. Failure is necessary and part of succeeding. The more you chance, the more chance you will no longer fear failure. The more chance you will succeed. Cassie picked the middle name of Chance for this reason. Justin picked Grayson for other reasons.
Justin is a life-long fan of Super Heroes. Particularly, Batman. And, Justin chose a name that is strong and meaningful. Grayson.
I looked it up in Wikipedia: “Richard John “Dick” Grayson is just a fictional character, a superhero in the DC Comics. He was the youngest in a family of acrobats known as the “Flying Graysons”. Dick watches the mafia boss kill his parents in order to extort money from the circus that employed them. Batman takes him in as his legal ward, and later, Dick becomes his partner~Robin. He is the one that Batman cares about the most.” So, there it is. A little hero is named. Grayson.
Grayson Chance. My own personal super hero.
Cassie decides we should prepare the nursery. For my birthday. Which, happens to be this Sunday. She wants me to paint a mural. I know exactly what I want to do for it. I’ll go up on the train at six thirty tomorrow morning. I just have to time the painting so I am done by Sunday. To be back by Monday so I don’t miss radiation. And chemo. The duo that is setting me on fire. I am watching Shirley Maclaine and Jack Lemmon on the lobby tv at the radiation center. This might be another day that I stay to watch the ending. A new, fun habit. I think I am the only patient to take their warm welcome to heart. Maybe wearing out the welcome mat a bit.
“Lori Rubino, cooooome oooooon dowwwwnnnnn!” It’s Emil. He’s on the intercom. There is a camera poised on the lobby. He sees me watching tv, sipping coffee from their paper cups. Once I slide my card upon arrival, my information scans into the system and let’s the techs in the back know I have arrived. Still, I like to go to the clipboard and also sign in. This way I can say hello to Sharrone at the front desk. Then, I wait to be called back.
Emil turns it into a game show.
After going to the small locker room, hanging my clothes and slipping into the hospital robe, I wait again on the little chair by the locker room. This is when Emil physically comes to get me. And, usually in some surprising way. Today, he is waving a sticky note in the entrance with a smiley face. My flag to “Go”. I walk in to the treatment room to see birthday signs hanging from the robot arm. “Happy Birthday Grandma Lori.” I hop onto the cold metal, the techs get my spongy thing, the ice-cold sponge pack to fit across the area we radiate. It intensifies the radiation to the area. There is no getting used to this part. I squeak every single time it hits my skin. Particularly now that the skin is burned. Today, Tiffany pauses before laying the sponge. They all come to take a look.
This burn is getting bad. Really really bad.
Emil wonders how many more they are going to be able to do. Dr. K is out so they call in one of the other doctors. I’ve never seen him. He tells me to go get Aquaphor. That’s all. We continue. We talk as we go through the routine. The, now, rote routine. I lay on the metal, someone puts the triangle pillow under my knees, someone else puts a warm blanket over my legs while someone else puts the cold sponge on me. Emil laughs at my reaction. Every time. They position things, check placements. I grab the handle bars and wiggle around several times. Always saying, “wait…wait..there…no…wait..okay….. now….yes…okay….oh crap….my nose…..wait….okay….now”. We carry on a conversation about each others lives all the while.
I think of how Momo would.
“So, how is Cassie?” Tiffany always asks. The memory of the pain of childbearing still so recent in her mind. She usually asks about the pregnancy. I tell them it’s a boy. Emil wants to know if they have a name for him yet?
“Grayson Chance.” Oh my God. It’s the first time anyone has asked and I didn’t even hesitate. Oh well. I figure they will never get to meet Cassie. So, they can’t try to influence her.
“Grayson?” Emil fiddles with the remote control adjusting my bed alignment with the red light lines across my body. “The Flying Graysons,” he says and nods with approval.
“You know about the Flying Graysons?” I am amazed.
“Well, duh.” That’s it. That’s his answer. “Grayson is a good name. A strong name. A little super hero.”
‘Oh, Emil’, I think, ‘you know it.’ He turns up my music, hits the lights and the switch to close the door. Last one out he laughs, “better than calling him Robin!”
I don’t even watch my handsome dance partner, the robot arm, this time as he works through the maneuvers of our dance number. As I usually do to make sure he doesn’t miss a beat. This time, I close my eyes and think about the nursery mural I am going to paint.
I think about how grateful I am for the little heroes in our world.