My grandparents are visiting this weekend and because I am letting others contribute to this blog I offered an invitation to past to my grandpa and he gladly accepted. 

Dixie and I (Gma and Gpa) arrived here Sunday afternoon eventually finding Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Parking Area “A” after exploring some rather depressed parts of greater Cincinnati.  After checking in with hospital security and passing as legitimate relatives of Katie’s we proceeded up to her room on the 5^th floor.

After a few hours of chit chat with the whole Voytek family Katie asked me if I wanted to write an entry to her web page. I agreed. What follows is uncensored:

If you want a very different perspective on life and your place in it spend some time in the halls of a children’s cancer hospital. It will be one of the most humbling experiences of your life.

Cancer is the most democratic of diseases. It makes no distinction between gender, age, skin color, economic status, religious beliefs, sexual orientation, ethnicity, or anything else that our human species typically uses to discriminate with – and cause varying degrees of unhappiness on this earth. Cancer just doesn’t care about any of these distinctions. It is a “fairly dispensed unhappiness” disease.

In the few days that I have been here I have already seen people from all over the planet. This was confirmed by a doctor we met who proudly proclaimed that Cincinnati Children’s Hospital has such a reputation that it draws patients worldwide. Cancer has no concern about ethnicity or skin color. Cancer cares little about where you’re from or how much money you have. It’s indiscriminate as the lottery, only with better odds (if you’re cancer).

It would great if only after you reached a certain age would you be a candidate for cancer. Maybe at 60 you have a 1 in 50 chance to get cancer, at 70 it goes up to 1 in 25, at 80 it’s 1 in 10, and at 90 or more it’s 1 in 5. That seems fair and reasonable and even gives a 90 year old a decent chance of not getting cancer.

But the reality I see as I walk the public areas of this great hospital is that cancer could care less about your age. Little kids who couldn’t be over 6 to 8 years old aren’t supposed to be bald, but here they are. And it breaks my heart every time I see one. I try to remember their faces so I can include them in my prayers. I really don’t want to know their names. That would just be too hard to handle.

Sitting back and watching, observing, listening, two things dominate here. They stand out above everything else. They are something shared by patients, parents, loved ones, and most of the staff. One is an overwhelming feeling of hope. Everyone is marinated in hope. Seldom have I seen a frown here. Unfortunately some will be disappointed. For some hope will become a past memory.

The other dominate emotion I see and feel here is optimism. Optimism is the precursor to hope. In the same family, but less desperate. There’s a lot of optimism here. It is alive here and unavoidable wherever you go. It’s on display by patients, parents, loved ones, and especially the staff who are unbelievably kind and considerate.

Is Katie in good hands given the democratic “luck of the draw” she was dealt by this disease? Yes, very much so. I have never, ever seen an organization this size be so well run. So friendly. So professional. So intellectually superior. So externally driven by those they serve. To the person Cincinnati Children’s Hospital is all about the patient. Although I don’t usually hang out at hospitals gauging how well they do or don’t do in addressing patient’s needs and making sure they are informed and reassured, this hospital would surely be the poster boy for all others.

Will Katie beat this cancer? Absolutely. No question. Reports are good, the staff awesome, and Katie’s attitude unfaltering. It will be a struggle, but Katie will prevail. Of that I am certain.

Well, I see the big hand is on 12 and the little hand on 5. Time for me to sign off for now. Thanks Katie for allowing me this digital soap box to stand on and orate. Thanks for your love. Thanks for the experience of Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. And most of all thanks for being you.

Peace and Love and Fuck Cancer.