I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma when I was 12 years old. During my three years of treatment, my family and I saw the doctors in their private offices at the hospital on Friday afternoons for outpatient visits. However, once per treatment cycle I received chemotherapy every day of the week. And on Thursdays, the doctors only saw patients in the public outpatient clinic.
It was on those Thursdays when we saw that ours was not the greatest hardship. Not only did some of these families deal with the same fears and physical issues that we did, but they also did so while under significant financial distress. Many of these children, already sick from their cancer and their chemotherapy, would return to apartments without air conditioning and without healthy food.
My mother (Moppie) reacted by volunteering her time at the clinic long past the day when we were told that I was cured. There she heard and repeated many of the stories of these families. And I resolved to myself that if I was ever fortunate enough to have the means to help the families of childhood cancer patients, I would try to do so.