Walking A Mile in Her Shoes

I wrote about four sisters - their names won't be used because I haven't asked their permission to write about them again - who had every right to throw up their hands in surrender. Between them, they were diagnosed seven times with cancer. Breast (numerous), ovarian, melanoma, I can't even remember who had what because it was almost too much to take in. I'm sure as I interviewed them my jaw fell more than once.

One of them was walking in the Weekend to End Women's Cancers. Just one because one sister's schedule wouldn't allow it, one had just undergone surgery and one was about to go in.
I met three of them the day before the walk at a house on the outskirts of the city, in a lush back yard, where we sat and they told me their stories. One sister didn't join us because she had received her diagnosis just a day or two earlier and simply wasn't up to talking to a stranger about it. Especially when that stranger would tell tens of thousands of other strangers about her private hell. But the other three were unstoppable.
They were open and honest, funny and serious, but more than anything they were natural. They didn't sugarcoat what they were going through, but neither did they ask for pity either. Had it been offered, I know they wouldn't have accepted it. They all had reason to feel sorry for themselves, but this was the hand they had been dealt and, damn it, they were going to play it for all it was worth. I took a few pictures of them in this beautiful yard on a warm summer evening, arms around each other, one laughing so hard her eyes were squeezed shut. It wasn't technically the best of the photos I took, but it was the one we chose to use.
I called one of them a short while ago to see how they were. It had been months and, to be honest, I was afraid of what I'd be told.
My fears were unfounded.
Yes, they are all alive, but that's not all. One was currently cancer-free, the others recovering well. They know too well that anything can still happen, but why does that have to mean that anything bad can still happen? Maybe, sometimes it can mean anything wonderful and magical and - not long ago - unthinkable can still happen?
Cancer went after four of them attacking from all sides, but it hasn't won. As of this day, it's being fought with ferocious spirits and love for life that has it retreating. As of this day, there IS a day for four sisters who won't give up.

Fearing the Unknown

I’ve never had cancer, but I know firsthand the fear of thinking I might. A few years ago I was at work when my doctor’s receptionist called me to ask if I could go in to see the doctor. I had been coughing on and off for a couple of weeks and had already gone for a chest x-ray to what was what. I figured it was bronchitis or maybe even pneumonia, as I’d had both a few times before.

So I said, sure, I’ll try to get in to see him in the next few days.
No, she replied, he wants to see you right now.
Now?
Right now.
So this heightens the heart rate, let me tell you. My wife then called asking if the doctor had been able to reach me. They’d also called her at work. She sounded nervous, too, and said she’d meet me there.
That was not a good sign either, I thought. She works at the heart institute and sees all forms of scary things on a daily basis, so her sounding concerned was not a good sign.
I asked if they had told her anything. No, she said, just that they want to see me today.
My doctor works in a walk-in clinic, which means I usually have a wait of an hour or so to see him. Not that day. I arrived and they led me to an examination room. Again, right away.
I have to admit I was just a few degrees south of terrified by then.
"This is probably nothing,” the doc said, which made it all the worse because that meant it at least could be something, too. “There’s a spot in the x-ray we want to take a look at.”
A spot? What spot? Where?!
He showed me. It was on a lung and it was impossible to ignore.
My blood felt ice cold, but he did his best to keep me grounded.
Inside of half an hour, I had walked into the clinic without a real care in the world, all things considered, and walked out with the name and number of an oncologist. It felt like a dream, a very bad one, but it didn’t feel real. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I had even quit smoking a few years earlier!
I don’t clearly remember setting up the appointment because, as I said, it had all begun to feel like an out-of-body experience, as though I were watching myself go home, call the oncologist, and make the appointment.
Because of the lump’s difficult location, a biopsy was ruled out, so I had a CT scan done.
In the end, no one was really sure of what was - and still is - there, but they did manage to rule out cancer. And I was fortunate enough to experience for myself the incredibly devoted, professional and kind health care workers we have in this city.
Yes, it was terrifying, but I always felt that if the worst was going to happen that at least these tremendous people would give me a fighting chance.