An Angel on My Shoulder. Theresa Cheung

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      Vanilla Ice Cream

      I hardly know where or how to begin this story. It’s been such a long road with so many twists and turns.

      For many years I had a charmed life. I was born into a loving family. We weren’t millionaires, but we had plenty of money. I was popular at school and head girl in my last year. I got into the college of my choice and it wasn’t much of a struggle getting a job I loved or finding and falling in love with the right man. I was also fit and healthy and apart from the odd bout of ’flu had never been really ill. Like most people, I never thought about my mortality seriously. I felt invincible. By the time I was 34 years old, my job was great and my husband supportive and loving and I was the mother of a beautiful healthy three-year-old boy called Riley. Little did I know that my reality was about to change as abruptly as if I had crashed into a brick wall while travelling at 90 miles an hour.

      When Riley was born I had had a minor scare when some of my breast milk ducts had blocked, but an inspection had given me the all-clear. I remember my doctor telling me to continue to inspect my breasts regularly and I said I would but I didn’t. I didn’t think that 30 year olds could get breast cancer and besides there wasn’t a history of it in my family. But then few years later I noticed a soreness and lumpiness on the underside of my left breast. After reluctantly agreeing to a mammogram, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

      When I left my doctor’s office after the diagnosis my legs felt weak. My husband was holding my hand, but I had never felt so alone or so abandoned. I was convinced that I was going to die. We drove home in silence, punctuated only by the sounds of our sobs. When I arrived home, Riley greeted me with his usual enthusiasm. I picked him up and crushed him to me with tears streaming down my face. He struggled to free his hands and then started to wipe the tears from my face. ‘Don’t worry, Mama,’ he said, ‘the vanilla ice-cream lady says you’ll be fine. You’re ill, but you’ve got to fight.’

      I hugged my son again and put him down, flashing an angry look at my au pair, as I had expressly asked her not to tell Riley that I was going to the doctor or to give him ice cream. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders and silently mouthed, ‘I haven’t said anything,’ to me. But Riley was still chuckling and talking about the vanilla ice-cream lady. Even though my heart was crying, I found myself smiling at his babbling and asked who the vanilla-cone lady was. My son laughed and pointed behind me and told me she was there right behind me. I looked behind me and there was no one there. My son was obviously going through an imaginary friend stage. I hugged him tightly, but he kept on pointing behind me and saying the vanilla-cone lady was watching and she wanted me to fight. I thought he was talking nonsense, but as I hugged him I felt lighter. My son had told me to fight and that word echoed around my head. I felt a bolt of energy, like electricity, surge through me. Other people had beaten cancer – why couldn’t I? I had a family to care for, a child to raise and a life to live. From that moment on I began an all-out war which would last nearly three years and include a modified radical mastectomy, chemotherapy and even a bone-marrow transplant.

      Through all this, friends and family flocked to our side. It’s amazing how people respond when others are in need and I learned much about the innate goodness of people and how essential sharing love is to the human experience. Slowly I began to feel hope, and this hope gave me strength. The possibility of miracles and the wonder of life became everyday ideas to me. I began to question my thought patterns more. I pondered why I thought it was more realistic to expect a negative outcome than a positive one. I made the decision to opt for the positive and this was one of the most important factors in my well-being.

      I was weak from chemotherapy the night an angel lifted me in its arms. At that time not only did I require a wheelchair to go from place to place, but the rest of the time I was confined to bed. I had spent seven weeks in isolation in hospital while doctors tried to figure out how to treat my blood counts, which had dropped dangerously low and seemed insistent upon remaining there. One night – it must have been about 11 p.m. as the nurse had done her final rounds for the night – I lay there feeling weak, sick and tired. I tried to grasp onto some hope, but it slipped through my fingers. I felt as though I had reached the end of the road. A part of me hoped that when I went to sleep I wouldn’t wake up. Yes, I was a fighter, but every good fighter knows when they are beaten. I closed my eyes and tried to swallow, but there wasn’t even enough saliva in my throat to let me do that.

      I closed my eyes harder and saw Riley’s smiling face. The pain of not being able to see him grow up was so intense I could feel vomit burning in my throat. And then, with the image of my son still in my mind, the scent of vanilla ice cream filled the air. I suddenly felt warmth and the pain that wracked my body disappeared. Then I felt a pair of arms lift me gently and suddenly I was floating a few inches from my bed. I saw many bright colours, a white star and an exquisite white light. I also saw an intensely beautiful violet light – a violet I had never seen before. I felt invisible hands stroking my forehead. I didn’t see or hear anything, but I sensed the presence of love and joy. It felt as though there was a party going on all around me. I wanted to get up and join in the fun. My heart opened wide with an intense surge of hope. It was an enchantingly beautiful experience. The only other time in my life that I can remember feeling a little like this was immediately after I had given birth to my son.

      All too soon I heard the voice of an angel – it sounded like a woman’s but it could have been a man’s – saying, ‘You’re done.’ I felt myself being gently lowered back to the bed and then the lights and the sensation were gone. I looked around and pinched myself. This had not been a dream.

      In the weeks that followed, angels visited me several times. I would know when they were about to arrive because the most heavenly scent of vanilla ice cream would fill the air. Even though I often felt weak and drained when they came to me, each time I felt again the energy of my life. It was like the buzz or hum of my being.

      When I finally left hospital to go home the doctors were amazed at the speed of my recovery. Sadly, the angels didn’t visit me while I recovered at home, but nevertheless after another six months I was finally given the all-clear. In my heart I knew the angels leaving was their way of telling me that I was ready to fully recover on my own, that I was ready to care for myself and my family the way I always had.

      Within a year I was once again the busy, energetic, healthy person I had been before the cancer, but even though I may have looked the same I didn’t feel the same. My life had a depth and a richness I had never known before.

      I didn’t tell anyone, not even my husband, about my angelic experiences, but I did ask Riley about the vanilla-cone lady. He told me that she didn’t visit him anymore. I told him not to be sad because even though he couldn’t see her I was sure she was still watching over us.

      I am now 47 years old. As I said, it’s been a long journey. My cancer was a terrifying experience, but I will always cherish the lessons I learned about myself – and life – as a result of it. And it will always be my privilege to feel both happy and sad whenever I smell vanilla ice cream – happy in that I know my guardian angel is watching over me and sad in that it took a life-threatening illness for me to recognize her loving presence.

      Sandra truly believes that her guardian angel helped her overcome a devastating illness but, as David’s story shows, it isn’t just physical illness that can be healed by an angelic encounter. Angels are master healers of the heart.

      ‘Open your Eyes’

      Ever since I can remember I wanted to be a doctor. I remember how I buzzed with excitement and adrenalin the first day I spent on the wards. But after my wife died – she was a doctor too – a part of me died. I turned up for work every morning, but it was as if I was going through the motions. I realized that although I loved my job, I loved СКАЧАТЬ