Harry's Letter to TFNP Recipients, included in every care package:

Hi there, my name’s Harry.

On April 16, 2020, I woke up in a crowded surgical recovery room and within fifteen minutes was on my feet in a dark unfamiliar room on the 8th floor wing of the cancer ward you now find yourself in. I was tired, confused, but most importantly, I was scared out of my absolute mind. You are likely in the same situation as I was, and with any luck, I hope I can make things a little easier.

The harsh truth is, chemotherapy is here to stay. Regardless of how much money the hundreds upon thousands of charities out there throw at cancer research, the probability of a miracle pill right now is slim to none at best. And really, that's the toughest part. Cancer treatment lives in such infamy because it is one of the few instances in modern healthcare where you leave a place of recovery feeling worse than when you came in. But that’s depressing to hear, and what I’m really trying to say is that I’m sorry. I know you’ve heard it before, and I promise you’ll hear it again, but from the bottom of my heart I am so incredibly sorry. I understand exactly how overwhelming and terrifying all of this can seem, and I can tell you truthfully that there is no easy way to overcome cancer. But if there’s one comfort I can provide and swear by, it’s that every pain, discomfort, and emotion is temporary. Everything feels infinite in the moment, the past and future seem irrelevant because we as humans only live in the present. But if you take a moment to breathe, and keep telling yourself that everything heals in time, then I promise you will overcome every obstacle that is thrown your way in the events to come.

So why the bag? Why all the stuff? Well I can’t really explain the backpack, that’s really more for bagging convenience than use in the cancer ward. But everything else you find inside, that part I can clarify. Hospitals suck, there’s nowhere in the world I can think of less appealing than a stuffy hospital room. Like I said before, chemo is not a treatment we’ll see abandoned anytime soon. While the money can perhaps expedite the production of more effective drugs and better results in the long run, these aren’t revolutionary changes we’ll see overnight. I’ve come to notice that comfort is not on top of mind. And who can blame them?

A hospital’s first priority is to heal you physically and someone sympathetic to our disease couldn’t ever fully understand what it’s like in our shoes. That’s why I made this bag. I picked everything inside I could think of not to make you better, but to make you comfortable. I’ll be real, the pillows they have at this place suck. The body wash is this hotel sized gerber life stuff that kind of reminds me of the smell of burning rubber or plastic. The food isn’t the best in my opinion, but I’ll let you come to your own conclusion there. We scored a really nice donation from S’well and I thought I could share their inspiring water bottles with you all. But enough complaining from me; that doesn’t get us anywhere. Everything you find in this backpack I have given you because I have noted exactly what aspects of life in the cancer ward I wish I could change. While I know the donations of thousands of individuals and corporations are critical to the hospital, none of their efforts seem to focus on providing tangible items to support teens going through severe treatment. This is a need that I turned into an opportunity. We don’t need piles of toys to waste away the hours with. We do not live unaware of our current situation or think back to simpler times with unknowing ignorance. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have to go through any of this. Believe me, If I had the power to make that happen I would do it in a heartbeat. But for now, the only way you can move is forward. So why not make it a little bit easier, you know?

I started “The First Night Project” because there is nothing in my mind that would make me happier than knowing I at least did something to a make change where change is so incredibly overdue. I have been in your shoes, and while I will never live the same life as you or go through the same events in front or behind you, I will do everything in my power to empathize where I can. It’s a long road ahead, and not every part is paved over smoothly. But I have seen the strength in the eyes of each kid that has walked the halls behind those glass doors. Each soul is thrust into a world of fear, pain, and above all life-altering unfairness. You will get through this; it just takes a little hope, a lot of perseverance, and some time.

Please, contact me if you have any suggestions for what I can do to improve the bag or your personal comfort. If you’d just like to talk about whatever is on your mind or ask questions, I’m always here for that too.