Sunday, my Mom and I participated in Race for the Cure Denver. Watching the 60,000 plus participants made me think of what an impact cancer has on survivors, their families and friends, and it led me to think of the impact Cancer has had on me.
My support for the fight against Cancer, the runs and activities I have participated in, have received mixed reviews. I remember a friend laughing that I had a Breast Cancer awareness license plate, and a pink ribbon mug, implying it must be a fad everyone is going through, asking “Who do you know that had Breast Cancer?!”. I even remember a comment about the races being just an excuse for Colorado people to run “for a cause” rather then just run, and the money raised will probably never be enough to help – people are going to die, cancer is just a way it happens. Most recently was a discussion about scare tactics in advertising, causing people to be afraid of HPV, pushing them to get a shot that may prevent cancer later on, these ads shouldn’t scare people – but why were we talking about it if it didn’t make a statement? These comments have stuck with me, and have in turn caused me to question why I feel that a race here and there, and buying something with a logo, will help. So here are my experiences and thoughts on CANCER.
The first big impact Cancer had on my life was when I was a sophomore in college and a teammate got the awful news that her Mom had Brain Cancer. The actual news was not what sticks with me. It is the times I watched her Mom come to a game after treatment, too sick to move much, but trying to still live her life and support her daughter. The way we all felt when the Cancer was “gone”, and the way the pain stung when they found it somewhere else. The way we rallied behind our teammate when the end came and we sat at her Mom’s funeral. Holding hands, wondering what impact this long battle would have on the family and the three daughters she left behind.
The biggest impact came when I received the awful news, on a bus trip with that same team, that my Grandmother had Lung Cancer. At that time my teammate's Mom was still fighting her battle and doing well. So I put on a strong face and thought – she can beat this – she has time. Our first visit back to Houston started with a chemo session, walking in I saw my Grandmother for the first time as “sick”, sitting in a room with other cancer patients, all trying to make light of their situation. My Grandmother trying to act as though this was routine, seeing her without much hair, grey rather then brown, hooked up to a machine that pumped fluids into her body that would later make her feel awful, hoping they would make her feel normal in the end. Our second and last visit is burned into my memory bank. The visits to the hospital where she was staying, making us laugh with her assessment of the other patients, before getting the news that it had spread to the other lung. Taking her home, watching her not care much about dinner, when it was her favorite thing to plan, before breakfast was even done, in the past. Or the last time I saw her, crying with my Mom in her bedroom, while I sat looking on, still in my denial that this was really happening. Now looking back I think she knew this was the last time she would be with us. This denial still sits with me today, probably why I still cry, even now as I am writing this. Cancer took her from us after only 6 months.
Since then Cancer has been in and out of my daily thoughts. Friends who have had to endure the same sad news, funerals where young lives are celebrated and Cancer fights are honored, daily prayers for those fighting today. Maybe my understanding is even deeper now that I have gone through a series of medical tests, Cancer lingering over the final diagnosis, scared beyond comprehension to what that might mean for my life. I am lucky, my tests ended in confusion rather then Cancer. But it seems that almost monthly I add to my list of those I think of often, dealing with the unknown, or the known of what Cancer will do.
So maybe the $40 I give to run in these races might not be the $40 that cures this disease. To me I have found peace and pride in participating whenever I can, aiding in Cancer research and awareness, not because it is what is the new and popular thing to do, but because I can. Each mile I run reminds me that I am blessed to be able to run, to be able to feel good. So, I run for those that cannot, the ones that lost their lives too soon, the fighters that are too sick to run, the survivors that run next to me. All of these people who I know put on a strong face for their family and friends, while they were feeling scared and sick inside. I run for those that will have to face this disease in the future, hoping it will someday be something that doesn’t mean death. I run for the people that hold the same pain inside I do from losing a loved one so quickly. I run to fight Cancer, because Cancer Sucks.
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