Crybaby
Despite my bouts of cynicism, I'm really a giant, hypersensitive sap (as my leadership coach put it when I was off the charts on my J -- judging -- characteristic on my personality test, I'm a "J with a heart.").
I was already on edge because of all of the terrible stories I hear and read coming out of New Orleans and the surrounding area this week, and it's all just so tragic. I was crying on the way home from work, listening to people who'd been separated from their families, hoping against hope that they'd manage to find each other in Texas, or from people who hadn't eaten in days saying they were fine, as long as they could somehow find milk or formula for their baby.
And then I got home, saw the Smelmooo in the driveway as he headed out to a dinner meeting the minute I arrived home (I tell you, ships passing in the night, we are sometimes), and settled in to watch Ellen. I gotta say, I love Ellen, and being able to catch her show is one of my favorite things about our new DVR.
So I watched an interview (and a dance-off! such a great show!) with Vince Vaughan, and then Ellen brought out this kid, David, and his parents; the show was taped on David's 10th birthday, and he was there because his doctors said he'd never live to age 10, because he had this incredibly aggressive form of cancer that caused a grapefruit-size tumor to develop in his head and throat.
So anyway, he made it, obviously, but they talked about how David decided that, to fight the tumor most effectively, he would call it Frank, short for Frankenstein, the monster he most feared when he was younger. And David and his parents settled on a "kill Frank" approach to battling cancer, and they found this incredible surgeon who'd developed a new approach to surgery that would allow him to remove the tumor through David's nose, rather than by essentially "removing his face like a hockey mask."
First, I started bawling at the "Kill Frank" thing, because it was just brave and sweet and scared all at the same time. I had always thought I was so smart and special for banishing my allergies to Canada when I was a kid (and it worked. I know there's lots of research about how one's attitude affects their health and recovery, but I wonder if there's specifically been work done in this area, with kids who just get angry at what's making them sick, and make a concerted, feverish effort to banish or kill it), but geez, Killing Frank is a whole different universe.
So anyway, after the family told the story, Ellen surprised them by bringing out the surgeon, and David's eyes got huge, and his mouth dropped open like Pac-Man, and he bolted out of his seat and ran over to the doctor and threw his arms around him with more force and enthusiasm and gratitude and unabashed love than I've ever seen. More tears.
And then, Ellen gave the family round-trip tickets to some amusement park in Ohio, and David looked like she'd given him the sun and the moon and the stars; and then, to top it all off, she brought out Kiss, his favorite band, who brought out a cake and high-fived him and stuff (I was on the edge of my seat wondering whether David would hug Gene Simmons like he hugged the doctor, but it was handshakes and high-fives all around. I guess even at 10 you sort of get that you don't hug Kiss). And Ellen pointed out how the members of Kiss all flew in on their own dime, and didn't ask for anything, just wanted to be there, and not-Gene-Simmons of Kiss said how honored he was to be there to celebrate David's birthday with him.
Sobbing. Sobbing. Sobbing.
And then, during the commercials, is the public service announcement about post-partum depression, which is so well done, I think. It's probably just a Jersey thing, because our acting first lady went through it and is very involved in the issue (so THERE, stupid Tom Cruise, who by the way has been blessedly, but puzzlingly quiet since the release of War of the Worlds. Hmmm.). It basically shows parents of newborns being approached by well-intentioned friends or co-workers, "So how's it going with the new baby?" and then the parent responds that she (or his wife, in the other version) is really struggling, and isn't as interested in the baby as they'd expected, and sometimes she's resentful and cries for no reason, etc., and then there's a shift, and you realize that all of it took place in the parent's mind, and they just smile and say "Great. Couldn't be better." And it's just so awful to watch and to know how much people struggle.
I think it's time to start using the other blessed DVR feature of the fast-forward button, at least for today.
I was already on edge because of all of the terrible stories I hear and read coming out of New Orleans and the surrounding area this week, and it's all just so tragic. I was crying on the way home from work, listening to people who'd been separated from their families, hoping against hope that they'd manage to find each other in Texas, or from people who hadn't eaten in days saying they were fine, as long as they could somehow find milk or formula for their baby.
And then I got home, saw the Smelmooo in the driveway as he headed out to a dinner meeting the minute I arrived home (I tell you, ships passing in the night, we are sometimes), and settled in to watch Ellen. I gotta say, I love Ellen, and being able to catch her show is one of my favorite things about our new DVR.
So I watched an interview (and a dance-off! such a great show!) with Vince Vaughan, and then Ellen brought out this kid, David, and his parents; the show was taped on David's 10th birthday, and he was there because his doctors said he'd never live to age 10, because he had this incredibly aggressive form of cancer that caused a grapefruit-size tumor to develop in his head and throat.
So anyway, he made it, obviously, but they talked about how David decided that, to fight the tumor most effectively, he would call it Frank, short for Frankenstein, the monster he most feared when he was younger. And David and his parents settled on a "kill Frank" approach to battling cancer, and they found this incredible surgeon who'd developed a new approach to surgery that would allow him to remove the tumor through David's nose, rather than by essentially "removing his face like a hockey mask."
First, I started bawling at the "Kill Frank" thing, because it was just brave and sweet and scared all at the same time. I had always thought I was so smart and special for banishing my allergies to Canada when I was a kid (and it worked. I know there's lots of research about how one's attitude affects their health and recovery, but I wonder if there's specifically been work done in this area, with kids who just get angry at what's making them sick, and make a concerted, feverish effort to banish or kill it), but geez, Killing Frank is a whole different universe.
So anyway, after the family told the story, Ellen surprised them by bringing out the surgeon, and David's eyes got huge, and his mouth dropped open like Pac-Man, and he bolted out of his seat and ran over to the doctor and threw his arms around him with more force and enthusiasm and gratitude and unabashed love than I've ever seen. More tears.
And then, Ellen gave the family round-trip tickets to some amusement park in Ohio, and David looked like she'd given him the sun and the moon and the stars; and then, to top it all off, she brought out Kiss, his favorite band, who brought out a cake and high-fived him and stuff (I was on the edge of my seat wondering whether David would hug Gene Simmons like he hugged the doctor, but it was handshakes and high-fives all around. I guess even at 10 you sort of get that you don't hug Kiss). And Ellen pointed out how the members of Kiss all flew in on their own dime, and didn't ask for anything, just wanted to be there, and not-Gene-Simmons of Kiss said how honored he was to be there to celebrate David's birthday with him.
Sobbing. Sobbing. Sobbing.
And then, during the commercials, is the public service announcement about post-partum depression, which is so well done, I think. It's probably just a Jersey thing, because our acting first lady went through it and is very involved in the issue (so THERE, stupid Tom Cruise, who by the way has been blessedly, but puzzlingly quiet since the release of War of the Worlds. Hmmm.). It basically shows parents of newborns being approached by well-intentioned friends or co-workers, "So how's it going with the new baby?" and then the parent responds that she (or his wife, in the other version) is really struggling, and isn't as interested in the baby as they'd expected, and sometimes she's resentful and cries for no reason, etc., and then there's a shift, and you realize that all of it took place in the parent's mind, and they just smile and say "Great. Couldn't be better." And it's just so awful to watch and to know how much people struggle.
I think it's time to start using the other blessed DVR feature of the fast-forward button, at least for today.
1 Comments:
For as much as I'm having LOTS of torn feelings regarding New Orleans, I've found my heart just aching lately. You realize that sometimes you can't do nearly as much as your heart would like you to do for people.
By
Jenn, at 8:48 PM
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