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"Believe in Angels, then return the favor."As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant.It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around.."His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper That he got from a grocery bag Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume.. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the children left, she cried for at least an hour.On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets.."A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling* her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for* believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."(For you that don't know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr. at Iowa Methodist Hospital in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)Warm someone's heart today. . . pass this along. I love this story so very much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in someone's life today? tomorrow? Just "do it".Random acts of kindness, I think they call it?"Believe in Angels, then return the favor."

There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day ofschool, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same.But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn’t play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then putting a big “F” at the top of his papers.At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners. He is a joy to be around.”His second grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.”His third grade teacher wrote, “His mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.”Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class.”By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy’s. His present which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag.Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, “Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.” After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children.Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her “teacher’s pets.”A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer—the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.The story doesn’t end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he’d met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson’s ear, “Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.” Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, “Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn’t know how to teach until I met you.”

(NOTE: this is a true story of a patient, with details blurred to protect privacy, but written in the 2nd person because that is how it felt most natural to re-tell.)Imagine you just awaken one morning to find the universe hates you. No, not in the Psycho, knife in the shower, “Die, bitch, die!” kind of way, but in the much crueler “Meh, shit happens,” kind of way. Now you’re left there gaping at an MRI long after the surgeon has excused himself to “let you think,” but really you’re just staring into nothingness, hoping those smeary patches of shadow and glow will finally resolve themselves into something real. Like that 3D “Magic Eye” picture you bought at a garage sale in junior high, you think with a unamused chuckle. Lose yourself in the black-and-white static long enough and all this will start to make sense.But before it does, the surgeon is back, with order slips, prescriptions, instructions, and EKGs. You eye them warily, initial where told, and nod absentmindedly while the nurse maps out a fluorescent beeline from the clinic to the lab where they will draw your blood. You shift your weight on the crinkly-loud waxed tissue paper draping the exam table, and your husband, seated at knee level, reaches up a hand to squeeze your thigh. He means “Hey, you’re doing really great with this. I’m proud of you,” and for just a hot second you are proud of you too. Then the calendar comes out.“We need to get this done as soon as possible.” Dr A has a baby face behind his thick glasses, with a blank expression but a gentle tone. He is chair of the department, and you have an odd sort of faith in him, the way you would a weatherman forecasting tornadoes. He can’t stop the devastation, but maybe he’ll help you run for cover. Maybe even save your life.“How is Tuesday, the 17th? That would be two weeks.” With one hand he jots a brief notation in his leather-bound planner, with the other he shuts the book abruptly, and you realize his question was purely rhetorical. I mean, what are you going to say, really? No, sorry, I can’t undergo life-saving tumor resection that day, I have a lunch date with my sorority sisters. Or no, I need both my eyeballs that day, my daughter has a tennis match?Dr. A hands a final paper and pen on the clipboard to you. The pies de resistance: the consent form. Across the line at the top he has scribbled, in barely legible cursive, all caps, “LEFT MAXILLECTOMY AND ORBITAL EXENTERATION.”Excision of the cheekbone, eye socket and all its contents and neighboring tissues.Excision of the upper left QUARTER OF YOUR FACE.Because you now know you have Merkel cell carcinoma, a rare, extremely deadly form of skin cancer. But long before that, you also had a husband, a 16-year-old daughter, a job you love and a will to live. You sign the consent, hand the clipboard back, and inadvertently tear the tissue paper as you hop back down to solid ground. “Let’s do this.”Two weeks, it turns out, is a very long time while sieging the castle, but barely a moment to plan the battle. Maria comes home from tennis practice late that night, and you figure you will tell her tomorrow, when she’s well rested, or the next day, after church, over lunch. Then she looks at you with those knowing eyes. You can’t help but relive the day you came home late one evening, freshman year in college, when you were just a year older than Maria is now, to find YOUR mother (Maria’s grandmother) collapsed on the kitchen floor, wailing. How greatly her fear in turn had frightened you— much, much more than what she was frightened of ever could. Your own father had been diagnosed with advanced cancer earlier that day.“They caught it, they’re taking it out. This is exactly what’s supposed to happen and everything is going to be fine. Dr. A is happy.” At this point you’re rambling, and you tell yourself to shut up. Maria, with both hands on the marble countertop in front of her, only nods, without blinking. “Honey?” you allow yourself to continue after a beat, “I feel like— well, do you have any questions?” As if you might have any answers.She frowns, slightly. “No, Mom. Uh-uh. You’re gonna be okay and that’s what matters.” She turns, reaching for the handle of the fridge, then swivels back. “It’s just, ever since I was little, you know, I can remember sitting next to you in the bathroom while you put on your mascara, and eyeliner, drew on your eyebrows and stuff. You’ve always been so… BEAUTIFUL, Mom. It’s just a part of who you are to me.” This is also not a question, and, like the doctor, she has said her piece and gone just like that.When you were eighteen and learned your father had cancer, you hadn’t really lost it either. You totally expected to, but then you didn’t. You just lay in bed that night and bargained with yourself that you would be there just as long as you could stand, and when you couldn’t stand it another minute, you would simply walk out the front door, and up the I-5— that magical freeway that led to Disneyland and then Canada, with some other stuff in-between. You would walk like Forrest ran, and it wouldn’t matter if one day the unthinkable happened, because you wouldn’t be there to suffer it. But for this little girl, your own precious little girl now, the unthinkable has already happened. Whether you live another 50 years or die three months from now, she has already lost so much of the mother she knows and loves…The ceiling above you softens and slides while the anesthesiologist gently presses the mask to your face. “Surgery is over, Cassie. You did great. Everything went well. The surgeon was really pleased.” Now he, too, is rambling, you think. Your head throbs as your neck lolls first right, then left. The gurney finally parks in a curtained cubicle. A chair scrapes the worn tile to your left and you peer over, careful not to turn your aching head. But with your newly monocular vision, you can only make out the silhouette of your own nose. “Keith?”“No, Mom, it’s me. Dad’s grabbing some coffee. But the nurse said it would be a bit before your room is ready upstairs, so I brought you a little something to do.” You smile and reach out towards her, blindly but expectantly, for the magazine or earphones she undoubtedly brought. Maria’s thoughtful that way. You raised a good kid.Instead, your fist closes down around a collection of small smooth particles that you lift with surprise to your one remaining eye: sequins, rhinestones and multicolored plastic gemstones of all shapes and sizes. Like the exotic contents of a budget-conscious pirate’s treasure chest. Your headache is gone, replaced by puzzlement. “Maria, honey, what is this FOR?”“For blinging-out THESE!” she replies triumphantly, drawing from her hoodie pocket a tangle of ribbons in a rainbow of brilliant patterns, each handsewn with a matching felt eyepatch.NOT a picture of Cassie, but very similar to her surgery