Understand

Death does not put an end to everything. It inspires feelings, questions, and gives perspective. People ask me how I feel when I lose patients. Do I feel sad, angry and defeated? I have walked with my patients down this path and returned alone. It does not end there. Death does not end things. Death is not the last thing.

From each patient I keep something with me. Patients help me gather knowledge that flows stronger than a river and wisdom that propels others who have to walk that path. The path remains uncertain but the journey of those we lost refines and paves the way. There is a certain enlightenment that comes from this that I hope to make you all perceive. What started small in the beginning, with the trust of a few, has become an organic tangible construction of the science needed to move us forward. 

 “A bend in the road, is not the end of the road, unless you refuse to take the turn”. Families always take the turn. What’s the alternative? To go on grieving what could have been? Do we live in our memories? When you meet the loved ones of a lost patient, trudging their way through the rest of life, do you wonder what drives them? I am always touched and humbled by what they say amidst their sadness and fear, their feelings of loss and grief. They say prayers for other cancer patients, and a shout out to me, “You go get this, Mo”, “You figure this out”, and “You find out why?” These words push me on, make me get up, make me see what still needs to be done. 

Memories ebb and flow rubbing into our wounds and heightening our suffering. At times they gather together, like a swarm of locusts they invade, leaving nothing behind: a loss of meaning and loss of purpose, a desolate place. Out of it emerges a new beginning, a new start, that puts the bounce back into our feet and we are alive again. Understand, that is how we make our memories live within us without their crippling effect, and those we have lost can show the way for all of us to succeed.

Dialogue

Person: Can you help me?

Me: I believe that is why I am here, ready with a new treatment, a loaded gun and many tricks up my sleeve.

 P: Is it always this hard?

 M: Yes.

 P: Is there hope?

 M: Without it, we will not survive.

Imagine this dialogue that starts in the pit of someone’s stomach, a mixture of fear, anger, hope, and courage.  I partake in it and I do not dismiss it. Have you ever been afraid?  Where the walls caved in and it seemed confusing? Where what consumed others felt petty, trivial and meaningless. When you sit on the edge of a diagnosis of cancer and are worried about yourself, your family and your loved ones. This is the human I meet, sometimes confused, often afraid, and always hopeful. This is the person from which courage emanates. With this person, I stand united.

Cancer: I am here.

Me: Who are you? And why have you invaded us?

C: I am a product of survival, a state, a process. Who are you?

M: I am here to kill you.

These are my words when I look at cancer, the perfunctory introductions. A long battle is about to ensue. This is the enemy I know well. On this battlefield, a new sword has to be forged, to fight in the face of fear, uncertainty, and discouragement.  Every day a different person walks into my life and stands stronger against this common threat. Our unique existence, our individuality is a paintbrush that brings to life our depths and our dreams. In life, we march only forward regardless of how timid we feel or where our hearts want to be. I sharpen the reality that was thrust upon this person with my words. My patient stands steadfast in trust and belief.

And the dialogue resumes………

 Me: Which way this time? Cancer, are you ready?