Let's Make History

Cancer. Before I go on, stop and think about what this word means for you. You might be thinking about a loved one you’ve lost because of this terrible disease. You might be thinking about the hours you or a loved one has had to spend in the hospital because of this disease. It’s also possible that cancer hasn’t played a huge role in your life, and if that is the case don’t stop reading now. No matter what the case is, cancer is something that has become incredibly prominent and invasive in our world. It is so easy to ignore the hard things, but there is no time for that. It’s time to fight cancer and make history.

This year about 564,800 Americans are expected to die of cancer—more than 1,500 people a day. Cancer is the second leading cause of death in the US, exceeded only by heart disease. One of every four deaths in the U.S. is from cancer. Since 1990, there have been approximately 5 million cancer deaths.  These numbers are numbers that I never want to see again. These numbers became more than just numbers to me a few years ago when I lost Papa to cancer.

My parents had told me that Papa was sick and things were getting pretty bad. I didn’t really want to believe them, but I had to. For the first time I was forced to think about the impact that cancer had in my family’s life. I sat with Papa for some of his last hours, but he never showed a sign of weakness. Papa’s faith and love kept him strong through the end.

Papa was a man who was full of energy, love, and life. Nothing ever seemed to bother him and he was always a calming presence wherever he was. He is someone that I admire greatly and he is someone that is loved by so many people. Papa always took the time to make you feel loved and known by him. He was a man who took the time to have great conversations with you and give you a nice big hug. He was the biggest Syracuse fan I know and I think he is who left me with some mixed feelings after the Wahoo loss versus Cuse on Sunday. He also loved history more than anyone I know. One of my favorite memories with Papa was his trip to Virginia to chaperone my class’ field trip to Jamestown. He was so interested and intrigued by everything we saw. His love for history has made me think of what kind of history we can make.

Relay For Life has given me the opportunity to contribute to something urgent, something important, and something bigger than myself. We have the opportunity to make history. Relay For Life has grown into a nationwide event raising nearly $5 billion to save lives from cancer. In a world where we are constantly innovating and discovering, I have hope that we will see the end of cancer and history will be made.

I Relay for Papa, for Mrs. Gerkin, and for all of those who are impacted by cancer. This disease has an impact that is far greater than anyone would ever want it to be. Join me and let’s make history.

RelayLove,

Alexa Vignone

Greek Recruitment Committee

Sunday Shoutout: Miller & Minh

Hey Relay-ers! I am honored to announce that this week's shoutout goes to the new Relay For Life Co-Chairs for the 2016-2017 school year: Miller Sisson and Minh Bui! Biggest congrats to these two wonderful people & be sure to say hello if you see them!

Name: Miller Sisson

Hometown: Birmingham, AL

Year/Major: 3rd year, Human Biology

Position on Relay: Greek Recruitment Chair

Why I Relay: I Relay to fight back against cancer. I have had two grandparents with cancer, and so I Relay to both honor them and to hopefully prevent others from going through what they did. I also Relay for my future career. I want to be an oncologist, and my dream is to be able to say to folks: "You have cancer, but we can do something about this. We can cure your disease." I believe the work that Relay and the ACS are doing now makes this dream closer and closer to becoming a reality.

Why I’m Excited For Relay: I go to bed really early most days, but I can't think of a more exciting reason to pull an all-nighter. Seeing so many folks at UVA come together to fight for the same goal is really powerful. And the free food. 

Did you know… That I have a twin sister? She's a student at Furman University in South Carolina. She's a lot cooler than I am, but I'm one minute older so it all evens out, right? I have two younger brothers too, and they are pretty cool in their own right. 

Favorite Flavor of Ice Cream: Chocolate. It's not even close.

Name: Minh Bui

Hometown: Chantilly, VA

Year/Major: 3rd Year, Sociology

Position on Relay: Entertainment Chair

Why I Relay: For my Aunt

Why I'm Excited for Relay: Because Luminaria is one of the best hours of my year, and that we'll be playing Hunger Hungry Hippos - Human Edition

Did you know: I turned my parents into cake ball creating sweatshop workers in high school and made them help me make 1,400 cake balls to sell for Relay. No shame.

