Because what we do matters

EDITOR'S NOTE: This blog is very personal. It attempts to explain why my sister, Susanne, and I have created a special charity assortment of chocolates debuting this fall – the Anderson’s Candy Shop Give Back Box. For every one of these special assortments sold we will donate 25% of the proceeds to the Family Health Partnership Clinic of Woodstock, IL. Please read on for more information or visit www.andersonscandyshop.com

I wish I had known about the Family Health Partnership Clinic in 2006. If I had, maybe things would be different.

Six years ago this November, I found out that my mother, Ruth, had breast cancer.

I was 20 years old and home on Thanksgiving Break from Eastern Illinois University. I had come home early intent on surprising everyone. A happy surprise.

Upon sneaking into the house at about 3 a.m., I surprised mom first. She was on her way back to bed from a trip to the bathroom.

What happened next still seems like a dream to me -- unreal.

Even in the dark I could see that she was trying to hide something. And I was horrified when I realized that she was trying to block me from seeing that one of her breasts was triple it’s normal size.

There was a tumor.

She had hidden it well under her everyday clothes but the thin fabric of the nightgowns mom loved to wear could not hide the mass on her chest.

Shock and disbelief hit me first. Then horror, sadness, panic and anger.

Why had she not seen a doctor? How could she have let a likely cancerous growth get so large?

Then there was fear and tears. She might die.

My mother did not have health insurance or a job at that time. She let her condition escalate because she was afraid that if she was diagnosed with cancer before she had health insurance, she would not be able to afford treatment.

My sister, living at home at the time, was 18 years old and struggling to learn what she could to help our mom, but we were limited by our youth and naivety to the intricacies of health care policy and law.

Soon after I discovered mom's tumor, my Dad and his second wife, Tracy, helped my mom get approved for insurance through the State of Illinois. And, eventually, mom underwent a mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiation.

And she beat the cancer. For a while.

Three years later however, on a weekend trip home from my first job out of college, I had to convince mom once again to go to the hospital for treatment.

She had let her state insurance policy lapse because she could not afford to keep up with the payments. She also never got plugged in to a health care facility that helped her stay diligent with followup treatments.

In addition, she fell into a deep depression as one of the side effects of the radiation treatments.

The result -- the cancer was back and it was too late this time.

We learned shortly after mom was admitted to Centegra Hospital - McHenry, that the cancer had spread to her lymphatic system and metastasized her liver.

Five days later she was gone.

Ever since, Susanne and I, although surrounded by many loving and supportive people, have had to struggle with the pain and loss of someone whom we loved so much.

We have also wrestled since then with the thought that something as simple as knowing where clinics existed that helped the uninsured might have altered things; that having better knowledge of how the system works and what resources were available may have changed mom’s decisions and the outcome.

Two years after mom’s death and three years into my career as a journalist at daily newspapers, I thought I had gotten over most of those feelings of grief and regret.

I had written articles about all-consuming house fires, car accidents and other tragedies. But when I stumbled upon an assignment to write a piece about a volunteer at the Family Health Partnership Clinic of Woodstock, Illinois, I found myself suddenly very affected.

I learned about this place -- the clinic -- which provided consultations, medications and treatment to hundreds of McHenry County's uninsured. And I learned about the tireless volunteers there who care for the seemingly unending line of those who come seeking help.

After I interviewed my source,(Mary Lou was her name), I cried.

I cried because I was moved by her generous spirit. I shed tears for the hundreds of others who I imagined might be scared like my mother was. And I cried because I was so happy there were people there to help.

In her time on this earth, my mother taught my sister and I that what you do in this life matters.

And now as we now approach our third holiday season without her, Susanne and I find ourselves in a unique position to do something that we think would make her proud.

As October begins, we are closing in on our first year as full-time employees at the Candy Shop and now have control over several managerial aspects of the business. With that new freedom and power we have decided to create Anderson's first-ever charity-candy box.

Susanne and I have invented the Anderson's Candy Shop Give Back Box, a special chocolate assortment that we are going to sell this winter, in order to raise money for the Family Health Partnership Clinic.

By January, we hope to have raised some money to support the clinic and also hope to have raised awareness in the community to the clinic's cause. We want to help ensure that other families are aware of at least one local option for health care for the uninsured.

For more information about this project you can visit our website at www.andersonscandyshop.com.

Thank you for reading and have a happy and health rest of 2012.

