Pink In The Bruin's Rink

The Bruins was pink in the rink last night - creating awareness and raising funds for cancer. It was a tremendous night (if you ignore the score of the game).

So many things went well. There was no question what the theme was when you walked in the door. Pink ties, pink shirts, pink trucker hats, and pink hoodies. Most of the 4,800 crowd had pink on. Then there were the skin head wanna-be's. There was a shave-your-head station (thanks Michelle) and people could donate money and get their head shaved. During the first intermission, four of our own shaved their heads at center ice- Derek, Barry, Matt, and Vanni. Vanni had the most to loose, Barry the least. Andrea - who just finished treatments and is a huge part of the Bruins organization - was shaving heads and loving every minute of it. Some of the players were using pink Easton sticks that were auctioned off and raised hundreds for cancer.

Cancer is something that has touched all our lives. I lost my mom 20 years ago. I observed the road from diagnosis to treatments to hair loss, to loss of life. It is so tragic and I think that is why so many of us empathize and show up for nights like Pink In The Rink. There is a story about one of the players, Andy Smith, who cancer has affected profoundly.

It takes a huge push and massive planning to put on an event this large and far reaching. I know the Chilliwack Bruins staff have been working on this since this summer, at least that is when I first saw the loud pink Easton stick in the office.

Great work everyone. Great cause. It touched us all.

Gowning Around

I've been following Cam's blog as he vividly describes his battle with cancer.

Today he put up this great post about the hospital gown:

I was reminded today how significant the humble hospital gown is. Its power is amazing.

There are two kinds of gowns I am familiar with. One has three arm holes in it - yes, three, and yes, arms. I am not sure how many other people have embarrassed themselves trying to squeeze their head through the middle arm hole, wrestling about half-naked in a change room with the flimsy floral curtain does little to contain the frantic gasping breaths that accompany claustrophobia. But I know a friend of mine has. Um, then there is the other kind of gown - the one that if you do happen to put it on back-to-front you get to the lowest and final tie before thinking, “Hang on, that can’t be right! Surely?” It happened to another friend of mine.

There are few things in this world that have the power to annul social standing, economic welfare, education achievements, professional accolades or culture affiliation. The hospital gown, with it’s mysterious powers, seems to achieve such disarmament with incredible ease.

After many frustrations experiencing what a hospital gown allows to be revealed to the world, I think it is not recognised enough for what it can hide.

Day-surgery patients, whose conversations rarely get to the next level of conversation after hospital food and the weather, may be in conversation with others they would never know how to relate to in the real world. Every attempt to identify yourself in society has been left behind.

You can’t even vary your garment. You can’t roll up your sleeves to say you’re relaxed at the end of a day, you can’t unbutton your shirt to say you loved the 70’s, you can’t roll your skirt up to show off your legs. It is how it is. You become refreshingly un-categorizable . People’s response to you then has to rely on your countenance and the words that you speak. You come away feeling more connected with people than you expected, and all without having to present your identity through what is worn or adorned.

Such is the power of the hospital gown.