As they waltzed around, locked in an embrace, looking at each other lovingly, they seemed to be sharing a bond that few of the rest of us could ever know or understand. Related by shared bone marrow and white blood cells, they danced the wedding's first special dance together.
As I reflect on the one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, I don't really know how to feel or how to make sense of it. I survived it. I remember it every day, and will always live with the aftermath of it. Still, I must keep moving forward.
My father is now a long-term survivor who has completely defied the conventional wisdom about his disease. He has survived for seven years: seven years living with a disease whose five-year survival rate for the most favorable patient class is a dismal 14 percent.
Just like for rock-climbing, I have the build for "quadstepping," my term for walking with crutches. I can even tweak the verb for related activities, like "tristepping" if I go non-weight-bearing; "quadsquashing" if I pole-crush bugs; or "quadfleeing" if I leave the scene of a crime.
Of tantamount importance in the cancer lexicon is some acceptable name of a group of individuals who have been diagnosed with cancer. Far too frequently this nomenclature has been applied to, rather than derived of, this amazing group of folks.
Sometimes, cancer would stroll next to me, repeatedly kicking me, punching me, making me fall.I fell down a lot. Sometimes it was more like tripping over my feet. Sometimes I didn't know how to get up. Everyone I know who has gone through cancer has felt this.
I am writing from the final throes of age 29, a narrowing corridor of weeks until I embark upon my 30s. But for some of us, 'survival' of this particular decade is jarringly literal. I am a cancer survivor.
You will be different. You will never have the same sense of self. You should embrace this. Your old self was probably really great. Your transformed self will be even better. Give into what is happening and trust it.
More people are getting cancer and more are surviving it. The costs of survivorship -- financial, physical, psychological, social, emotional -- affect not only survivors and their families, but our country and our communities.
"When you're fighting something that makes you question everything, and makes you feel lost as anything else, all it takes is just knowing that even if you feel alone, there are others in the world who want to be lost and alone with you."
Continuing our series featuring the submissions of winners of the Andre Sobel River of Life Foundation's annual Andre Sobel Award, this week we share the Second Place winner's essay, "All Pains Aren't Physical."
Katie and Miranda collaborated on their pieces together and came up with a unique way to document their fears, struggles, humor and what they needed from each other throughout Katie's struggle with cancer.
What one may not so easily anticipate as cancer is the proverbial axe falling on a loved one instead, while you stand helplessly by wishing it could be you, but knowing full well that you do not get to make that choice.