Because it's the right thing to do . . .

By the time my dad was my age, he'd escaped death a few times. That's not poetic license; it's cold, hard, amazing truth. He was diagnosed just past thirty and it went something like this: "You have cancer. It's rare, it's incurable, it's metastasized, and the best we can do is cut all of it out that we can find and blast you with a bunch of radiation. But it probably won't work. You've got six weeks. Sorry."


He hung on, though. For a few years, he endured brutal, barbaric treatments until his doctors decided to try this newfangled treatment called "chemotherapy." It made all the brutal stuff before seem like roasting marshmallows and singing "Kumbaya" around the campfire. It required days in the hospital, he lost weight he didn't have to spare, his hair fell out. I was really little. It was horrifying to watch him rattle up the sidewalk after a chemo treatment, skeletal and frail but with a big, tired smile on his face to reassure me.


But he survived. And although the cancer specter loomed for years, it didn't come back. For TWENTY-FIVE years, he was clear. That's pretty much as close to cured as it gets. It was a miracle.


But those brutal treatments he endured exacted an extremely high price on his body. He suffered side effects that resulted in heart damage, nerve damage, and a combination of other problems that would make an endocrinologist weep. Yes, chemo saved his life, but it was a new protocol and he paid that price his whole life.


In November of 2005, he sat us down, now grown adults, and informed us calmly that a node in his throat had been biopsied and tested positive for cancer. It wasn't the same cancer as the one from years before. This was altogether different. It was non-Hodgkins lymphoma and his prognosis was good. Normally a slow growing cancer that isn't caught until it's in its advanced stages, his had been caught because he was screened so regularly for EVERYTHING due to his history. He was only Stage 1, maybe Stage 2. 


Heck, that was practically grounds for throwing a party at our house.


Except, he had to go through chemo again. And things got grim real quick at the dining room table.


I remembered the hell of his treatments when I was a kid and my brother and sister remembered the stories.


But we cowboyed up like we were taught, and when he came home from his first chemo treatment, we were waiting, braced for the worst. And yet, the day was already different. He'd driven himself for an outpatient treatment where he sat in a cushy chair and took it easy for a little while. And he drove himself home. And he walked in with a smile on his face. And he felt fine. And he ate regularly. And over the next few days he continued to feel fine. And his hair never fell out.


And we all began to relax. For him, with this cancer and this treatment, chemotherapy in the grand scheme of his health history, had become No Big Deal.


Know why? Faith, yes. Prayer, yes. Blessings, yes. And MEDICAL TECHNOLOGY. 


I often contribute to cancer research causes because I've seen what a difference 25 years of research can make. I figure with my family history, it's only a matter of time before I catch The Big C, so I do what I can to bank against that almost-certain future: I get the screenings my insurance will cover (2 moles removed last week, thankyouverymuch) and I donate to researchers who may one day make chemo obsolete or in the case of my dad, totally tolerable. AND effective. He got to end his sessions EARLY.


My editor at Covenant, Eliza, is one of these crazy people who looks at a mountain and says, "I'd like to climb that." Or in this case, looks at a 26.2 mile ribbon of road and says, "I'd like to run that." Why? I don't know why. I see a mountain and say, "That looks pretty" or a winding stretch of road and say, "I should keep that in mind for a Sunday drive."


But that crazy Eliza is going to run a marathon to help raise funds for cancer research. NO. They're trying TO STOP BLOOD CANCERS, like the one my dad had and beat. Because there was RESEARCH that led to an effective cure and a treatment that left him with some dignity. 


If you could, hop over to her fundraising site and throw a few bucks her way to help sponsor her and STOP STUPID CANCER. Please CLICK HERE and make a donation. Do it for me. Do it for anyone you know who has ever been affected by lymphoma, Hodgkins, or leukemia. Because those things suck and there will come a time when the research will outsmart the cancer and we won't even need a cure because we'll have the vaccine. So go ahead, click and donate. I did it.


Just as an added incentive, anyone who donates this week will be entered in a drawing for a copy Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (book #3 in the Hunger Games trilogy), courtesy of moi, because that book will be tres awesome and an awesome donor deserves an awesome book. I think Eliza will be able to tell who entered and I'll let you know who wins.


You can get more information here and here.


*My dad did pass away a few years ago, but it wasn't because of stupid cancer, so THERE, cancer. You didn't win.