When Cancer Has A Face

"Don't take life for granted, because tomorrow isn't promised to any one of us." - Kirby Puckett

Lately, I've just been surrounded by cancer. I did not think it was going to be easy shadowing at the pediatric oncology clinic. But no matter how much you emotionally prepare for something like this, it's not going to be easy. When you meet people, feelings become involved. Whether it's being in a room with them for 20 minutes or simply shaking their hand and exchanging a few words, human emotions become involved. Just a short encounter is more than enough to put a face on cancer. And when cancer has a face and name, everything becomes different. I can never think about "cancer" the same way. The word is now vivid, with personalities and stories, and remembered with a little heartache.

Last weekend, it was my first time doing Relay for Life. It was an interesting experience. Several times throughout the 24 hours, I found myself overwhelmed by the number of people out there -- all supporting a common cause. As I was waiting in line for dinner, I remember looking at the tremendously long line and thinking, "Wow, all these people raised at least $100 for this cause." All those people cared. Just when I think that compassion is becoming a rare commodity in the world nowadays, something like this happens. I'm truly moved.

Anyway, Relay was very fun. Our team raised a lot of money because of these super cute cupcakes that someone's sister made. The track had these annoying white rails that lined the innermost lane of the track, which look like the lane itself. I tripped at least five times during my time at the track. And the track had this weird trench area, which was obvious and never a problem in the daylight. But after the Luminaria ceremony at night, I almost landed on my face as I tripped into the lower ground. Pissed off as I was, I was complaining about the hazardous track to my friend when a random hole decided to form out of nowhere on the field that caused me to--yes, trip. Later that night, Gordon and I were playing frisbee on the field. For some reason, the universe decided that it would be a good idea for the night to be unusually cold, resulting in crazy amounts of condensation--everywhere. The field looked like it was rained on, and as a result, I fell on the grass twice and looked like a fool because no one else fell at all. And this morning, as I was recollecting the weekend and counting the number of times I fell/tripped, I slipped over a really, really small puddle. True story. I think I tripped/slipped/fell more times during the recent 24-hr Relay than I did in the past 2 years before it.

A Rollercoaster of a Night

I don't know why people are surprised, but shouldn't we have all realized that it was going to come to this? An untreated blood clot in the brain, isn't that a ticking time-bomb waiting to explode? The incompetent doctor...one month wait for the neurologist...surgery versus no surgery...we all should have known that this was going to happen.

Frank first called me at 9:47 pm. He asked me where J was, and coincidentally, she just left the room 2 minutes ago. And suddenly, it became near impossible to contact her. I asked him what was wrong, and he was reluctant to tell me at first, but then he told me he just had a stroke. I kept talking to him on the phone, and maybe five minutes later, he was telling me he was bleeding from his ears...and soon his mouth, nose, and eyes. All that was going through my mind was when the ambulance was going to get there. He of course was freaking out because he couldn't get through to J. Meanwhile in the room, we were frantically calling everyone in J's ministry to try to get in contact with J. Apparently, they were in church and no one was picking up. Thank goodness Frank still had enough consciousness to tell me the username and password to get inside the ministry website, so I could have access to the roster will all the contact information. I don't know whether it's a coincidence or all in some superior power's plan, but the only reason why I knew of the existence of such a roster was because earlier in the day, I was being nosy and reading what J was writing on the ministry forum. She happened to use an acronym "CIR" or something which meant, "contact information on roster." If she didn't tell me this, there was no way I would have known how to contact her.

So after 10 calls or so, we finally reached someone who happened to be in the same room with J. But just before then, I was on the phone with Frank, and he was going through some serious emotions. He was scared, of course he was. He didn't understand why the doctors weren't doing anything. One of the first doctors to see him said that there was nothing that could be done, and he might not make it. For some reason, Frank told me that he had 10 minutes (of life) left, and all I could do was cry with him. He couldn't understand why J couldn't be there for him when he needed her most. All I could say to comfort him was, "Just wait, don't worry, we're almost there."

I don't know what it feels like when someone tells you, you have 10 more minutes to life. But whatever it was, I could feel some of that as I was on the phone with him, and it was devastating and heart breaking.

They managed to drain the blood that was filling his brain, which saved his life. From what I could understand, the blood clot in his brain is now gone, and things should be fine. It's insane to think that it took almost dying for him to get better. Hopefully, the toughest hurdle has been overcome and it will only be uphill from here.

He didn't want us to visit him in the hospital, but we're going to see him tomorrow when he's discharged. Now that they say he's going to be okay, all Frank can think about is about his assignment that is due next week. Are you serious? He should seriously get his priorities straight. It's all this stress that led to a situation like tonight in the first place.

P.S. His assignment was an anthropology essay about the cemetery. Like, seriously? After a night like tonight, I would not be so eager to visit the cemetery. Talk about a hardcore student.