Seeking gratitude in the hard times

"My blessing was, it attacked my eyes." My friend tells me this from her recliner in the Hematology Department at the Cleveland Clinic while we're sipping coffee and she's hooked up to an IV of chemo drugs to kill the terrorists in her blood. Every few months this is her routine: She comes in for treatments, six hours at a time, her veins filling up with liquids promising death — and life — to her body's cells. She considers herself lucky. It's not cancer she is fighting off but her own body, gone haywire somewhere along the way, a very rare autoimmune disorder that showed up attacking her eyes — an even rarer characteristic of this niche illness. I think it tells you all you need to know about her, to know that she considers that a blessing. The condition often hides itself in many ways, and the way she is — stubborn, a hard worker, the type to ignore her own aches and pains to meet everyone else's demands — she knows she would have ignored the signs of a growing problem problem in her body had her illness advanced by breaking down her organs, the disorder's usual insidious way of attacking its host. Usually, by the time it's diagnosed, it's advanced to that stage. Her case was found quicker because of noticeable lumps under her eyelids and vision changes. "I was blessed it hit me in my eyes first. Could you imagine if it was in my body before they found out what it was and I got treated?" she says. She will be on chemo the rest of her life to wipe out the cells that malfunction and "act like ISIS, not knowing any better and trying to attack every other cell and kill them." That's how her doctor explained it to her, and it's an analogy that makes sense to her. She is grateful. She chats up her nurses and thanks everyone lavishly, even desk staff, for their assistance. She packs a bag of snacks and a cushy seat pillow for the friend that accompanies her. On the way home she stops to pick up dinner for her husband and elderly parents. Two weeks ago, she hosted her cousin's family, a young woman married to an Air Force pilot who was recently diagnosed with a rare form of cancer that typically presents in childhood, and their children. Typical of her, she threw herself into preparing every food each family member, even the children, loved. Within days she hosted her daughter-in-law and grandson from Australia, decorating the house for every season — Christmas, Easter, Halloween — to cram in all the holidays on their visit home. "I want them to feel loved," she says. "People should feel pampered and special. I killed myself doing it, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat." My sister's birthday was two weeks ago. She celebrated by having her five siblings and assorted spouses over for dinner she cooked herself. She started to tear up when she told us how grateful she was just to still be alive, to be with us. Those words come with a lifetime of weight behind them. A Type 1 diabetic since she was 13, she received an organ transplant in 2010 that saved her life. A brain-attacking infection came close to taking her last year. She carries gratitude with her like others carry mints, the first thing she offers up. My writer friend told me about being at her friend's house when a dog showed up. This friend, she explained, rescues pit bulls. I have a soft spot for all people that defend anyone or anything that is in need of defense, and her story got me: This dog arrived "beat up and stitched up and scared to death" and was first rescued by a teen boy far away, on Long Island. The boy found this dog being beaten by a man and stood up to him. The man said "Fine, you take the stupid thing," and so the boy did. Four long legs of car trips later across various states and this terrified, rejected and hurt dog ended up at her friend's house. Soon after she received a video of the dog, wearing a little sweater and running around her friend's yard in the snow, "so damn happy," my friend said. It took about 20 people to get that dog to where it could just rest and heal and be loved. The world might be on fire right now — but there are still good people out there trying to do good, she pointed out. I thanked her for that story and filed it away in my own secondhand gratitude file. Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. What's not to like about a pie-centric day focused on an overindulgence of carbs? But it's been a challenging year for so many. In this home, we started the year with the loss of loved ones, including my mother. I started carrying a small pink journal with me, a deliberate attempt to suss out reasons to be thankful amidst my sorrow. I collected stories of others' examples of gratitude as well, borrowing their thankfulness when mine wasn't enough. Intentional gratitude is a talisman, a prayer, a ward against greed. You are in there. So many times, you are in there. Happy Thanksgiving. Contact Chronicle-Telegram columnist Rini Jeffers at rinijeffers@gmail.com.