Cancer sucks
That's what his button read. My mom put that pin on our refrigerator along with all the happy, smiling faces and proud accomplishments. This was a word we could not use in our home, my mom said it was like a swear, but she still hung it up.
My dad was one of the smartest people I have ever known. He was a constant student of life. He loved to read. He was a psychologist. He had his Ph.D and a minor in philosophy. The man spoke slowly like he was going through the catalog of his brain before choosing each word. Cancer Sucks made him laugh.
I research everything. If someone asks a question or doubts information they are saying chances are I'm already on google finding out what I can about the topic. It can be an annoying habit for others, I'm sure, but I crave facts. I think it's a major part of my career that appealed to me. So when my dad was given the diagnosis, pancreatic cancer, I went to a computer. Typing the words pancreatic cancer in a search engine is something I wish no one else would ever have to do. At the time, the five-year survival rate was at 5%. I think it's at 6% now.
My heart told me my dad would defy the odds. My cynical - or maybe just realist - brain told me he probably would not. And because there was so much confusion and conflict spinning inside me, I was at a loss for words. I suspect my dad felt the same way, and seeing the buttons when he went in for chemo made him feel like he wasn't alone. Someone else understood that the emotions are too great to explain. You try to speak but the fear, the pain, the anger seem to rise up and choke you.
My dad died less than a year after his diagnosis. Without the major surgery he had doctors predicted he would have had two months. Last weekend would have been his 70th birthday. He only made it to 58. My dad was there to watch me take my first breath in this world. I was there, snuggled against him, as he took his last. Parents are supposed to go first, but not when their kids are 23 and 27.
My dad never met his daughter-in-law, son-in-law or four grand kids. He used to tell me growing up that he couldn't wait for me to be a mom and for him to spoil his grandchildren. It pisses me off that he missed out on this.
I'm not writing this just to rant. I'm writing it because we don't have to be the underdog in this battle forever.
My job has allowed me to help out with the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network in town. Today I also helped with the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I saw so many survivors today. More than 10,000 people were there to support the cause in Omaha. Komen has a lot of support, and it's making a dent in our Goliath of a competitor.
Days like this are always tough for me. I see and hear from the families that feel so much loss. I look at the cancer patients who seem tired from the drugs and therapy. It reminds me of a time that I wish never happened. But it's important to look at how bad cancer is and tackle it. Cancer makes victims feel alone. It makes spouses feel alone. It makes children feel alone. It makes people feel alone because it seems to occupy our every thought and feeling. But those of us who have been touched by its poisonous, long-reaching, indiscriminate finger need to realize we aren't alone.
Cancer succeeds by dividing and spreading. We also need to multiply and continue to carry the message as loud as we can. We need to beat it at its own game. Because with research and support, we can win. The reason why is really quite simple: Cancer sucks. People don't.
Learn more about the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network by clicking here.
Learn more about Susan G. Komen by clicking here.
My dad was one of the smartest people I have ever known. He was a constant student of life. He loved to read. He was a psychologist. He had his Ph.D and a minor in philosophy. The man spoke slowly like he was going through the catalog of his brain before choosing each word. Cancer Sucks made him laugh.
I research everything. If someone asks a question or doubts information they are saying chances are I'm already on google finding out what I can about the topic. It can be an annoying habit for others, I'm sure, but I crave facts. I think it's a major part of my career that appealed to me. So when my dad was given the diagnosis, pancreatic cancer, I went to a computer. Typing the words pancreatic cancer in a search engine is something I wish no one else would ever have to do. At the time, the five-year survival rate was at 5%. I think it's at 6% now.
My heart told me my dad would defy the odds. My cynical - or maybe just realist - brain told me he probably would not. And because there was so much confusion and conflict spinning inside me, I was at a loss for words. I suspect my dad felt the same way, and seeing the buttons when he went in for chemo made him feel like he wasn't alone. Someone else understood that the emotions are too great to explain. You try to speak but the fear, the pain, the anger seem to rise up and choke you.
My dad died less than a year after his diagnosis. Without the major surgery he had doctors predicted he would have had two months. Last weekend would have been his 70th birthday. He only made it to 58. My dad was there to watch me take my first breath in this world. I was there, snuggled against him, as he took his last. Parents are supposed to go first, but not when their kids are 23 and 27.
My dad never met his daughter-in-law, son-in-law or four grand kids. He used to tell me growing up that he couldn't wait for me to be a mom and for him to spoil his grandchildren. It pisses me off that he missed out on this.
I'm not writing this just to rant. I'm writing it because we don't have to be the underdog in this battle forever.
My job has allowed me to help out with the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network in town. Today I also helped with the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I saw so many survivors today. More than 10,000 people were there to support the cause in Omaha. Komen has a lot of support, and it's making a dent in our Goliath of a competitor.
Days like this are always tough for me. I see and hear from the families that feel so much loss. I look at the cancer patients who seem tired from the drugs and therapy. It reminds me of a time that I wish never happened. But it's important to look at how bad cancer is and tackle it. Cancer makes victims feel alone. It makes spouses feel alone. It makes children feel alone. It makes people feel alone because it seems to occupy our every thought and feeling. But those of us who have been touched by its poisonous, long-reaching, indiscriminate finger need to realize we aren't alone.
Cancer succeeds by dividing and spreading. We also need to multiply and continue to carry the message as loud as we can. We need to beat it at its own game. Because with research and support, we can win. The reason why is really quite simple: Cancer sucks. People don't.
Learn more about the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network by clicking here.
Learn more about Susan G. Komen by clicking here.
