Cancer has always been part of my life. My maternal grandmother endured a long seven year battle with breast cancer before she passed away when I was four years old. I don’t remember her being sick, but every photo that I have with her shows a different stage of her battle. I was raised with the stories of how bravely she fought.
My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 16 years old. It was a scary and upsetting time in our family. My parents were going through a difficult time in their marriage already, plus to add a mastectomy and cancer treatments to the mix did NOT make for a fun party. A month into my mother’s surgery recovery and cancer treatments, I found a lump in my left breast and underwent surgery to remove it. It was my first of three lumps over the next five years. Thankfully, all were benign.
The following year, a month before my high school graduation, I sat at my paternal grandmother's side for several days while she lost her painful battle with lung cancer. She had really been the only grandmother I had ever known and watching her pass away was one of the hardest moments of my life. It is a painful, horrible way for anyone to die, especially when it is your sweet, tiny, do-anything-for-you Grandmother.
In 2006, my father-in-law had a very short battle with lymphoma and passed away six months after his stage 4 diagnosis. There wasn't enough time and watching the effects of this disease affecting my husband's life was hard. The last time I saw my father-in-law was on my son’s first birthday.
I can’t even begin to list the number of friends in my life who have been touched by this horrible disease. Friends of incredible character and strength, who have had their lives abruptly put on pause as they fight the fight of their lives. For both patients and caregivers alike, the battle is exhausting, emotional, and all-consuming. Three times this year already, I’ve received the news from a friend,”I have cancer.” A former co-worker, a college friend, and then from my best friend.
I hate Cancer. It’s indiscriminate. It attacks children, women, and men at all stages of their lives. Children who can’t even walk or talk. Women who are pregnant. Men who have just finished a marathon and are in the best shape of their lives. And, most of the time, they never saw it coming.
My father once told me to put my nervous energy and fears into something productive, and I’ve tried my best to do that. I participated in my first cancer-related fundraiser three months after my mother’s mastectomy and my own lumpectomy. And, I haven’t stopped. Along the way there have been countless Komen walks, Relay for Life events, American Cancer Society benefits, Livestrong fundraisers, and hours spent as a volunteer at several Children’s hospitals. But, that doesn’t seem like enough for me anymore.
At the end of 2010, I started work on a new fundraiser with my good friend, Lee, who is a six-year anal cancer survivor. Lee is already a successful fundraiser on her own, and together, we felt like we could produce an exciting event…the first of its kind…that would make an impact in the fight against cancer. With more than 16 months before the event date, we worked to assemble a dedicated team of volunteers and to get the support of our two beneficiaries. We started putting out “feelers” of financial supporters and received great feedback and response. The ball was starting to roll and we were feeling GREAT. We spent the first part of 2011 having productive meetings and lining up amazing vendors and supporters to produce the event with us. Still feeling GREAT. Last week, we made an important trip to New York to meet with additional participants on the event, and it was……let’s use the word: eye-opening. I’m not going to say that the meetings were unproductive, because they were successful, beneficial, and informative in their own ways. But, I’ll be honest….those meetings shook me a little bit; they were harder than I had anticipated. I didn’t walk away discouraged. I just walked away feeling like I need to work harder, faster, and with more determination than I already had.
I sat on the plane ride home and wondered if I really have the energy to pull this off. Wondered if I really have the connections to make an event of this magnitude even possible. Wondered if little me and little Lee could take the fashion industry on when we certainly are NOT “fashionistas” by any definition of the word.
Then I got home, and after smothering my son in hugs and kisses, I sat down at my computer to check my emails. My eye caught a little magnet in my office with a great quote from John F. Kennedy, “One person can make a difference and everyone should try.” Well said JFK. But, haven’t I already tried?
Husband and Son took me out to dinner (since clearly a tired and travel-worn mom didn’t want to cook…ha!) Husband sat through a little too much fundraising talk at the table and didn’t ever say “you shouldn’t do this event”, which is what I was really, really hoping to hear him say so that I could use it as my justification for quitting on this project. And, why had I thought about quitting the project? Fear. Lack of confidence. Nerves. Mostly fear.
We got home from dinner and as I frustratingly threw my purse onto my desk, I knocked an article off of my bulletin board. The final paragraph caught my eye….
“The easiest thing in the world to do is quit on something. Quitting takes zero effort. Quitting can even be justified with excuses and legitimate reasons at times. When someone quits at something, they can even lie to themselves by saying that what they quit on wasn’t that important. To those people with that mentality, this is what I have to say. If it was important enough to start, then it is important enough to finish. Don’t quit. Hold on, cling to what is yours until your fingers cramp; and once your fingers cramp, switch hands.” (Baron Batch)
So, I’m not quitting. I’m just switching hands.
To the fashion industry, I say: get ready, because the Dress 4 Yellow team is coming for you and we won’t take “no” for an answer.
To my friends fighting cancer, especially Superwoman, I say: you are not in this alone. I’m fighting with you every step of the way.
And, to Cancer, I say: I have two hands and I can keep switching between them for as long as it takes to get you out of my life.
And the determination of that makes me smile.
