I Hate Cancer!

  A nagging pain developed in my right side recently. A dull, unexplainable ache in the breast area. One of those places that I check often but hope to find nothing.  My last mammogram was fine, thank God, but this ache became annoying enough that I scheduled an exam. Because my mother had breast cancer at age 83, my doctor sent me straight for repeat tests. I dread it every year but I go because I hate cancer more.

     I hate it because it snuffed out the life of my daddy, just retired with a new granddaughter he adored (my firstborn) and plans to travel, explore and enjoy life with my mother. He died only months after the diagnosis. I held his hand as he passed from this life to the next. How I hated seeing this gentle, quiet man suffer. I hated the disease even more.

     I hate cancer because it ripped my precious friend, Diane, from me. Joined at the heart, we did everything together from decorating and redecorating houses to singing to shopping to traveling to laughing so hard we cried. I climbed into the hospital bed with her right before she died and we celebrated the too-few years God had allowed us to share. She promised she’d send me ideas when I get into a hard spot creatively. I believe she does. I miss her. I despise that wicked disease.

     I hate it because it took our nephew after a battle that wreaked such havoc I wouldn’t have recognized him at the end, just days after a huge Steelers win which was a perfect send-off …him in his black and yellow jersey to celebrate. In his memory I say “Here we go Steelers! Here we go!”

     And I hate it because it snuffed out the short life of our 21-year-old son-in-law to colon, liver, lymph nodes, stomach and lung cancer after only six weeks of marriage to our daughter. Their wedding announcement was in the paper one week and his obituary the next. He posted a message on Facebook just days before he left this earth encouraging us to live our lives fully, to love each other, and that he wished he could do life over again because he’d realized the most important things. I wish he would’ve had the chance. Watching him take his last breath, our daughter curled up next to him, I hated that disease more than ever for the pain and heartbreak it causes.

     I waited for my mammogram with six other women, all of us decked out in our little gowns, nervously chitchatting trying to act as normal as if we were waiting for hair appointments.

      I knew as I looked around the room that it was entirely possible, no, it was probable, that at least one of us would walk out of that office having just been given news that would shake the very foundation of our life. Nothing would ever be exactly the way it was before the news that the evil monster the medical world calls cancer had invaded.

     As the doctor performed my ultrasound, I could hardly pay attention to the procedure. Had this morning been the last my husband and I would eat breakfast without the worry and fear of rounds of chemo or surgery or radiation or how to tell our children or the counting of years or months or days?

     When my doctor gave me good news, I was overwhelmed with not only gratitude that I was okay, but with thoughts for the other women who had sat in the very chair I did yet with very different results.

     As I kissed my husband goodbye and headed to the ferry, I decided to grab a celebratory lunch to eat on the way home.

     The sun seemed to shine brighter than normal. I wanted to reach out and hug every person I met and tell them my good news. I wanted to grab them and tell them to take in more of this great day and celebrate every bit of life they could with a vengeance. We were alive!

      And then I heard the music.

     There was a Reggae band playing outside surrounded by a big crowd of people sitting and listening. I joined their ranks.

     Beyond the sitters and listeners and watchers and bystanders, I saw folks who weren’t content to just observe. They were dancing!

     I saw a woman probably in her 70s wearing a big, fancy turquoise hat and dress and rhinestone-studded sunglasses and rose-colored gloves! She was dancing with passion and urged others to join her. Had she been given great news at some point in her life?

     There was a girl in her 20s who was dancing like it was the last thing she would ever do. She spun in circles enough to make us all dizzy and stomped her feet and raised her arms in the air inviting every good thing in life to come her way.

     Then it hit me. What in the world was I doing sitting on the sidelines just watching?

     I was just given every reason in the world to celebrate! No cancer!

    What would I’ve done if a tumor had shown up in that ultrasound? I know I would’ve been begging for more times to sing and dance and love and live life! More times to stand in awe of a breathtaking sunrise or sunset. More Saturday mornings to go to the farmer’s market. More opportunities to look into the faces of the ones I love and tell them how much I desperately adore even the smell of their skin!   

     And the simple little things like making someone laugh, wearing comfortable flip flops, sitting in front of a fire on a rainy day, playing the piano, putting my toes in the sand, singing alto, holding hands, trying on new lipstick, taking a long, hot bath, tasting yummy food, watching a good movie (yes, Ladyhawke again!). Ah, and one of my most favorite things ever, to dance!   

     I put my lunch down, got up and got down! I thanked God for another day on this beautiful earth. For gorgeous skies whether with sunshine or clouds or even rain, for a healthy body, for days to grow and learn and forgive and accept forgiveness and go forward in life better than I did the day before.

     I danced for Daddy and Mother. I danced for Diane and Isaac and Jake and my Aunt Joannie and Uncle Walt and so many others. I danced in gratitude because I don’t ever want to take it for granted that I can.

     As you read this, I ask you have you danced lately?

     For all those who have gone before us, for those who have received the terrible diagnosis and are battling it now, I say let’s dance.

     For those among us whose pain is too great or bodies are too ravaged, let’s dance.

     For those who need our strength to help them get their own back, let’s dance. For us here and now and for those of us to come, let’s dance.

     Get up. Don’t waste another minute because we don’t know how many we have left.                

Let’s just dance.