Coach

When I think of Coach Deb Brown, I hear her basketball game-day black, high-heeled leather boots, stomping onto the court to fire us up or argue a call. I see her standing on the field hockey sideline in the pouring rain, yelling at us to get back on defense. I see her crouched next to third base on the softball field, her arm swinging around like a windmill directing us home. I feel her grabbing the back of my jersey, getting in my face and telling me what I needed to do to win the game.  I see her hosting team pasta parties at her house, mixing her famous Caesar salad and bonding with the team. I see her as I did when I met her in fifth grade: tall, intimidating and passionate. When I think of Coach Deb Brown, I don’t think of breast cancer.

 

I don’t think of her leaving practice early to get tests done, or travelling into New York City to get surgery. I don’t think of the winces of pain that shot across her face when she moved her arms in just the wrong way swinging a softball bat for infield practice, or the smile that would mask the pain afterwards. I don’t think of sophomore-in-high-school me hearing that the woman who had been a pushing me to be a better person, athlete and teammate since I was twelve, had cancer.

 

I remember when she told the team of her diagnosis, she described her breast cancer as “stage zero.” They had caught it early, but cancer isn’t something to mess with. Deb never brought it up after that. I’d occasionally ask how she was feeling and the answer was always the same. “I’m fine,” she’d say as she told me to go do my warm up laps or join my team in drills. Looking back on it, I think practice was an escape, a time to focus on our field hockey season (and making sure we weren’t cutting corners on our sprints) instead of whatever medical diagnoses she had just gotten. Deb was the strongest woman I knew, because whatever was going on in her personal life didn’t affect her on the field. She didn’t let her cancer define her, in fact, she did her best to make us forget that she was affected by it at all.

 

 

The only time that the team publicly recognized her cancer was during the Coaches Vs. Cancer game that we put together every season to support local coaches affected by cancer. I remember getting my pink warm up shirt for basketball with the “I Play For…” written on the back, waiting to be filled in with a sharpie to show the crowd who we were supporting that night. Deb’s name went on my shirt all three years after she was diagnosed. Our team had never been collectively affected by something before, and as unfortunate as the circumstances were, Deb brought us together as a team even further. We had a united reason to battle on the court, we all had her name on our backs. I Relay (and play) for Deb.

 

The nature of our relationship was very much a mother-daughter relationship. Deb wouldn’t take any of my crap and knew how to get me to play my best on my off-days. She knew to wind me up like a toy car on the sideline, to get my wheels spinning and then to push me back into the game to skid off and finish the fight. She told me not to cry as the final buzzer sounded when we lost in first-round basketball playoffs my freshman year … and sophomore year… and junior year… and she was in the audience for the eventual win my senior year. Deb’s always been in my corner, and I’ll always be in hers.

 

 

Finding pictures to accompany this post was difficult, mainly because Deb shies away from the camera at every given opportunity, making one excuse or another to duck away before the flash went off. I did, however, find her in all of our team pictures. Deb’s the biggest team player in the game, the one to bind us together, to take me aside to make sure that everyone was getting along off the field as well as on the field. Furthermore, I didn’t want the focus of this blog post to be cancer, because that was never Deb’s focus. Deb focused on the girls that (half) jokingly called her mom, that cheered her on at her bowling nights, that she told to “RELAX!” at the foul line, or the pitcher’s circle or during strokes of a field hockey game. Deb builds teams into families. 

 

 

So this one’s for you, Deb. For your tireless efforts to motivate us at (too) early Saturday morning practices (the best way to encourage a bunch of New York girls is to promise a deli-run after practice), for the famous Caesar salad and the way you walk excitedly up and down the sideline at a field hockey game. For the way that cancer never stopped you from being you and helping us.

 

RelayLove,

 

Caroline Biondo

 

Team Engagement Committee

 

To Spread the Hope

I have always been told that I am the spitting image of my mother, not just in looks but also in our personalities. We are both passionate about the things we care about, are admittedly rather opinionated, and are religiously punctual about everything. However, there is one way that I know that my mother would never want us to be similar—her susceptibility to cancer. She is currently a two-time survivor of breast cancer and about six years out of her treatments

 

 

As a child, I always knew that my mom had cancer before I was born. It was just another thing I knew about her, like where she was born, that her favorite color is purple, and that she loves chocolate—it really had no depth at all to me. I guess maybe I was too young to understand; maybe my parents didn’t want me to know what it really meant. That all changed though the summer before I started seventh grade when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time. I can still remember when my parents sat me down to tell me and I thought I was in trouble for who knows what. But all I wished for after they talked to me was that I had been in trouble instead of facing reality.

 

How are you supposed to react when the person who has taken care of you your entire life now needs to be taken care of, any you feel like there is nothing you can do to really help? I can remember coming home from school not wanting to see my mom, not because I didn’t love her and didn’t want to spend time with her, but because I couldn’t bear to see her so weak, so broken lying in bed after chemotherapy. I felt like school was my only escape from what was going on with my life at home, and when anyone would bring my mom’s condition up, I would immediately close myself off to them. I knew that they were just being considerate and show me that they cared, but I did not want to think about it, and the last thing I wanted was to be pitied. I just wanted to be a normal middle schooler.

 

 

 

Throughout the entire process, my parents would not stop telling my brother and I that my mom was going to be perfectly fine, but there were also times that, despite their very best efforts to keep it from us, I could see their fear too. I knew that they would never want me to know if things got very bad, so I just had to have hope that the doctors knew what they were doing. I guess that was probably one of the most difficult things for me. How was I supposed to trust these strangers with my mother’s life?

 

 This sense of helplessness is one of the main reasons why I became involved with the American Cancer Society Relay for Life. My mother had started her own team the previous year and had encouraged me to start my own. I immediately felt the support from both friends and family who joined my team and donated to this cause, and from the committee itself. The members from the committee in my hometown still continue to be a great support for my family and I and have made me feel at home within their community. I have never felt so passionate about a cause because I know that this organization has helped so many. This year will be my seventh year as a team captain for this event and my first year participating at UVA and as a committee member.

 

 

I Relay to spread hope to families just like mine, because I personally know how it feels to see a loved one suffering. Nearly everyone has been touched by cancer in some way, and I believe that this disease has taken too much from too many. This past year, a family friend lost her battle against cancer after a considerably long battle. She had been fighting cancer since I met her daughter in elementary school. Throughout the entire process, their whole family faced her cancer with such admirable positivity. How was I supposed to react when I saw such a wonderful woman, wife, and mother lose her battle? I Relay because no daughter should lose her mother at such a young age. I Relay because it is the only way I know how to fight back against this disease. I Relay both in remembrance of the many lives that have been lost and in celebration of those who won their battle. I Relay because these people diagnosed with cancer are not just statistics, they are mothers, daughters, fathers, sons, wives, husbands, grandparents, best friends—they mean everything to someone. They matter.

 

 

I hope that through my participation in the American Cancer Society Relay for Life, I am truly making a difference in the lives of others. While we may not be able to change someone's past, I think that we have the opportunity to change someone's future by raising both awareness and funds for the American Cancer Society. I Relay because after all that I have seen this disease take away from so many, I just can’t not do anything about it.

 

 

RelayLOVE,

 

Courtney Colahan

 

Team Engagement Committee