Kneeling on the floor of my bedroom, all my focus was on algebra. I was deaf to the world, nose buried in my pink binder. I was so absorbed, I didn’t see my mom enter and kneel at my left. To get my attention she touched my arm. Her voice was quiet, calm and even; so it took me a moment to realize she was saying, “I took Dad to the hospital this morning.”
I knew this. I was there when he had barely been able to stand due to the pain.
But she was still talking, “…the doctors figured out what was wrong. It turns out he has cancer.”
Suddenly I forgot about algebra. This marked the beginning of a life-changing journey: Life with cancer.
The journey began at a time when my highest priorities were popularity and fitting in. But, there in my room, those priorities rapidly shifted to fear for my dad’s health and survival. He was unable to do many of the things he used to do, like gardening or going to the beach. He was a chef, but if he worked, he ran the risk of becoming paralyzed for life. Soon, our family experienced major financial trouble, and that was scary too -- like when my eighth grade volleyball coach called me out in front of the entire team for not paying the athletic fee on time.
Occasionally, worry and fear gave way to anger. Not long after Dad was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, he had to have a bone marrow transplant. His transplant was in late May and he wouldn’t be home until late June. He spent my 14th (and a year later due to pneumonia, my 15th) birthday in the hospital. Unable to afford a fancy cake, we baked one with pink frosting and sprinkles, then brought it to Tufts Medical Center. I was happy and angry. It was cancer’s fault we weren’t celebrating at home, that my cake wasn’t covered in buttercream roses, and I was sick of feeling like cancer was in control.
But this isn’t a sad journey. Because, if my dad hadn’t gotten that bone-marrow transplant, he wouldn’t be here today; and I’ve discovered ways to recover a greater sense of control.Relay for Life is one way I’ve taken back control. Every year, my friends and I form a team, raise funds, participate in the relay, and have a pretty good time beating cancer. We’ve raised thousands of dollars for research and we’re making a difference.
I also volunteer in the oncology department of Tufts Medical Center, where my dad continues to receive treatment. The staff there fights cancer every day, like the Marines. They hardly have a minute to take a breath, so I do whatever needs doing. If I can input data, assist patients, or spend time talking to folks in the bone marrot transplant (BMT) unit, I’m honored to do so.
Cancer changed that 13-year-old girl whose biggest worry was completing her homework to a young woman who gets up every day determined to wring every drop of opportunity, knowledge, and good out of the day.
Gradually, my journey is taking me to “gratitude.” Cancer is a big issue. But thanks to the journey I’ve taken, it’s no bigger than the profound appreciation I have for the opportunities I’ve been given or my commitment to make the most of them.