Favorite Flavor of Ice Cream: Anything with salted caramel!

For The Irishman

When cancer first affected my life, I was too young to realize it. I was three years old when my Grandpa Bob passed away from lung cancer at a relatively young age. I was three years old when I lost the person who had taught me to play the piano, who was the reason I knew what the Yankees were, and who had the exact same Irish eyes as I have. I was three years old when I lost the person who was supposed to see my sister and I grow up, who was supposed to take care of my grandmother in her old age, and who was supposed to tell me all about my Irish descendants. But I was just three years old, and I had no idea.

It was years later, when I found my Mom crying downstairs, that I learned about the incredible man I had lost. She had found tapes of my Grandpa Bob’s voice, and we listened and cried for hours while she told me all about the person he had been. I had never seen my mother cry before. That was the first time that I truly understood what cancer could take away.

Since then, I have been confronted by cancer in so many ways. I don’t remember my Grandpa Bob’s funeral, but I vividly remember the funerals of two friends’ fathers who passed away from cancer. And I remember how much cancer affected their lives and the lives of those who loved them. I remember the day my Dad sat me down and told me that his own father, Grandpa Lind, was diagnosed with an aggressive form of skin cancer. I remember visiting my grandparents that same year and seeing for myself the effect that intense cancer treatment had on my grandfather. I remember eating hot dogs with him because it was the only food he could still taste. I remember hugging him harder every time I said goodbye, in fear of it being my last. I remember his smile and his conviction, and I remember the day that the doctors finally told him he was in remission. And lastly, I remember the day the cancer came back.

I remember, and so I Relay.

I Relay in memory of my Grandpa Bob, in celebration of my Meme’s triumph in her battle against non-hodgkins lymphoma (a cancer of the lymphatic system), in honor of my Grandpa Lind, and in hope of a cancer-less future. I Relay for missed times, for missed relationships, for missed hugs and for missed kisses. I Relay for all of my friends who have lost a parent or loved one to this awful disease.

I Relay in the hope of a future in which no one has to say or hear the words, “I have cancer”.

Cancer is an epidemic. This year alone there will be an estimated 1,685,210 new cases diagnosed and nearly 600,000 deaths in the US. Right behind heart disease, cancer is the leading cause of death in the United States. We cannot afford to stand by; we cannot afford to lose the fight. This is not an individual battle, it is a global movement, and we can all contribute. Join a Relay For Life team. Donate. Visit the American Cancer Page to learn more. Just don't be a passerby - step up and do something.

RelayLove,

Stephanie Lind

Fundraising Co-Chair

#FinishtheFight

Cancer is not casual. Ask any one of your friends and the overwhelming majority of them can name someone they know whom this monster of a disease has affected. When I arrived at the University of Virginia I was very *extremely* eager to get involved and Relay For Life seemed like an obvious choice. Their mission to celebrate survivors, to remember those we have lost, and to fight back through our fundraising efforts for the American Cancer Society spoke to me.

Young, eager Allison at her first Relay For Life Event

At that point I could name one family member that had been affected by breast cancer, my great-aunt Nena. I still remember bursting into tears at a second grade assembly while our headmistress addressed us. That was the first time I had to feel the heartache of losing someone I loved because of a disease that seemed so out of my control or anyone’s for that matter. That experience was impetus enough for me to join this organization. Over the next couple of years I heard countless stories of why people relay. Tearfully, I listened as friends share their stories of acting as a caregiver to their mother, saying good-bye to their sister, fighting alongside their beloved coach, and so many more. These were such powerful stories and I thought that my one story was not enough. I loved my great aunt, but my memories with her were so few as I was so young. I am blessed to say that my family members are alive and well. However several weeks ago I was talking with a friend over drinks and he shared with me that he had had skin cancer. The comment was so nonchalant that it struck me. How had I not known this about one of my best friends? Surprisingly, this was not the first time this type of interaction had happened to me. Another friend of mine had similarly shared her story during happy hour as if it was regular conversation. Moreover this last weekend I was having lunch with my grandparents and my mom told my grandfather that he had to have a growth on his forehead checked out. She then told me that he had had a cancerous cell removed in the past.

