Note: On May 27, 2015 an amazing group of youths from an organization providing rescue and shelter for victims of human trafficking drew around 20 amazingly beautiful unicorn pictures for me, posted for me by team leader Jenni: “My tribe here are survivors of a different type, even still we wanted to send a little B.A. unicorn magic your way. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.”
Dear group from Compass 31:
Many, many thanks for your unicorn drawings! I love them so much that I wanted to draw something special just for you in return. This means I got in my car and drove to a craft supply store and purchased special paper and pens, because part of being a B. A. Unicorn is that you go way overboard. All the time. And I went way overboard trying to get a unicorn just right.
I know Jenni from high school, and way back then I won an award for drawing a pen and ink picture of a train. No one has ever decided to award me for drawing anything ever since. What I’m trying to say is, it’s really hard to draw the very special B. A. Unicorn of Thanks that I have in my imagination. So I decided in the end to draw a B. A. Unicorn into some of my favorite movies for you. Like Breakfast at Tiffany’s:
So, usually on here I tell everyone about my week. Maybe you won’t mind if I do, because you became an important part of my week. First, I began the first of my eighteen week course of chemotherapy. The sequel. My friend August gave me anointing oil with which to bless myself and my chemotherapy medicine, and when I told Joe, my husband, to anoint the chemo bag, he blundered around, because he thought only the Pope or someone like that can anoint things, and accidentally spilled all of my animal crackers in the mayhem. I’ll tell you a secret. I love the anointing oil. I’ve been anointing myself all week like a B. A. Unicorn, which means I anointed myself so much my forehead broke out and now I’m a Jedi of anointing things. So I told Joe, “Step aside, young padawan,” and did it myself.
After Joe took me home, I felt pretty good considering. I wasn’t sick or tired or feeling any weirder than usual. I was pretty sure this meant I was fulfilling my dream of being the best chemo patient the world has ever seen. So I escaped in my car and got a haircut on a whim and came across my parents taking my daughters out for ice-cream and I waved as I zoomed by like a B. A. Unicorn.
But later in the week, the effects of chemo started to kick in. My daughter Firecracker has this pink inflatable penguin named Stella she won at a rodeo, and Stella pretty much popped on day one and hasn’t been inflated since. Firecracker keeps her, though, and we’ll find Stella draped over a chair enjoying imaginary breakfast or puddled on the floor beside Firecracker as she plays. That was pretty much me this week. A deflated B. A. Unicorn.
Then I saw all of your drawings.
And that a tiny Iron Man had helped.
You just don’t know the power of a tiny Iron Man standing by a sign that reads “believe in the magic” in the middle of so many glorious unicorn pictures! Thanks again for your lovely drawings, encouragement, and prayers, and for reminding me, as you so eloquently put it, that there’s “always beauty in the midst of all situations.”
With love and gratitude,
Cynthia, re-inflated B. A. Unicorn
Learn more about Compass 31 and how you can help right here.