People you meet on the cancer highway

Today I went to the Lance Armstrong "LiveStrong" website, and started clicking on "survivor stories." Each story is so poignant, I found myself holding my breath until the end. Whether the stories were barely cobbled together, or whether they were crafted essays, they were all beautiful. At the end of each story, there was always the same line:

"My name is _________________. I have been a ________ cancer survivor for ___ years."

That line takes my breath away. One day, I will be able to write my story. I will be able to say, "My name is Kristina Surface. I have been a breast cancer survivor for __ years." Really, it takes my breath away....my body reacts to the statement by tightening my chest and holding my breath, with pinprick tears springing into my eyes. I want to be one of those survivors that badly.

I have already met a number of amazing survivors. Before my journey began, first there was Josiah. Josiah (our nephew, Ryan's brother Steve's son) was diagnosed with a rare form of non-Hodgkins lymphoma when he wasn't yet 11 years old. It was horrifying to watch his family go through his diagnosis and treatment, but my God are they a strong family and Josiah beat every odd to tell the tale himself now. And then my Aunt Ann (my mom's brother's wife) got breast cancer, and she handled herself with the same perserverance and dignity that I have always associated with her, and now she sends me loving cards full of prayers and hopes for me. And then Josiah's mom, my sister-in-law Kerri, was diagnosed with breast cancer last year. Though Kerri is still on her healing journey, she has taken time to counsel me, to laugh and cry and pray with me. I know some very strong cancer survivors - they have blazed my trail and I hope I can learn from them.

And then there are the survivors that I am just starting to meet, or to learn about.

On the day of my mammogram, after finding the lump, I had to wait for interminable amounts of time in a little waiting room with other women who were also waiting to be called in for their mammograms. One woman looked about my grandmother's age, and she was cracking jokes to the group. There were a couple of us who looked terrified, and she smiled and said, "Oh, I've had the surgery. Really, it's not so bad!" and she really sounded like she meant it. The office was running late and we'd all been waiting a long time, and one woman was considering leaving to go to another appointment for her job. The survivor looked her in the eye and said, "You will sit your bottom right down, right now, and stay until they call you. This exam can save your life and I will not have you walking out on yourself right now." I wanted to cheer - we should all have been consoling her, for she knew the bad news already, but she was taking care of us.

Last week, Ryan and I also had to wait for a long time to see the oncologist. A young couple (mid-twenties) sat down near us, and I couldn't help but notice them. They were dressed sort of Goth, lots of black, tattoos, and body piercings; his T-shirt had some crazy graphics on it that I couldn't read, and he had a big chain on his waist. The woman was more interesting, for her appearance matched his, except she also had a bald head with just a bit of fuzz on it, a black eyepatch, and a walker-style cane to help her walk. Before, I wouldn't have thought negative thoughts about this couple but I wouldn't have paid attention, either, but this time I felt compelled to talk to them. "Hi," I ventured, my housewifeyness wrapped around me like an unfashionable coat and making me feel like quite the outsider to this pair, "I'm about to get the same hairdo that you have. How did it go for you?" At that point, the woman's face lit up and she went on about how it wasn't bad, started telling me the GOOD things about having cancer, and smiling all the while. Her significant other held her hand and smiled proudly and lovingly at her as she talked, and I thought that the two of them looked like angels.

Then, there is Ryan's Great Aunt Grace. Most of the people reading this have probably sat at Aunt Grace's table, for it's been passed down to us and sits in the place of honor in our dining room. That table has been the scene of many happy gatherings and Christmases and impromptu take-out dinners with friends, as well as innumerable glasses of wine, all shared with friends and family...it's where some dozen bouquets of flowers sat after my breast cancer diagnosis (thank you!) and it's where Tessa's birthday cakes sit each year. Well, now it has even more special meaning to me. Something I didn't know about Aunt Grace (I never met her) is that in 1936 she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a mastectomy and some other treatment, and went on to live to the age of 87 (she passed away when Ryan was about 12). Ryan remembers her as a woman with grace and great humor, as well as for having a very strong sense of self and a strong will. Now, when I pass through my dining room - a million times a day - my hand brushes the table and I feel Aunt Grace's strength passing through to me.

And then there's Gretchen. Gretchen (hi!) is a friend of Alice's who is about six months further down the breast cancer freeway than I am. Gretchen also keeps a blog - a much more sophisticated one than mine, I must admit - and I have read every page, trying to absorb the feelings and the lessons contained in her words. Gretchen and I have started corresponding and we will meet in person for the first time tomorrow, and I can't wait. Gretchen gets it. She gets the anger and the frustration but she still finds time to be eloquent and contemplative about it, and she has reached out to me to answer my questions and to discuss my fears.

I have a feeling that I will meet many, many more people who will touch my life because of cancer, and I feel like I'm learning faster than I've ever learned before. Cancer's a strange beast, and I'd never wish it on anyone (least of all myself), but if I have to have its evils I might as well take its blessings. The cancer highway isn't boring, to say the least, and I hope to take away some good things from the ride.

With love,
Kristina

PS Nothing to report today. :-)