In continuing with my goal of sharing some of the incredible people and stories that inspire and motivate me to run for the DFMC team, today I share one of the most moving guest posts yet (and if you haven't checked out my previous guest posts, be sure to read Paige's story HERE and Amanda's story HERE).
Today's post is from my good friend Mary, and I was first inspired to run for Dana-Farber two years ago in honor, and then memory, of her beautiful mother Stephanie. When Mary surprised me at the finish line of the Falmouth Road Race with a banner displaying her Mom's name as well as the other people I was running in honor of, it hit me that running for a place like Dana-Farber is so much bigger than any one race, mile, or person. Soon after when I was debating whether I should apply for my first Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge, Mary didn't hesitate in encouraging me to apply. And from the moment I received that first acceptance email Mary became my unofficial "campaign manager" - always ready to tell a nearby coworker, friend, or stranger that I was running the marathon for Dana-Farber and encouraging them to support me on my journey. As I finally approached Mile 26 last year (where our office is located) I could see Mary beaming from a block away and her hug was one of the best moments of last year's race.
Today's post is from my good friend Mary, and I was first inspired to run for Dana-Farber two years ago in honor, and then memory, of her beautiful mother Stephanie. When Mary surprised me at the finish line of the Falmouth Road Race with a banner displaying her Mom's name as well as the other people I was running in honor of, it hit me that running for a place like Dana-Farber is so much bigger than any one race, mile, or person. Soon after when I was debating whether I should apply for my first Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge, Mary didn't hesitate in encouraging me to apply. And from the moment I received that first acceptance email Mary became my unofficial "campaign manager" - always ready to tell a nearby coworker, friend, or stranger that I was running the marathon for Dana-Farber and encouraging them to support me on my journey. As I finally approached Mile 26 last year (where our office is located) I could see Mary beaming from a block away and her hug was one of the best moments of last year's race.
Mary is without a doubt one of the toughest and bravest people I know, as you will see from her beautifully honest post below. When I first asked Mary if she might consider sharing her story with all of you, I purposely told her she could think it over and let me know on her terms/timetable. I didn't want to push her to share something so personal if she wasn't yet ready to do so. Yesterday, as I bounced around work as if I had consumed 100 cups of coffee and attempted to calm my one week countdown nerves, Mary wrapped up for the day and headed out the door. Moments later an email appeared bearing this post. As I read it and wiped tears from me eyes, my nerves melted away and I was so deeply reminded of why I am running for DFMC. It doesn't matter if it takes me longer to finish the marathon than last year, it doesn't matter if I am fast or slow, and it doesn't matter how I do in the race at all this Monday - because that race isn't the one we need to win.
Mary likes to tease me because she wanted to sponsor Mile 26 but my Uncle Arthur (who heads up Team Collins Texas Division) beat her to it, so she "settled" for some other miles. But Mary, what you don't know is that every single mile is yours. YOU are why I run, why our team runs. So that posts like this will never have to be shared. So that pain like yours never has to be felt. And so that one day there can be a cure.
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There
is truly no loss like the loss of a parent, but especially a mother. I mean, at
one point, you were actually connected to her body, so it’s only natural that
watching the woman who gave you life die feels like one of the cruelest
things out there. But what is worse is when losing your mother means that you
now have lost both your parents.
About two years ago,
my mom passed away, twenty one years after my father. Both of my parents had cancer, and it took
both of their lives. My father struggled for about four years, where my mom
only 10 months. Never at thirty two years old did I think that I would be
parentless, let alone have had to watch both of the people I love the most die
from such a horrible disease.
So here, two years
later or twenty three years later (depending how you look at it), with a
clear(er) head and a grateful heart, I would like to tell you my story. It
isn’t happy or sad, it just is. It is life, and sometimes it is hard, unfair,
and tragic… but it goes on and that is a blessing.
When I was in the
second grade my father was diagnosed with colon cancer. I didn’t really get it.
All I knew was that my dad had to have surgery, and we went to the hospital to
visit him. He had a large scar down his stomach which I remember that it looked
like it must have hurt. This process of surgeries and hospitalization went on
for the next few years. I can’t tell you how many surgeries that my dad had, I
now can say that he had chemotherapy, but at the time I didn’t know what that
was let alone that my dad was having it. He never lost his hair, his laughter,
or his spirit. He was usually happy, or was from what I could see. I can’t talk
about what kind of treatments that he had or what kind of pain he may have experienced,
hell till I was in high school I thought that he had stomach cancer, he had a
HUGE scar down his belly, why would I think anything different. What I can tell
you is that if he had gotten sick today, there is a chance he might still be
with us. Technology has grown and changed and become something that possibly
was unimaginable then. But on the other side of the coin, I could have still
lost him today. All I know is that my father died of cancer, it was awful and
sad. I was eleven when we buried him, but now at thirty three my life is just
as affected as it was then, if not even more so.
