The C Word
In my family, doctors are reluctant to come to us with a request for further tests when anything shows up as abnormal during routine physical exams. They are fully aware of my family’s history. If they have to put in a call requesting further tests, they always start by saying, "I’m sorry to have to use the C word, but ..." Cancer is not a hypothetical in my family, as I’ve written about in the past. Between my siblings and my father, we’ve had bladder cancer, prostate cancer, breast cancer, liver cancer, and melanoma. My father and my sister succumbed to their cancers despite enduring various surgeries and the agonies of chemotherapy. My brothers both survived theirs, responding successfully to surgery. My sister died in 1999 after battling breast cancer for only 6 months. My father died in 2001 after battling liver cancer for only 4 weeks. Of course, he’d had bladder cancer in 1998, so the second round was not a surprise. All of this notwithstanding, the one group of cancers we have yet to experience in my family are the blood-related cancers - Leukemia, Lymphoma and Myeloma. We like to refer to ourselves as ‘Leukemia Lite.’ Other people might protest when we descend into this kind of perverse humor, but they’d be way off base to criticize. When a family like mine has been through what we’ve been through in the last 5 years, we can laugh about anything we want to if it helps to ease the pain. "Criticize" is a C word. So is "comic" as in "comic relief." In January of 2002, my then-16-year-old son came to me one afternoon holding a postcard he’d picked up out of the mail. It was an invitation from the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society to join their Team in Training, to run a marathon, and raise money for research into blood-related cancers. I was on deadline that afternoon and the only way I could get him to go away and leave me to my work was to agree to go with him the following week to an information meeting. I never thought that it would lead to anything. I was wrong. In June of 2002, my son and I ran the Mayor’s Midnight Marathon in Anchorage, Alaska. He was 17. I was 49. He ran the 26.2 miles in 4 hours and came in 3rd in his age group. I limped across the finish line two and half hours later, and as I’ve reported many times, came in just after the 75-year-old woman who finished ahead of me. It was exhilarating and humiliating all at the same time. Actually, anyone who’s done this sort of thing knows that there’s no such thing as humiliation at the finish line of a marathon. There’s only relief, followed by days and days and days of limping and agony and recovery. If my son had not challenged and bullied me into training and running this marathon, I would never have done it. And, we would never have raised a bunch of money from friends and family to donate to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. It was my son who pushed me to train. It was my son who lead me to believe, having seen so much cancer is his family, that it was important to raise money. It was my son who insisted it was our duty to help. It was my son who felt we needed to have the courage to try and the compassion to care. "Compassion" is a C word. So is "courage," and so is "care." When my sister was clearly dying of breast cancer, she continued to work - between long stays on the oncology ward, of course, when her reduced white count made it dangerous to be among others. When she was well enough to work, she was often approached by friends and associates who wanted to express their concern for her situation. She never, ever would accept those overtures. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. She didn’t want to be seen as different. She just wanted to live a normal life. She had no intention of being coddled or consoled. She intended to survive. She was downright crusty about the whole thing. She wanted to be in control. "Control" is a C word. So is "crusty," and "coddled," and "consoled." Last summer, I saw a cousin I hadn’t seen in several years. She expressed great concern when she first greeted me, and asked me how I was feeling. I said I felt just fine, and why shouldn’t I. She said, well what with all that cancer in your family, and then she sort of trailed off. I laughed out loud. I said, well I drink alcohol and I consume caffeine. I try to exercise, but sometimes I let it lapse. I don’t always get enough sleep and sometimes I fret about work. Other than that, you know it’s pretty much life as usual. The sun comes up. The sun goes down. In between, I’m just a regular joe. I think my cousin was a little taken aback. I wish I could have been more accommodating, but until the C word drops into my life, that’s pretty much the way it will remain. And with my sister as my mentor - even should the C word drop into my life, I’m finding other things to worry about. "Casual" is a C word. So is "concern," and "cousin." Next month - on September 15th - the EDA Community is coming together to raise money for research into treatments for Multiple Myeloma. This is going to be a super event at the Capital Club Athletics in San Jose. It would be great if you would attend because it’s going to be a lot of fun and because a lot of money will be raised if everyone participates. John Cooley’s going to be the MC, and he’s going to host a live auction - which should be a riot. You can help out by donating (valuable) items for John to auction off, and then showing up to buy the (valuable) items that others have donated. "Cooley" is a C word. So is "contribution," and "community." Please contact Steve Munich (edacharity04@yahoo.com) or Simon Davidmann (simon56@hotmail.com") and offer to: * Help with the September event, We shouldn’t let cancer be the only C word in our lives. Yes, it’s all around us, but there are lots of other C words in our lives, as well. Let’s make "Cure" one of them.
Peggy Aycinena owns and operates EDA Confidential. She can be reached at peggy@aycinena.com
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