My Victim,
In my long-lived life, I have killed more than you can imagine. More than 9/11, The Boston Marathon Bombing and movie theater assassinations combined. Try and stop me.
I don't discriminate. I will take you if you're black, white, lesbian, gay, transgender, Muslim, Catholic, or atheist. You can't hide. Time after time again, your doctor's visit will say "all clear" when in reality I am deeply inside, waiting to emerge until a moment of vulnerability presents itself and I can come tearing into your life like a wrecking ball you never could have imagined.
Whether you're 2 or 92, I do not care. You sit in the doctor's office, staring at the white walls freshly painted, the silver surgical equipment polished and ready, for the doctor to come in and say the words, "I'm sorry." Your wife's head falls into your chest and your mind starts to replay what seems to be an endless film reel of the word "Why?", of your first date together when you looked into her eyes and you knew she was the one with the life that danced in between the blinks of those long, brown lashes. You hold her head in the palms of your hands and tell her, "We will get through this," because I am known for ripping the hope out of people like you ripped your room apart the night you heard the diagnosis.
I will not stop.
I come in many shapes and forms, with over one hundred personalities I can put on. Try and stop me. Your father, your mother, your child. They all know my name. It rolls off the tongue: Cancer, and suddenly your mind wanders back to that hospital bed, that radiation room, that open casket where unsaid words filled the air like a thick mist. You can't stop me.
I've been there for your most important life moments, your bald head lurking as a reminder of my presence and the fact that I'm still here. You slide on your graduation cap, your wedding dress, a bandaid to heal the wound of your child's first fall from riding a two-wheeler. But you can't heal the wound I have caused. In the eyes of your husband who looks at you with such sadness, when all you want is the revival of the passion you once shared when you first met. You get frustrated and go to pull your hair out of anger, and then you remember. I am known for flooding your body with such emotion, and then just as quickly dumping it out and leaving you feeling lifeless. Time and time again. You can't stop me.
-Cancer
I beg to differ. To the woman who took her diagnosis as an opportunity to raise awareness; to the man who had a limb removed but took it as a challenge accepted; to the child who went to school bald and showed her classmates that she was just like all of them...thank you. You didn't stand around and wait for a second opportunity to come to you; you made one for yourselves. You not only showed us that we can fight back, that you're not giving up, but that you were fighting for those who could not anymore. I'm sorry, Cancer, but you are outnumbered. Together, we will empower. We will fight back against you. We can stop you. Yes, I know it can be difficult. But please remember, we have cancer--it does not have us. We have cancer, but we also have so much more. We have family. We have love. We have strength. We have that look in our husbands' eyes, telling us they know it will be OK because they saw how much life was in our eyes the day they met us and we swore on our wedding days that the fire from our eyes would never be put out. We have each other.
With over 500 events nationwide, The American Cancer Society has been empowering and changing the stigma behind cancer for 30 years. Join Relay for Life in the battle to fight back against this disease and honor those who have lost their fight. We all have loved ones in heaven right now and I urge you to walk for them and with them in this battle for hope. Fight back and paint the world purple.
Dear Cancer,
Yes we can.
