I know there are stages of grief, but there doesn’t seem to be the luxury of time around the denial. After the shock of the news that my local oncology support program was closing, I landed largely on anger. How could this be happening if the Herbert H. and Sofia P. Reuner Cancer Support House was, as I understood it, a GIFT? What became of all the donations and gala funds raised over the years? As a non-profit organization, surely there must be an accurate accounting of each and every donation, and each expense line item? Where did it all go?
A house by definition is a physical structure. To more accurately name what we are losing is a HOME. I’d like to better understand what the issues are with the house, and how the decision was made to just sell it rather than make repairs. To make matters worse, the lack of transparency and communication around the changes to the program were worsened by how sudden they were thrust on us. In this time of chainsaw bureaucracy, and the gutting of hundreds of millions of dollars of NIH cancer research funds, this felt like another cruel and dehumanizing blow.
Over the years I have been both a member and a peer facilitator of the Younger Women’s Support Group, a Nurturing Neighbor, and a workshop facilitator. I went on to become a certified life coach and some of my most rewarding work has been the time spent with other cancer survivors. But my first encounter with the Reuner Oncology Support house was probably like it was for many of our members. I came in and began sobbing uncontrollably. I could barely talk and thought for sure I was going to die and leave my 4 year old son without a mother. I had just lost my employer based health insurance and it took months to get insurance and a new care team assembled. The stress of it all was debilitating. The founder of the OSP, Barbara Sarah, happened to be at the house that day, and she offered to come with me to meet my oncologist for the first time. This was 11 years ago and I wish I could say that I have put the trauma of cancer behind me. The OSP, my cancer support family home, has been a special touchstone. It was where I sought refuge when I was about to undergo another surgery to have my ovaries removed and facing sudden menopause. This was where I turned after having painful complications with my breast implants, and the group helped me work out my feelings before my explant surgery. It was here where I found comfort when my mom was diagnosed with cancer 3 years ago, and most recently where I sought community after my thyroid cancer diagnosis. While everything else in my life can feel unpredictable and outside of my control, the OSP has been a constant, a home to return to.
I know the plan for the new program is still shifting and shaping, but I really hope that Westchester Medical Center (the parent organization that oversees our local hospitals), seeks our input because it matters, not simply out of avoiding public scrutiny. Going into a hospital or any medical environment, with the fluorescent lights and clinical smells… even the reference to the “infusion center” down the hall makes my heart race and sends me into survival mode. Change is a natural part of life, but why can’t we keep our home at 80 Mary’s Avenue?
Melissa's Healing Hope 