By James Chambless, Guest Columnist
My first ever blog was on Wednesday, February 15, 2006. Not very long ago in the grand scheme of things. The path which led me to blogging (on Xanga), however, actually started in April of 2005. A teenage friend of a friend’s teenager was diagnosed with leukemia on her birthday in April of ’05. Happy birthday, huh? “So what did you get for your birthday?” “Chemo-therapy.”

My friend’s teenage daughter asked me to pray for her friend Angel. They were on a trip together with the church choir when this good friend of hers was rushed to the hospital. We prayed for her friend and AP or her folks kept me updated with how Angel was doing. Most of the time the news was not good.

I was flying into DFW Airport on my way home from a business trip in May of ‘05 when AP’s mom called to tell me Angel was at Children’s Hospital in Dallas. Again. She was a very sick little girl. She had lost a lot of weight and was reacting badly to the treatments. The treatments were killing the leukemia cells but they were also killing Angel. The worst news was that Angel was alone at the hospital. I could not imagine leaving one of my children alone in the hospital with a terminal illness. I did not/do not understand the decision that led to this situation but it broke my heart to hear that she was alone.

{Note to the reader; I do not set myself up in judgment of this child’s Mother. She was a single Mom doing the very best she could with the limited tools she had been provided.}

I called the house and told Mrs. Hat I would be late. I have quite a long history of showing up at hospitals to see sick folks so she is used to that kind of thing. Often as not she is with me. This time though it was just me.
Of course, you can’t just go charging off to the hospital and hugging on sick young uns that have not the first idea of who you are. First you have to go to Target and get loot. That way even if they did not enjoy your visit they have something to do when you are gone. So I finally found a Target store and strode purposefully to the toy department in search of a stuffed horse. It is kind of a trademark of my hospital visits. God smiled upon on me and I found a big pretty brown and white horse. Then I went to the CD racks. What teenager does not love new CDs? Then I wondered if she had a CD player and picked one up just in case. Then I went to the arts and crafts department. There it got kind of tricky. There is so much stuff there. I really had no idea what the girls of 2005 were fond of. I was overwhelmed by my choices. I stopped a lady that worked there to ask her for some help. She told me it was not her department and to wait a minute. She came back with another lady who did work in that area. I asked them both to help because they had both been teenage girls more recently than I had.

I explained to them that I was trying to pick out some stuff for a 14 y/o girl with leukemia and I had no idea what she liked because I had not met her yet. Well. We all stood there and cried together for a while. Then those little ladies kicked it into high gear. They ran in all directions while I stood there wiping my eyes with my bandana. I am such a crybaby sometimes. I ended up with a collection that included funky pens, a groovy looking journal, a scrap booking starter kit and a big wicker basket to put it all in. Oddly enough, it was all on sale or marked for clearance. Armed with my loaded wicker basket and wearing my black hat, I headed for the hospital.

I have no intention of boring you with too many hospital security details or to give away their secrets, but suffice it to say that, if you are a sick 14 y/o alone in the hospital, you are kept locked safely away, carefully protected from strangers and their germs. But I am a persistent old cuss and I was wearing my black hat. It has never failed to get me escorted through a hospital yet. The charge nurse was finally called. She took one look at me and my basket overflowing with stuffed horse and said “follow me.” She led me through the airlock, helped me wash up and then took me to meet Angel.

It has been my experience that 14 y/o girls, all girls of any age for that matter, are very concerned with their appearance. And it is difficult to look your best in a backless hospital johnny with a knitted toboggan cap covering your newly bald head. I think all of you ladies would agree this is not the look you would want to have when you meet your first cowboy. It was awkward and I don’t think she said more than two words, “hello” and “thanks”, for about five minutes when I noticed her finger nails. Angel has the most beautiful set of finger nails you have ever seen. I said so. She blushed amazingly ( I would normally say she blushed to the roots of her hair, but the chemo had robbed her of that.) and said no one had ever said that to her before. The nurse wandered back in just then to tell Angel the doctor was coming to talk to her. I said I would be going. The nurse took in the scene and decided that I would not be going. She said “No. You will wait in the hall.” I said I had a long drive and it would be best to get started on it. She said “No. You will wait in the hall.” I said “yes, ma’am”.

I waited in the hall. The doctor went in. I waited in the hall. And waited. And waited. At one point the nurse looked out and, staring directly into my eyes, said back into the room “No. He is still here. He will wait. He does not mind at all.” I said yes ma’am, but she was already back in the room. I waited in the hall some more. I thought about going into the nearby rest room but decided I did not want that charge nurse thinking I had left my post. So I waited in the hall. And waited. And waited. When the doctor left from his almost unimaginable task of explaining leukemia and it’s treatment and side effects to a 14 y/o girl the nurse said I could go back in. I did and spent the next hour or so chatting and laughing with an Angel.

Several months later I was informed, not by the nurse but by Angel, that I would get a Xanga website. I had no idea what that was but I sure recognized that tone of voice. Angel had learned a lot from that charge nurse. So I set up a Xanga website. Angel had told me that first evening together that she felt a hundred years old. I told her “My HAT is older than you.” So when I had to decide on a blogging site name, since I never imagined anyone but Angel would read it, I called it My_HAT_is_older_than_you. I signed my name as Old Hat. I needed a profile photo and so I grabbed my oldest surviving cowboy hat, the one that has traveled the most miles, been stomped on the most, and been abused the most, and snapped a picture of it sitting on the green recliner in my office. When Xanga went into it’s death spiral, I moved to facebook. I kept the hat photo so my friends from Xanga would know for sure it was me since they only knew me as Old Hat and had never seen a picture of me.

They also all seemed to think that my hat was older than them. That has led to some confusion and some very funny comments as the truth comes out. As for Angel, she is doing well. Praise the Lord. We came close to despair at times.

So if you enjoy my efforts here it is most likely because I was led here by an Angel.

I am glad you are here.
Old Hat