Gifts bring cheer to women undergoing cancer treatment at Portland ...

The women who find themselves within this room deep inside a Northeast Portland hospital cling to anything offering a bit of hope. Doctors, drugs and treatments play a role.
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But so, too, does a simple story.
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When a woman arrives at Transitions,? a Providence Portland Medical Center program where women deal with cancer's aftermath, she often feels alone. As a way to reassure her, someone in Transitions often tells the story of the chemo fairy as a gentle reminder that many women have also made this journey and she is part of a sisterhood.
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The word "fairy" implies a bit of fiction and it's true that over time the particulars surrounding the story grew foggy. But that never mattered because the meaning was always clear.
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Last summer, Renee Koch,? the Transitions coordinator had finished telling the story when a woman who'd recently volunteered to work in Transitions walked up to Koch to say she'd overheard the tale.
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And then she identified herself to Koch as the chemo fairy.
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"At that point," Koch recalled, "chills ran up my spine."
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***
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"This journey can be so tough. But you are tougher! You have the strength within to make it through this."
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***
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Just before her 60th birthday Kathy McKenzie? learned she had an aggressive breast cancer that required eight chemo sessions. She was the first in her circle to receive such news, and her friends weren't sure what to say or do. McKenzie felt isolated and consumed with grim thoughts. When McKenzie, who lives in Welches, arrived for her first treatment at Providence, a receptionist handed her flowers and a card. Inside the card, in tidy writing, were words of encouragement ? but no signature.
She assumed it was from a friend needing emotional distance to speak of this disease and of McKenzie's will to live. When she returned home she called her friends to see who'd been so kind. None claimed the card.
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Eight days later, it became clear she was in a brutal fight to survive. Chemicals attacked her body. She fainted and felt as if she were burning from the inside out. When she returned for the second session, she was exhausted and scared. Once again, she was handed a card: "Sending prayers and positive thoughts to you as you begin this healing journey. Be strong."
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She began crying.
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At each appointment she received a card with a message: "Stay faithful." "Thinking of you today. "You are not alone in this."
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She studied the handwriting with the intensity of a detective looking for clues.
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"The underpinnings of my life were taken away," she said. "All I could think about was death. These cards told me I was strong, and I started to believe it. In the midst of treatment, when I felt so isolated, someone put an arm around me and told me I could do it. I sensed the cards came from a woman who had done it, too."
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On the last visit, McKenzie received a final card: "Congratulations. You did it."
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She was upset there was no signature so she could thank this stranger.
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***
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Where it began is impossible to trace. That makes it all the more beautiful. It just was, is and will be. But once upon a time a woman somewhere did something kind to a stranger, who later did the same to another stranger. On and on, until one day a domino fell in Welches, a small community along U.S. 26 on the way to Mount Hood.
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McKenzie's husband, Wally,? is a dentist in town and she worked for him as a hygienist. One of their patients ? a woman named Maggie Yamnitsky ? heard about McKenzie's diagnosis through the small-town grapevine: Her sister attends the same church as do the McKenzies and members had been talking about the terrible news.
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"I knew who Kathy was," Yamnitsky said. "But we weren't friends and didn't know each other."
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Years earlier, when Yamnitsky was diagnosed and treated for breast cancer in Portland in her 40s, she'd been the recipient of anonymous cards left in the treatment center.
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"I was scared, but at each appointment, I'd find a card waiting for me," she said. "I wasn't alone. Those cards got me through hard times."
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When Yamnitsky arrived for her last appointment, there was no card. Disappointed, she went inside for treatment. When she emerged, she was greeted with a card and flowers.
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"It was a woman my husband knew through work," Yamnitsky said. "She'd been through cancer, and someone had left cards for her. She wasn't my friend. If you'd said her name, I wouldn't have been able to place her face. But what she did for me was impossible to describe. There was no way I could ever say thank you."
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But, of course, there was.
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It takes a team to pull off something like this because hospitals and doctors are prohibited from releasing patient information. Yamnitsky's sister contacted Wally McKenzie and told him what was going on. He sent her emails telling her what day and time he'd be taking his wife to Providence for her treatment.
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"I was sworn to secrecy," said Wally McKenzie. "I saw how intimate and important this was for my wife."
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At the time Yamnitsky was living in Gresham. She'd take a card to the receptionist ? she was in on it, too ? and leave. When McKenzie's treatment ended, Yamnitsky had to find a way to reveal herself, and decided it would be at a party at her sister's house. Her sister's husband contacted Wally McKenzie and they created a plan to have the couple drop by, saying some people they knew would be there. Kathy McKenzie, still feeling the effects of the chemo, didn't feel like going. Her husband told her they'd stay just a few minutes.
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"I walked in and I was given a plate of cookies," she said. "On top was a card. I recognized the handwriting."
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Hugs all around.
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"Everyone cried," she said. "Even the men."
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***
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Not too long ago Kathy McKenzie heard through a friend about a woman who had been diagnosed with breast cancer. McKenzie had never met the woman and knew nothing about her. McKenzie's friend said the woman had moved to the area from the South, didn't know many people and had no family in the area. There's nothing, her friend said, anyone can do for her.
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McKenzie knew otherwise.
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And so it goes.

--Tom Hallman Jr.

Source: http://www.oregonlive.com/portland/index.ssf/2011/12/providence_portland_medical_ce_1.html

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