The C Word

Maybe not the "C word" you were thinking of, but it is the UGLIEST word I have ever heard.
CANCER.
It has ripped my heart open 7 ways til Sunday. It has for 14 years. It still does. That word is never easy to hear, never easy to say, but most of all, never easy to imagine. That is, until it's happened to you, or maybe even worse-until it's happened to your whole family.

I consider myself lucky and blessed beyond words in almost every aspect of my life. Until it comes to this. Cancer has taken a lot from me. It has taken a lot from almost everyone. That is, perhaps, the most terrifying part about it. It's like a crazy, unstoppable, unbiased hippie running around spreading like a STD at Woodstock. It doesn't matter your race, religion, education, wealth, and maybe most difficult to understand-age. Usually, there is no warning, no preparation for hearing those dreaded words "you have cancer."

For me, those words have been:

Mom: "Nana has cancer."
What I heard: "She will not see you go to the prom. She will not see you get married or be able to hold your children and read them stories using different voices for all of the characters."

Mom: "Pappap has cancer."
What that meant: "He will not see you graduate from high school or meet the man you will marry-the man that reminds you of him in every sense of his being."

Mom: "Dad has cancer. There is no cure, but doctors are hopeful he will have years left with us."
What I heard: "Dad is dying. It is going to be slow. It is going to eventually be painful. Cherish every single moment you have with him. Every single one. Don't let his insessant teasing annoy you anymore. Don't get mad. If you do get mad, don't stay mad. Make every single day a memory. Take pictures. Take them with your mind. Remember everything. There will come a day when you will need him and he won't be here, so need him now. Be with him every chance you get. Share your life with him and give him a reason to fight for his own."

Mom: "I have cancer. I wanted to drive up here to Slippery Rock myself tonight to tell you because I don't want you to find out from anyone else, when I can't be here with you."

What I heard: "Yep, that's my mom. Hearing those words for herself, and then taking the hour & a half trip up to my apartment alone to tell me herself. To make sure I didn't have to cry alone. To make sure I didn't have any questions. To make sure I knew she was going to be OK. To tell me that they caught it pretty early, and even though she would have to have major life-altering surgery, that she could do it and I had nothing to worry about. I hope some day I have strength like that. I hope she knows what that meant to me."

Since those first 4, there have been countless more. Some more close to home than others, but all devastating. All heart wrenching. All left me with a sense of helplessness. A loss of security. A need for hope. Whether that hope comes in the form of a successful surgery, news of remission or a clear scan, or the cause I have made my own for more than a decade: Relay for Life.

my 3 favorite survivors

 

You can think whatever you want about the American Cancer Society. You can knock it, you can hate it, you can know nothing about it. It has changed my life forever. It has brought the people I care about most in the world together. Even if it is just for 24 hours a year, it is something. I love feeling like I am a part of something bigger than myself. I love feeling like there will always be help. There will always be someone there for my family. My parents are not alone. They never were. They never will be.

 

 

The Relay Event I have been a part of for 14 years is in Shaler. It is where I grew up. It is where I still live. It is where my mom grew up and still lives. It is a community that I love and am PROUD to be a part of, no matter how small our event gets. 15 years ago, my friend Kim asked me to join her team. At the time, I didn't really know anyone living with cancer (at least I didn't realize it). It wasn't a big part of my life (thankfully). But I heard "sleepover at the football field" and came running! The next year, after my nana had been diagnosed, my mom decided to start a team in her honor. We invited our friends to join and at the very last minute decided on the name "Mel's Maniacs" (Mel being my mum). There were so many teams, we were actually assigned a campsite in the baseball field NEXT to the stadium. It was amazing. It was emotional. It was, and still is, one of the most memorable nights of my life.

 

 Since that year, the event has gotten smaller...noticably smaller. Maybe because there are more events acorss the city, maybe because the economy makes things like this difficult for families, maybe because cancer is a scary thing, and people can't imagine a day of fundraising for it would be fun or leave them with a heart full of hope. Maybe it's not for everybody, and that is certainly not for me to judge. But I do challenge you to be a part of something bigger than yourself. To be a part of something that makes a difference. It will change your life forever. I promise.

 

My story is not the worst story. My heart is not the most broken. My life is not the most altered, but it is altered. Wondering whose name I will be writing on a luminary bag next year is difficult. My first year as a Maniac, I bought 2 luminary bags. This year, I bought 13. Thinking about what could be next is scary, so I try not to.

 

 

 

Cancer is still my sworn enemy, but my heart HAS been changed in amazing ways because of it. I have sat on the field with my friends at 4AM talking about life and thinking to myself how incredibly LUCKY I AM to have friends like this. Friends that care that much about me and about my family. Friends that pray for me, for us, and for a cure, and don't even think twice about spending their Saturday night on a grass field in a dry stadium. 

Suddenly, a name on a paper bag brings a lump to my throat and I am holding back tears. Watching some of the people I love the most walk around the track to the applause of everyone in attendance for fighting the fight of their lives. A fight no one else understands, but everyone else admires.

I will end with this. It makes sense. It is the truth. It is my truth.

"What Cancer Cannot Do"

Cancer is so limited...
It cannot cripple love.
It cannot shatter hope.
It cannot corrode faith.
It cannot eat away peace.
It cannot destroy confidence.
It cannot kill friendship.
It cannot shut out memories.
It cannot silence courage.
It cannot reduce eternal life.
It cannot quench the Spirit.

Author: Unknown