Ribbons to remember, ribbons to raise awareness

EDITOR'S NOTE: At Anderson’s Candy Shop, we do special orders all of the time. Actually they are my favorite orders to fill. Bacon-bit dusted caramels, mango-flavored chocolates -- as a former journalist, I’m a sucker for a good story and these types of orders always come with good ones. One of the best stories this year took me by surprise. It did not come from a customer, really, but came from a young woman I work with at the candy shop nearly every day. Her's is the picture at the top of this blog and the following is, really, her story.

Just after Easter I took a phone call from our longtime customer and friend, Derrick Wolff. He is a firefighter/EMT with the Lake Geneva Fire Department and he needed chocolate “awareness ribbons” to sell as a fundraiser for his Walworth County Wisconsin Relay for Life team.

I took the order while making a batch of candy and then passed the project off to our chocolate-molding extraordinaire, Bethany Galla.

Beth is 21 and has worked at the candy shop for five years. She is fun, creative, attentive and cheerful, and I figured that she and Derrick would hit it off and the order would be relatively simple.

What I didn’t think about was that Beth is a cancer survivor herself. Because of this she felt inspired to take this order to another level.

On Friday, July 20, Wolff and his Relay for Life team will have 600 chocolate ribbons to sell -- about 400 of which are dyed and flavored to represent seven different kinds of cancers including green for kidney cancer, white for bone cancer, and gold for childhood cancers.

Over the years Beth has shared bits and pieces of her cancer story with our Candy Shop family and her survival story has given me immense respect for her strength and resilience.

Now I would like to share that story with you, our extended family.

I asked Beth last week to write some notes about her experience with cancer as a young child and the following is from what she wrote:

“Before I was a year old, noticeable bruises appeared under my eyes.

Doctors declared it food allergies and instructed my mother to remove solid foods from my diet and reintroduce them one by one.

This was not a good enough conclusion for my parents, however so my mother took me to get a second opinion from another doctor.

After a few more tests, I was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma.”

(In simple terms, the doctors had discovered a cancerous tumor. It was caused by abnormal nerve cell growth. Normally, these immature cells grow and mature into functioning nerve cells. But in Neuroblastoma, they become cancer instead. Early symptoms can include bone pain, difficulty breathing, pale skin and bluish color around the eyes, and loss of movement of the hips, legs or feet. This type of cancer usually occurs in infants and children and the cause is unknown. Eventually, Neuroblastoma can cause liver and kidney failure, decreased resistance to infection and organ failure. Beth’s symptoms did not surface until after her cancer had advanced.)

"The bruises and lethargy didn't manifest until the cancer had already spread to multiple organs in my body, including my liver, abdomen and bone tissue.

The cancer was in the fourth stage. I remember being in the hospital, though it is quite vague.

I remember I lost all my hair because of the chemotherapy. On top of the chemo treatments, I underwent radiation and finally surgery.

I have a huge scar on my abdomen as a constant reminder of my early childhood horror."

If you met Beth, you would never guess she went through trauma as a child. Even her voice is happy. But earlier this year when one of our dippers, Colleen Vineyard, organized her own Relay For Life team, Beth brought some of her old photos in to share.

In Beth's "before treatment" pictures there is a sad and sick looking little girl. In the "after" pictures is a child which resembles the bright and sweet person we all know and love today.

As I have watched Beth labor for more than 20 hours on the ribbon order during the past month -- carefully mixing the colored chocolates and pouring each mold, then wrapping her masterpieces and tying them with bows -- I am deeply touched by the love she has poured into each piece.

When a project is as personal as this one was to Beth it really shows, in the best way possible. Beth’s creations are as beautiful as she is.

For the past month, every time I have walked past the chocolate-molding room filled with Beth’s colored ribbons I have been struck with emotion. We all have our own stories.

I see the pink ribbons and my heart tugs as I am reminded of my mother who I lost to breast cancer in 2009. Sometimes I smile because the white ribbons remind me of the love of my grandpa, who suffered from bone cancer.

Always I am thankful for Beth.

“It is scarce these days that any family escapes the devastation that cancer springs upon them.

"It is so prevalent and we need to band together to raise awareness and continue campaigning for research of cancer treatments."

For me, Beth's passion for raising awareness to cancer has turned Derrick’s ribbons to something more than just chocolates. They have become sweet reminders of the resilience, dedication and strength possible in people and have made me feel extra proud to be working with a person like Beth.

***


If you have time, please consider taking a moment to support Derrick Wolff and his Relay for Life team by following this link: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY12MW?px=27674204&pg=personal&fr_id=39462