07/21/2016
To our Caregivers:
35 years ago an 8-year-old girl sat in the middle front seat of the family car as they drove home from Rockwellâs Space Shuttle open house. Life was already high on the precious meter in her family because 18 monthsâ prior the man driving found a malignant mole, that spread to his lymph nodes. Melanoma had taken a seat at our dinner table. And like most unwanted guests, wasnât getting the hint the meal was over.
He pulled over that Sunday night as double vision took over his ability to focus. Not one to wait-it-out he called the Dr. Monday morning, had an appointment on Tuesday and was being prepped for brain surgery by Thursday. 11 hours and a round trip meeting with his maker while on the operating table he came back to us minus a brain tumor.
Cancer didnât eat every meal with us. But It came back to visit my older sisterâs thyroid, once again my dad â with prostate, and most recently my mom who is 2 years clean from stage 4 colorectal cancer.
I donât know life without cancer. Itâs been in my life longer than Relay has been in existence.
I struggled how I might relate my experience to those of you who have had a partial life of no cancer. The shocking adjustment of witnessing your loved one physically ache when they were vibrant and care-free just a short time before. The yearn can be so palpable in those moments sitting next to your survivor as their veins are filled with the painful alternative to death.
But hereâs how we are the sameâŠ. You and I donât know life without hope.
Cancer never seemed like death to me. Even in the days when it was whispered as the âCâ word. Even when my dadâs only hope to live was a clinical trial of immunotherapy for the lymph nodes. We just kept going. Because it was only a SEAT at the table. It wasnât the whole room.
As a caregiver, unlike the patient, you have a tangible choice. You can walk away. You can leave the job for someone else to do. You can take respite.
But you donât.
You stay awake through the night as they make their 7th trip to the bathroom. You cool or warm their food to room temperature so their nerve endings can stay calm as they are finally able to keep it down. You take time off work to drive them to appointments and treatments. You change your diet, your laundry soap, your doorway entryâs, your vacations, your retirement plans, the books you read and the upkeep you do on yourself.
You give them HOPE.
You are the ones telling them they can do this when they canât get out of bed. You are the ones who talk to them about everything BUT cancer because some days they JUST CANâT THINK ABOUT IT.
You are the ones who search for new studies, educate yourselves on palliative care, who vote legislation into law. You are the ones who walk the track.
You tangibly chose hope.
Thatâs our common denominator. That inner engine that lets us stretch beyond what we think our limits are.
If it werenât for cancer⊠I was talking to a caregiver recently who started every sentence with that phrase. If it werenât for cancer⊠he wouldnât have met the kind souls at the cancer treatment center. If it werenât for cancer... he wouldnât have as strong a marriage. If it werenât for cancer... he wouldnât have made it a daily point to tell people what they mean to him.
As a caregiver you carry a weight of helplessness.
Until you chose Hope.
Gordy Klatt â chose hope.
The researchers in the labs- chose hope
The LGFB volunteer- chooses hope.
The road to recovery driver â chooses hope
The 1,000s of citizens who line the capitals steps- chose hope.
And it all started in those wee hours when we could have walked away, but didnât.
Thank you for choosing HOPE!
