In 2022, I remember sitting in my truck in the parking lot of a grocery store in Estes Park, Colorado, and crying. Jenny, my wife of 25 years, sat across from me, telling me that if it was her time to go, then it was just her time, and everything would be okay. She was proud of the life she had led. The week before, she had found out she had cancer. At that time, we didn’t know any details. We didn’t know the stage or the grade, if it was contained, how aggressive it was. All we knew was her doctor had noticed something during a routine, elective procedure, and the biopsy had come back positive. We didn’t know what was in front of us. We assumed, at the very least, a battery of tests, some form of surgery, possibly radiation, and maybe chemotherapy. It was hard for us not to assume the worst. I told her that I wasn’t ready for her to go... I wouldn’t be okay.
The reason we were in Colorado was that we had a trip to Rocky Mountain National Park already booked for the week after we found out the news. We decided to take that time and try our best to process everything. Before leaving, Jenny wanted to tell her best friend. Cara had survived breast cancer two years earlier, and we saw the emotional toll it took on her and her husband, Tim. That year, we had committed to walking our first Susan G. Komen 3-Day in her honor. Now, Jenny was facing her own diagnosis. Cancer is a hard road, no matter the prognosis. But we were relatively lucky. Scans showed that it was caught early and contained. Surgery was all that Jenny needed. Due to the surgery, Jenny couldn’t participate in that year’s 3-Day. She was at home, in bed, recovering. We were fortunate, but Jenny still lives with the side effects every day and will always live with the chance that it might come back.
There are many, many terrible things about cancer. But one of the worst things has to be the uncertainty. So much time is spent not knowing. We knew Jenny had cancer, but we didn’t know how severe it was. Then there’s waiting on test results, devising a treatment plan, more tests, surgery, and more tests. Even after you are done and cancer-free, there are still more tests for the rest of your life. Every time, you have to wait. And there’s always that part of your brain that goes right back to the worst-case scenario. Whenever Jenny goes in for another test, I’m transported back to that parking lot in Colorado.
A very wise colleague of mine told me, after Jenny’s diagnosis, that the best thing you can hope for is not good test results. Of course, that’s what you want. We all so desperately want the tests to come back negative. We all ache for those words: “clear margins.” But what we should really pray for are accurate results. Accurate results mean that we can plan for what comes next. They give the doctors and care team the information they need to help beat back this horrible disease. Accurate results take away the uncertainty. They might not always be the words we want to hear, but I’m thankful every single day for the accurate results we received, just by chance, that week before our trip in 2022. Those results were terrifying and horrible, but they saved Jenny’s life, and I don’t even want to consider what would have happened without them.
I believe in a world without cancer because nobody should have to live with that uncertainty. Nobody should have to look their loved one in the eye and try to assure them that if it’s their time to go, then it will be okay. Nobody should have to live from test to test, hoping and praying that this time they got it all... that this time the margins will be clear. And above all, nobody should have to lose someone they love too soon. In the fight against cancer, nobody is doing more than Susan G. Komen. Their contributions to research, screenings, treatment, financial support, and awareness are helping to create better outcomes for millions of people around the world. Jenny walked in the 3-Day with the rest of us last year. We got rained on, it was cold, there were blisters and sore feet. But they have a saying at these events. Walking 60 miles in three days is hard, but it’s not as hard as breast cancer. There’s another saying too: “We walk because we must.” Until the day comes when nobody has to worry about sitting in that parking lot with tears in their eyes, I’ll keep supporting Susan G. Komen and whoever else will walk with me in the fight against cancer.
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