My father had a difficult childhood. He never knew his father or had a father-figure in his life until he was a teenager. His brother told me once how kids used to pick on them because they didn’t have a father. It wasn’t uncommon for them to be in a fight before school, he said, reminding me about the one grade school photo my grandmother could afford. In it, my father had a black eye. My father eventually joined the Navy where, to no one’s surprise, he won a few boxing tournaments. A Navy veteran and a top-notch boxer, my father went on to work 30 years in a steel mill, taking a job in the hottest and dirtiest part of the mill to earn more money when my mother became pregnant with me in 1969. He spent more than 20 years there in the melt shop, often working 6 days a week, washing off the filth of the steel mill each day, downing more than a few cold ones at the corner bar, and sometimes, coming home with bloody knuckles, a busted lip and torn clothing from a brawl. I was proud and happy to have gotten out of more than a few fights because of my father’s reputation. He was a tough man. He a strong man. But, he wasn’t strong enough to beat cancer, or chemotherapy, whichever got him first. In less than a year, Mantel cell lymphoma reduced my father to riding in a wheel chair, barely able to hold up his head. Despite a poor prognosis, it was beyond my grasp that something could ever beat my father. He was a fighter. His oncologist knew it, too, and said it often. But, on July 14, 2012, my father passed away in my arms. Cancer won.
I blamed his death on aggressive chemotherapy. I blamed his oncologist for stealing the last few months of my father’s life from me. I had wanted to take him to the Kentucky Derby, something he had always wanted to do, but he was too weak from chemotherapy. I vowed that I would not go through the same thing if I ever got cancer. I would live out the rest of my life with a bang. I would do all those bucket list things I hadn’t yet done. But, when aunt my suffered through cancer, most of it without treatment, and then passed away, too, I realized that my vow was a foolish one. My father sought treatment and continued with it as long as he could because he WAS a fighter. He was a hero, then, and my angel now.
In this issue of Endurance we’re sharing the stories of people who are heroes. People like Melissa Wilkes who is fighting an inoperable and aggressive form of stage IV colon cancer but, still running road races with her family. She speaks with undeniable joy in her voice about appreciating each and every day. We also share the story of two heroes, Nestor and Ashely Paonessa. Nestor is battling a grade 4 glioblastoma multiforme, a brain cancer with historically poor prognosis. A year after first beginning treatment, which included surgery to remove part of the tumor, Nestor is back running (recently completing a 14-mile run) but, he isn’t the only hero. From day one, his wife Ashely insisted that it wasn’t just Nestor who had cancer— they both did and she would fight with him as if she had it herself.
People like Melissa, Nestor and Ashley, and Endurance Magazine’s own Amy Charney, who we featured in our last Cancer Awareness Issue, have challenged me to change my thinking and should I ever get that diagnosis, be brave enough to confront cancer head on. But, you don’t have to be the one fighting cancer to be a hero. Tanner Hedrick wasn’t a runner but, is a tremendous example of the power of running. When his mother was near the end of her battle with cancer and could no longer run, the spirit of running passed through her to him. In his own words, he “picked up running where she left off.” In the year since his mother went from hero to angel, Tanner has lost over 100 pounds and finished the Tar Heel 10 Miler this year.
Please take time to read each of these inspiring stories of heroes and angels. And, take time like I am now, to thank and recognize all the doctors, nurses, and staff who treat and guide patients with expertise, compassion, and exceptional care during their battle with cancer. They are truly angels, as well.
Inspire. Perform. Endure.
