The night was short; in complete sync with the lingering daylight of a June evening in Maine. The windows and screen doors were open; ushering in the scent of lilac, wild roses, ancient perennials and recently cut grass. We sat at the oblong veneer table, our hands expressing much more than our words as we sealed our bonds of comradery yet again.
There were three of us sitting there; our genuine love for each other solid and unquestioned. We were deep in discussion, our voices sometimes low and riddled with brief laughter. Our lives stretched out before us; an unwritten manuscript saturated with triumphs and disappointments. Tears and laughter. Success and failure. Gain and loss.
We were clueless on this brilliant night; caught up in our own exclusive conversation. Had there been a crystal ball there on our table, we would have been undaunted by any sour predictions. A fortune teller bearing tragic news would have been chased from our midst. We were infallible and eternal there in that tiny kitchen and completely immune to tragedy or grief; as it should be.
It is nearly impossible to fathom that 37 years have glided by. At least one of us has lost our parents, welcomed grandchildren, relocated, excelled in our careers, retired, revived our faith, and experienced both marriage and divorce. Among the three of us, we have one common denominator; we have all battled cancer.
I am guilty of writing a great deal about cancer. I am also guilty of encouraging everyone I meet to get screened; whether it be a colonoscopy, mammogram, biopsy, or blood test. If I had gotten a colonoscopy at the age of 50, chances are I would have escaped that monster that is cancer. One day of prep for the colonoscopy and another few hours in one day surgery is nothing in comparison to 25 rounds of radiation, two cycles of chemotherapy, constant nausea, extreme fatigue, permanent neuropathy in hands and feet, thinning hair, memory loss, radiation proctitis, radiation cystitis, and the persistent fear that the monster is lurking somewhere in the darkness; just waiting for the chance to pounce once again.
My words are harsh and I do not apologize for that, for my goal is to frighten you. If my words motivate just one person to follow through with a cancer screening, then I am filled with contentment and I have done my job.
Cancer has no preference and shows no mercy. You have to remain one step ahead in the deadly game and a cancer screening is your most effective weapon. You have to be smarter than cancer.
I ask myself from time to time why cancer decided to knock upon my door. Why did I have to become a reluctant warrior? I marched off into battle armed with the desire to survive, and I did; but some are not so fortunate.
Those precious, carefree nights held no hint of the things to come. Thirty-seven years ago, cancer was often a death sentence and the farthest thing from our minds. I ask myself often, “What are the odds that three close friends would each be diagnosed with three different forms of cancer?”
That question is definitely food for thought and demands our attention. We can only pray that the next thirty-seven years results in a cure.
Belinda Ouellette lives in Connor TWP with her husband and their Goldendoodle, Barney Rubble. You may contact Belinda at dbwouellette@maine.rr.com
