Everyone who was lucky enough to have watched Stand Up To
Cancer the other night I am sure were greatly moved. You have your thoughts. I do as well and I felt compelled to write
about mine. Partially out of guilt because
even though I have been close to a few who have been in the fight I have been
reminded often that I did not really respect what they were going through at
the time. I thought I did, but I didn’t. I feel Stand Up to Cancer portrayed as well
as is humanely possible, what those in the fight are going through.
The show managed to showcase the cause with low key, sincere
words from many stars with their own stories to tell, heartfelt songs
beautifully sung, reports of progress on the research front and
right-between-the-eyes comments from patients, survivors, care givers and loved
ones.
There were many stories that particularly tugged at my heart. One was of a little boy that loved to play
with his legos’. He said if I die I will
take my legos’ with me. Another was a
young girl talking with her caregiver about her dreams for the future. When asked how much time she would like to
have in her dreams, she said “A year”.
The no frills response was “That might not be possible”. Both of these kids were at the gala. Both were introduced and applauded. The girl so beautiful, bald head and all and
the boy, smiling with his Mom next to him, chin quivering and striving with all
her might to keep her composure.
When the television camera slowly panned the audience I was
struck by one thing. Facial close ups
revealed there was no joy. There was
clearly a sense that these people had been pushed to the max. They were experiencing the ultimate gut
check. Some were in the throes of their
battle and would become survivors and some would not. No amount of courage could fake a sparkle in their
eyes.
I was reminded of Peggy, a young woman in the prime of her
life. Peggy complained of
headaches. She knew she was in trouble
when she woke up after tests with no tubes attached. She had stage 4 glioblastoma, a particularly
nasty type of brain tumor.
Several months of treatment were followed by months of
clinical trials that offer hope but no promises. All Peggy wanted was hope.
For many months I was honored to take Peggy to a brain tumor
support group meeting the first and third Thursday evenings at the hospital. In these meeting the group of 12 to 15 would
sit in a circle and one by one, tell of their ordeals and their fears. Peggy, sitting in her wheel chair, was always
brutally honest.
Due to the terrible consequences of contracting glioblastoma
various members of the group would be missing at the next meeting as was the
case when I had to tell the group that Peggy would not be returning.
Stand Up To Cancer brought home to me once again that those
involved are facing such horrendous personal terror that they need all the
help, hope and understanding their loved ones can muster. We have the rest of our lives. They may not.
