Next Wednesday, Sept 25th, I will turn 33. There was never any question in my mind that
I might not reach this age. That I
wouldn’t be married, settled in the suburbs with a toddler hanging off my hip,
scrubbing crusted spaghetti sauce off the inside of the microwave. I am certain I have managed to take for
granted most of my 12,000 plus days here on Earth and I have done so with the
careless comfort of believing that death was something you fumbled upon in your
80's and even 90's. I have had other vital
matters to attend to. Like fretting over the zit that perennially
forms in the crease of my chin and those flights that were delayed over two
hours due to tornadoes in the Oklahoma Panhandle and the nor’easter in Maine,
and my beloved houndstooth sweater that shrunk in the dryer, not once but twice. I have been aimlessly distracted, attempting
to recall ridiculously devised computer passwords, hunting down parking spots, burning
frozen pizzas in the oven, and making sure my daughter didn’t rip the pages out
of all the Dr. Seuss books. For the past
33 years, I have had that pleasure.
This past year, however, everything was jarred. Shaken up and stirred.
I found out a year ago this past July that my best friend
from college’s sister-in-law had been diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer at
28. She was a star volleyball player in
college, a newlywed, a gorgeous and avid athlete, and a person who had never once
touched a cigarette. Her name is also Emily. And I guarantee you she would have given
anything that summer to worry about marinara in her microwave.
Emily’s good friends started a blog last year (http://embenkickscancer.wordpress.com
) to help keep those who cared for her informed throughout her journey. She endured multiple rounds of chemo out in
Los Angeles, which led to a complete lung removal surgery in New York this
February, followed by 28 unrelenting radiation treatments. With her family, a buttress of steel behind
her, Emily has battled, fought, persevered, and maintained her lovely sense of
humor and gracious spirit with gargantuan grit and guts. She is officially NED (No Evidence of Disease)
as of this spring, and is gaining her strength and stamina back little by
little with the support of streaming Netflix, electrolyte water, daily walks
with her pooch, and her loving and devoted husband, Miles. Likely not in that order.
A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of being a guest in the
audience when Emily made her television debut at a taping of the Steve Harvey
show here in Chicago. The producers had flown her in from the West Coast so
that she could surprise and thank her mentor and hero, Bonnie Addario, Founder
and President of the Bonnie Addario Lung Cancer Foundation, who has raised over
$10 million for research, medical support, and awareness to eradicate this
devastating disease. There was Steve Harvey’s
perfectly-positioned couch. And there
was this breathtakingly beautiful girl with long brown hair and a poppy red
dress, poised and postured with her ankles crossed under the glare of the studio
cameras. The gasps in the audience were
audible when it was revealed that she was in fact the face of lung cancer. This bright young woman, oozing with the
promise of a giant life yet to live, sitting there, confiding her brutal battle
to simply survive.
I was shocked at how neglected lung cancer funding is when I
did some digging online. It is the most
lethal cancer, and yet it receives the least amount of funding from the
National Cancer Institute. It garners a
fraction of the dollars that go to breast cancer, for example, and yet is
second only to heart disease in cause of death. There
seems to be a stigma associated with lung cancer as a smoker’s condition that
is self-inflicted. However, more and
more young non-smokers and especially women are contracting it. All the while funding is desperately needed
to aid these patients and educate the public on belying the myths of lung
cancer. Even the ribbon signifying the
disease was formerly clear, giving subtle reference to its invisibility and
lack of deserved attention. It has since
evolved to white and I will be proudly wearing that ribbon next week when I run
in the Your Next Step is the Cure 5K in San Francisco with Team EmBen. Did I say run? Okay, jog… well, powerwalk for sure. I will cross that finish line though, despite
being embarrassingly out of shape and floppy in various key places.
Which leads me to my 33rd birthday. I’m not in the habit of buying lavish
birthday gifts for my compadres, but who doesn’t love splurging on a draft pint
or classy cosmo for a friend, toasting to their companionship and to another
year of warding off grey hair? Pretend I
am that friend this week….. that you are treating me to a steaming cup of earl
grey (decaf for those who really know me)
and a long overdue chat, and instead
toss some change to the Bonnie Addario fundraising site in honor of EmBen. I even put the website here to make it easy
for you.
And remember to set your DVRs this Thursday, September 19 to watch a poignant
story of survival and support unfold on the Steve Harvey Show (NBC). Never mind that it comes after a teen sexting
segment, I promise you will be moved. I
promise you will turn off the television and not care that you forgot to buy
the orange juice at the supermarket. And I hope you may just feel inspired enough
to “take me out” for a $5 tea.