Beyond these few stories, there are plenty more that go untold. I realized that I relay for them and that my reason for relaying is worthy. Thanks to the American Cancer Society, life saving research has been made possible so that the people I love most have been able to stay in my life. The American Cancer Society dedicates itself to research, education, advocacy, and service. Every dollar raised is a glimmer of hope that someone can share their story over a beer that they beat cancer, and hopefully one day there will be no stories to tell because we will see a world without cancer. We’ve certainly come along way thanks to the amazing work of researchers, physicians, nurses and all those committed to finishing the fight. Just look at our very own UVA researchers, Dr. Hui Li, PhD and Kate Adelstein, a nurse pursuing her PhD, who will be sharing their efforts at Relay For Life at UVA’s Flash Seminar this Friday.

We all play a role in ensuring a future without cancer. It is a privilege and an honor to have work alongside so many amazing people over the last four years doing my part by fundraising with Relay For Life for the American Cancer Society. No story is unworthy, no donation is too small. Do your part so that we can #FinishtheFight!

RelayLove,

Allison Palacios

 Co-Chair of Greek Recruitment 

Missing Teddy Grahams

Everything about my Grapea can be summarized by the fact that he let me (and his 4 other grandkids) call him Grapea, which was my botched pronunciation of “Grandpa,” and didn’t even complain when it was eventually shortened to “Grape.” My Grapea was my hero. He spent weeks at hunting camp every fall, crafted flawless appetizer platters, fought in the Bay of Pigs, was the most accomplished sewer I’ve ever met, and had long, intricate scavenger hunts ready for me for me every Sunday after Mass. He was the most laidback, carefree, and fun-loving Republican I’ve ever met. My sophomore year of high school, my mom, uncle, and Mimi organized a get-together for his 70th birthday, and we all flew up to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, the whitest town in America. We went out to dinner, went to the spa, took pictures with old boats, and had that talk. My seven-foot tall, unbeatable, deer-hunting grandpa was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

 

 

Every summer, that entire side of my family went on a beach trip. Grapea would book the house that would sleep 11 people months in advance and craft a menu that featured breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner, and (his favorite) dessert for seven nights. The summer I turned 12, I was deemed organized enough to be his successor, and I took over the menu writing and invariably assigned dessert to Mimi and Grapea every night. True to form, Grapea scouted out a new ice cream place (not too hard in New England summer, the land of endless ice cream) for every night. Sometimes, my sister, cousin, and I ended up with a late night visitor who carried a gallon of ice cream he had hidden from the rest of the family and four spoons, and we would talk for hours. The year after he was diagnosed, we waited up for our Grapea and our gallon, but it never came: he had gone to sleep at 7 pm after fighting off sleep for hours. The prostate cancer had advanced to his pancreas and was raging through his body.

 

When I was 8 or 9, I was eating Teddy Grahams and Grapea grabbed some but promptly spit them out and announced that I had terrible taste because those were the grossest things he’d ever eaten. I would jokingly leave packages of Teddy Grahams around the house for him to find, and every Christmas since then, we both sent each other a box of Teddy Grahams (although his box stayed in the cupboard of their house in Andover until my family visited them and he shuddered as I ate them.) My real present was always beautifully wrapped and labelled in my Mimi’s flawless cursive, and his box, which he felt the need to wrap with seven layers of duct tape and address in mile-high stick letters, arrived alongside it, sometimes with “poison” or “hazardous materials” stickers on it, just to freak out the Post Office.

 

This past Christmas was the first year I didn’t eat Teddy Grahams.

 

The cancer had become systemic, and Grapea was been living in a hospice and unable to recognize his family, who had been holding vigil at his bedside.

 

 

Grapea was the most supportive, reasonable person I know. When my mom would yell at me for skipping Chemistry, he rationally asked if I was doing the work anyway, and she immediately calmed down. When my grandma would flip out because the younger cousins were being destructive, he silenced them with one barked order, because when Grapea yelled, he meant business. When he would take me fishing, he unhooked the tiny fish I caught to stop me from crying because ‘it was a baby,’ assuring me that no one would ever eat it, because it was smaller than my fist. I am a lot of things he wasn’t, and I can feel his silent pride for taking advantage of opportunities he never had.I Relay because it should have been Grapea crying with Mimi at my graduation, not my Uncle Mike. I Relay because he shouldn’t have had to plan his own funeral, counting down the days he had left. I Relay because after sending me emails with the info and admission stats of (literally) 100+ colleges within an hour of Andover and taking me on visits of 15 of those, he should have lived to see me make my decision. One year ago today, my Grapea became a ‘was.’ Cancer sucked the life out of the most energetic, sensible, L.L. Bean loving, and understanding person I know. He fought until the last day, and now it’s my turn: I will Relay until my last day, and hopefully inspire others: It’s time to fight back.

