ealinko@mavs.coloradomesa.edu

The fight against cancer knows no boundaries.

Individuals unfortunate enough to contract cancer fight a tough battle. From bleak prognoses to experimental treatments, hope is hard to find.

Those who love the victims of cancer fight a disease that has no physical mass. There are no external treatments and no preventative tests. Dealing with having a loved one with cancer is often as hard as having cancer itself.

My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer when I was 15. It initially spread to her spine, and the pain was originally misdiagnosed as arthritis until a CT scan revealed a tumor in her lung. The amount of time the tumors had to grow and spread while my mother and doctors attempted to treat a condition that wasn’t there was too long. By the time they found the tumor, my mother’s chances were bleak. Regardless of this, she chose to fight. I remember her saying, “If Lance Armstrong can do it, I can do it too.” She was strong and had hope. I had hope too, but I hid behind it.

I was a freshman in high school, barely into puberty and fighting for popularity in the social warzone of high school.

It was easy to deny the devastating truth at first. I had a lot of trouble telling kids on the first day of school that my summer was great. It’s hard to leave out that the free time of your last month of summer was spent between hospitals, waiting rooms and bad news.

When I first told others that my mother had cancer, I lied. I said we caught it early. I said the doctors said we could beat it. I said that she would be fine. That wasn’t true, and by the time I had accepted that it was likely her cancer would kill her, I had found another wrong way to deal with it.

I avoided her and her disease. I spent as much time as I could away from home. Away from tubes, pills, her pain and bald head. I was ashamed of her condition. I secluded myself at sleepovers, my room and the skate park. I did anything to be as far away as I could from my dying mother. I was hiding, and I got tired of it. I had to face the truth.

I had to accept the fact that my mother would die. I knew all things eventually die. To imagine that this person would be gone long before I ever expected it was hard. I did it though. I sat and contemplated the moment that my father, or maybe a nurse or doctor, would call me or tell me straight to my face that she had died. Maybe I would find her myself. It hurt to think of these sorts of things, but knowing and accepting that this kind of thing would probably happen was something that was best for me.

I’m not saying to start treating your cancer-stricken loved ones as dead people walking. Accepting that the disease may have a very high potential to kill them will help you to stop hiding. It helped me. I stopped occupying myself with avoiding something that made me uncomfortable, and I started showing my love for my mother like I always had. I did it every day with my whole heart, even after a stroke put her in a vegetative state.

On Easter morning 2007, my father walked into my room and told me that my mother had died. While I was very sad, there wasn’t a single moment that I thought I couldn’t handle it. It was painful, and I was sad, but I knew that I loved her. I still love her. That’s what matters the most.

Regardless of the outcome of your loved one’s illness, accepting the worst outcome will make the good news so much better. If the bad news does come one day, you might not be so angry at the circumstances that separated you from your loved one. If you have gratitude in your heart for the time and love you’ve shared together, they will always be with you.