I’m a lucky kid.
I grew up in a boring part of Ohio
in a middle-class family. I’ve never won the lottery, guessed the exact number
of jelly beans in the jar, or even been chosen as a line leader. But I am lucky.
The first time I ever really felt
it was when I was about eight years old sitting at the dinner table. “Mom,” I
asked, “It feels weird to hug grandma. Why?”
After a few moments, she explained
to me that my grandma is different: she had to have one of her breasts removed
in her forties after almost passing away from breast cancer. In fact, she told
me that the cancer came back two more times, and that if had not been for the
new medicine, my grandma might not be alive.
“Oh.”
“But aren’t we lucky that we have
her, and that you guys have gotten to spend so much time with her?”
I nodded. I had no more questions.
About five years later I was
watching Sportscenter with Kyle and Payton when my dad came in and pressed the
power button on the TV.
“Guys, can you come in here for a
second?”
Around the very same dinner table he calmly
explained that our mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer. But they had
caught it quickly. The cancer was stage one, and there was very little chance
that it had spread to other parts of her body. And he was right. Within about a
year, the tests results came back; the Tamoxifen had done its job. There was no
signs of cancerous cells, and all of her medical examinations were negative. My
mother had beaten the disease completely and was never even forced to endure
chemo. We were lucky again.
It took me about three years to get
to the point where I was comfortable enough to type the word “cancer” into my
Google toolbar, but when I finally did I was shocked. Statistically, one out of
every eight women born will be diagnosed with breast cancer. In 2010 alone,
about 206,966 women new cases of invasive breast cancer were diagnosed in
women.
But one number stood out to me
above the rest: two. According to Breastcancer.org, a woman’s risk of breast
cancer approximately doubles if she has a first-degree relative that has been
diagnosed with breast cancer. With a younger sister, I couldn’t help but feel
like Ebenezer waiting for my third ghost.
I started participating in Relay
for Life in order to make sure that the story of cancer’s past is very
different than the story of its future. Funds provided by Relay and the
American Cancer Society have been instrumental
in developing drugs and treatments, like Tamoxifen, that have been crucial in
diagnosing women during the early stages of cancer so they can survive and live
comfortably with the reality of their disease. Over the past ten years, cancer
incidence has dropped about 7%, and the chances of a women passing away from
breast cancer has decreased to about 3%.
I’m fighting to create a world
where cancer is eradicated and my sister is more than just a simple statistic.
Just like millions of women, she
will be just another lucky one.
With Relaylove,
Entertainment Committee