 

 

RelayLOVE,

Kateri Gajadhar

 

Entertainment Committee

 

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

The Fight for My Mom

Just a little disclaimer before I begin, I love my mom. She rocks my socks 99% of the time as long as we are not fighting over her obsessive workout habits or who has to walk the dog. She also did manage my entire skating team which was 21 teenage girls so what you're about to read is the perspective of a needy 5th grade girl. Just wanted to make that clear before I rant about life as a middle child with a mom in the cancer profession.



Cancer took over my mom’s entire life (not to mention the lives of our entire family) – but unlike the way it affects a patient. It devoured her time like a hungry kid with a hamburger. It consumed her time, her thoughts, and most importantly, the attention she gave me. Was the “stupid” job cooler than cute little me? Little me thought of course there was no way.

 

Flashback to my mother-less 5th grade graduation, a memory I will never let her live down. Poor, neglected me came home and my mom was waiting there with Chinese food as if nothing was wrong. Yeah right, mom, you can't get off that easy. 5th grade graduation is a big deal whether you think so or not. Did she not love me or something? Was work more fun than seeing 300 kids walk on a stage? Nope, there's no way. Graduation is so fun...she definitely liked work more than me.


 I kept track of everything she missed from kindergarten until high school: the soccer games, the Hebrew school family events, the field trips, the mother-daughter Girl Scout activities. Where was she when I was in the emergency room over Christmas break? Working of course. What was so important that she couldn’t hang out with me? Look at these faces, how did she ever leave home?

I resented my mom’s “stupid” job for most of my childhood. Maybe I was being dramatic but it seemed pretty rational at the time. She obviously didn’t mind waking up in the middle of the night to go into the hospital. She obviously didn’t mind being home alone on Christmas taking care of patients.

One day I was rummaging through her phone like any normal, nosy child and found this picture:

 

Among the pictures of my dog, and then more of my other dog, and a couple hilarious selfies she had sent to me in the past year was this picture: three of the cutest ladies I had ever seen in matching Betty Boop suits. These patients were who my mom was ditching me for… no wonder. These women stopped at WalMart every year for five years on the way to come see my mom. They bought new matching outfits each time just to put a smile on her face. I had never seen this part of the job.

I had seen my mom upset from a patient passing; I had seen my mom passed out on the

couch with her favorite child (aka the dog) from a long day or midnight visit to the operating room. I had seen her constantly working extra hours on weekends "off." What I had failed to see for a long time was why. Why she worked twice as hard as any other parent I Knew; why she kept going back and trying her hardest just to face defeat and sadness; why she had missed my super important 5th grade graduation.

 

These strong women in their Betty Boop jumpsuits were the reason my mom’s alarm went off at 4 AM every morning (so she could work out and be at work by 7… I told you she was obsessive). These women with smiling faces were the reason my mom has stared cancer in the face every day for the past 25 years.

It took me a shamefully long time to realize that it was stupid of me to get upset with her over a missed soccer game (especially because I was horrible at soccer). She was helping people in a way that most others could not. She sacrificed her life, her sanity, her time, AND my graduation to treat a 28-year-old with a young daughter; to save the uterus of a woman that would give anything to have a baby; and to see three women in Betty Boop jumpsuits smiling even though they were in a hospital about to receive treatment.

 



She has attacked cancer with scalpel, robot, chemotherapy, and her mind a thousand times over. I relay for my mom and her super-ninja skills in and out of the operating room. She’s crazy and ~crazy passionate~ about fighting to find a cure. I guess she’s rubbed off on me a little.
 

RelayLove,
 

Jessie Duska

Fundraising Committee