From The Sidelines

The first time I distinctly remember hearing the word “cancer” was in 2nd grade. We were learning about zodiac signs and I found out that my birthday falls at the beginning of the cancer cycle, making me a crab. I thought it was an ugly word, and I certainly didn’t like having to say, “I’m a cancer,” when asked…but I didn’t even fathom how ugly a word it really could be. It wasn’t until I was 11 that I thought of  “cancer” as anything more than a symbol that represented a period of time in astrology.

My mom came home from work one day when I was 11 and told me a good friend and coworker had announced her stage IV breast cancer. I stood there, dumbfounded. Breast crab? What on earth? Surely it was a weird joke that I just didn’t get. But upon further explanation, I discovered that cancer, in fact, did not always represent an astrological sign, but rather was a grave disorder in which the body cells grow abnormally. It was a lot to take in as an 11 year old, and it’s a lot to take in now.

As I watch from the sidelines as someone I love, admire, and respect deeply goes through the emotional roller coaster that comes with cancer of all kinds, I don’t think that I’ve ever felt so hopeless, hopeful, helpful, helpless, useful, and useless simultaneously before.

Putting trust in a group of so-called experts, no matter how nice they may be, is really hard. Coming to terms with the fact that not all cancer is curable is even harder. Harder still is hearing words like “rare” and “lucky to have caught it…” and “unsure until we see it firsthand.” All of that stuff doesn’t seem to fit together in my mind. “Rare cancer” and “lucky” aren’t words that I would have put in the same phrase until now.

It’s almost an out-of-body experience as I talk with doctors, nurses, oncologists, family, and friends. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that despite everything you do right  for your body, it can still mutate into this faceless monster that can only be confronted a set number of ways, and sometimes, not at all.

But as I journey down this new and quickly unwinding path, I’m learning. I’m learning about relationships and medical terms and just how strong people are. I’m watching and dealing and holding out hope while learning how to deal with harsh possibilities that could become realities.

I am also learning how to be grateful for things that are too often taken for granted: medical technology, transportation, good friends and family, a husband who understands when I’m happy/sad/angry at once, faith, and the chance to say things I might not have ever gotten around to saying.

So although this won’t be easy no matter how it pans out in the coming weeks, I want cancer to know that I will not be intimidated by it. I will not let its slow creeping into the lives of my friends and family make me live in fear, and I will not let it steal the hope of a cure for anyone who is unfortunate enough to learn that they have it – which really, could be any of us at any time.

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.” -Albert Einstein

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