Fast forward to 2013.
I have taken a new job in a city that I love (Boston), I have just moved back
to said city, I have made new friends, my sister is just engaged, my brother is
about to enter his junior year of college, life is good. Well, then the other
shoe dropped. It is August, my mother (who taught abroad for the year) has only
been back home for about two months and has been complaining that she has pain
in her arm. Her doctor thinks that she has torn her rotator cuff. After a month
of trial and errors her doctors finally x-ray her arm, there it is a mass about
the size of a softball in her lung. A SOFTBALL! Within a month or so we find
out that my mother (who hasn’t had any major health problems till now) has
stage IV metastasized inoperable lung cancer. And here is the real kicker, she
doesn’t just have adenocarcinoma (the most common form of lung cancer) but she
also has squamous cell carcinoma (which accounts for 25 percent of all lung cancers).
And just so you all know stage IV cancer is defined as"the most advanced stage of lung cancer" and is also
described as "advanced disease." This is when the cancer has spread to both
lungs, to fluid in the area around the lungs, or to another part of the body,
such as the liver or other organs. They gave my mom six months to a year.
I won’t bore
you with all of the details, I will just say it wasn’t pretty. It was hard to
let the past go and not be angry about anything that she had done to hurt me
and just love her and take care of her the best we (my siblings, step-father,
and rest of my family) could. This included taking her to many doctors’
appointments, both in New Hampshire (where I grew up and she lived) and in
Boston, deciding that she should have a shoulder replacement to try to help
control her pain, sleeping on a hospital cot for a week while she was
recovering from surgery, sleeping on the couch for many weekends, and
eventually caring for her while she was in hospice. Just when I thought that I
could finally live my life in the city that I loved and do the things I wanted,
I was pulled back to drive to New Hampshire every weekend or every other
weekend to be with my mom, to eventually put my belongings in storage and move
back to New Hampshire for the summer to help my family, and to pick up the
pieces. I don’t regret this at all, I don’t begrudge it or anyone. Was I the
one that my mom relied on? Yes I was, and at the end of the day I am happy it
was me and not anyone else in my family. It was hard and awful and there are
many days that I barely held it together, there are still days I barely hold it
together. I am thankful for all of the support that I received from friends,
and mainly my family. I am blessed to have the BEST sister, brother, and (now)
brother-in-law a girl could ask for. Losing my mother was shocking, and
horrible but it is life.
What I fail
to mention above is that my parents were given great care. I know much more
about my mother’s cancer treatments than my fathers, go figure that I
apparently could handle it better almost twenty one years later. My mother
wanted to receive treatment at “home”, but we insisted that she at least be
seen by Dana Farber Cancer Institute. She was, and thankfully they were willing to
accommodate her to work with her oncologists at home and come up with the best
plan of attack to try to give her the best care possible. Because of her army
of doctors (both near and far) we were given a wonderful Christmas, another
birthday for both her and me, and 10 months of mostly joy. Sure there were
times we didn’t see eye to eye, sure caring for her that last month was the
hardest thing I have ever done. But in the end I know that it was the only
thing we could do.
There are
many things that I don’t know about life, about cancer, about struggling. But
here is what I do know. Life is hard, it can be unfair, and it can hit you when
you are down. It can also be amazing and joyous. Cancer is awful, and painful,
and debilitating to many (not just the people who are diagnosed with the
disease), but it is the people who are working towards solving this “problem”
that make it livable. My friend, Erin Collins, is one of those people. She runs
(like actually runs) and works hard to raise funds for the Barr Program at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Because of her we are closer to a cure, to something that
could have saved my parents. But also because of her my mother was able to get
treated at a place that was comfortable for her. The Dana Farber Marathon Challenge team
is amazing in my eyes. These people not only bust their butts to raise
thousands (possibly millions) of dollars to fund cancer research, they also
then run a marathon (I can’t even talk about the miles of training that they
put in), 26.2 miles. These people are amazing!
Grief comes at you in
a million different forms. Some days you’re flying high and just like that, a
bittersweet memory comes fleeting into your mind and a sorrowful “why them? why
me?” wave crashes over you before you can yell "help!" The death of a parent is
truly a wound that will never quite heal no matter how many years go by. It’s
okay. Embrace that you still long for them so deeply. It’s a beautiful reminder
of the unconditional love we have for our parents. For me, knowing that
this program is continuing to help others, others that hopefully will never
have to experience what I have experienced till they are old and gray, gives me
hope and allows me to see the light in the darkness that cancer can cause. Thank
you all!
