What’s in a name?
I know I’m in big trouble when my idea of a vacation is spending six weeks commuting back and forth to Boston every day to teach high school students the basics of journalism in a summer program run by the New England Center for Investigative Reporting. I know I’m in bigger trouble when that course starts less than 48 hours after walking through the night and into the morning at the Greater Fall River Relay for Life.
We are not a mindless cancer cell…
But it does create a break for me. I like driving. I like teaching. I like journalism. I like having a reason to get up and put on a suit and tie every day. I like having an excuse to go out for breakfast. I like having an excuse not to think about NET cancer for a few hours, even when it makes me feel a bit guilty about it when I think about it. I am completely aware that NET cancer patients and their family caregivers don’t get that opportunity.
Never far away
But over the last five years–we are coming up next month on the fifth anniversary of Jane’s diagnosis–there have been very few days that have not been filled with thoughts of cancer and the possibility and reality of death at its hands. And even as I teach this summer, thoughts of Jane are never far away. Neither are thoughts of all the patients I know who are fighting exactly what Jane went through.
I know I’m in big trouble…
Yesterday, we dropped off the deep-friers we used as part of our on-site Relay fundraiser the end of last month. The friend we borrowed them from, who has done much more than lend us equipment, said I really need some time on a tropical island beach sipping something alcoholic from a coconut with a little umbrella in it. She’s probably right. But for now, teaching journalism is the best I can do.
Relay impact
This year’s Relay may be the most intense, in some respects, we have ever done. Our clam cake and chowder fundraiser netted $1131.50–an increase from that effort alone of nearly $500 over last year. We put out 1200 zebra-themed luminaria in two massive herds around the track, accompanied by informational signage that told the NET cancer story.
…thoughts of Jane are never far away.
Those herds and signs led to many people coming by our site to learn more about NET cancer. And there was lots of conversation on the track about NET cancer among participants as a result. It’s safe to say the local cancer community knows far more about NET cancer now than most people do elsewhere.
Walking through the night
Unfortunately, we didn’t get the press coverage I had hoped for. That meant we had less impact than I would have liked. Still, it created a prototype I hope other teams elsewhere with a NET cancer focus can use in their local Relays to attract greater attention to carcinoid/NETs.
We put out 1200 zebra-themed luminaria…
There is something emotionally powerful about walking through the night, alone or with a small number of friends that is hard to explain to people who have not done so. By 2 a.m., only the serious walkers are left on the track. They are silent or speak in soft voices. The quality of both light and sound evolve through the night.
Birds in the night
The birds begin chirping about an hour-and-a-half before sunrise and somehow the night is not quite as dark when they do. It is really not darkest just before the dawn–at least not in early summer. And after a night of walking, the walls have come down and we have conversations that would not happen any other way.
There is something emotionally powerful about walking through the night…
Relay for Life teams are supposed to keep going through the night because cancer never sleeps–and, figuratively, we can never sleep either if we are going to find a cure. The long walk through the night is a symbol of our resolve to beat cancer–for ourselves and for those we love–no matter what the personal cost.
The fight goes on
But even the best of us need a break now and again. We are not a mindless cancer cell or a mindless tumor. We have minds that require sleep and recreation to function at their peak.
It is really not darkest just before the dawn…
So I will make a drive to Boston every day for six weeks to give my mind a break from cancer and a time to think on other things. Even a break is a part of the struggle.
