My First Cancer Walk/Run

Family Support
Family Support

I signed up my family for our first cancer walk.

I will be honest, I was hesitant.

I am not a “look at me, I am a survivor” person.

So much effort went into everything, by so many wonderful people.

Everyone was happy and upbeat.

There was a band, balloons, memorials, picnics, families, food, etc.

People wore funny hats and had team names.

All survivors wore different colored leis

for how long you had survived.

Yet I felt on the verge of tears the entire time I was there.

They called all the cancer survivors up to the front

and the band played “We are the Champions.”

I didn’t know anyone there except my family and a few other walkers.

All of the survivors held on to each other, including me.

I held on to total strangers. Yet we were brothers and sisters in adversity.

Tears streamed from my eyes as we all sang in front of the crowd.

For me, it was completely emotional.

It is hard to explain…unless you have gone through…”it.”

It was worth it!

Yet, I still felt strange.

There was this part of me, as I went through the motions,

wishing that I did not have to be counted

as one of those people.

I am grateful to be alive!

I am grateful for life with all of its ups and downs.

I am grateful for such a supportive family.

But sometimes, I wish…


Oh my goodness, it works!





hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha…(big sigh)

hahahaha-hahahaha-ha (hold stomach)




hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! (wipe happy tears!)

HAHAHAHAHAHAhaha!”  ‘Oh my gosh’ (sigh)

Run to the potty!




pause                                          smile and shake head!

It’s so simple!  I DO feel better!

Later on in the day…

ha ha ha!

That was really funny!

The one you feed!



I shake my head–

my stomach keeps churning and churning!

The News noise rehashes over and over and over and over and over…

I feel violated…again!

I feel that word I hate…


This blog’s name is “Cancer TOGETHER” and shares light-hearted living

for people and their families who are facing or have faced a dark adversity.

We understand what it feels like to live in fear and darkness and dread.

But we understand the power of not dwelling there!

There is power in holding to GOOD!

To hold to my God,

to those I love,

to the Positive,

to the Light,

to the Power in each of Us,

to this Nation of Freedom,

to my Values,

and to my Neighbors

which stretch from coast to coast.

An elderly Cherokee Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life…He said to them,

                        “A fight is going on inside me, it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. 

One wolf is evil—he is fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret greed, arrogance, self pity, guilt, jealousy, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, competition, superiority, and ego. 

The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.   

This same fight is going on inside of you, and inside every other person, too.” 

They thought about if for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather,

                            “Which wolf will win?”

  The old Cherokee simply replied,

                              “The one you feed.”

We have today!

We understand to hug our loved ones a little tighter.

We understand the importance of forgetting passed grudges

and to say you are sorry.

We understand to put our pride aside.

We understand what it means to be grateful for our blessings and we thank God.

We know that the most joy comes from time spent with our families.

We try to continue to Love and Live, most of the time with a smile on our face!

We have today!

Fear is not who I chose to feed!

What about you?

Waiting Room Angel

Today was my cancer check-up. I get butterfly’s in my stomach every time I go. I noticed a framed article on the wall. I wanted you to read it too…

Waiting Room Angel

By Christine Baur

Last October I became an angel.


It started in a waiting room at Norwalk Hospital Whittingham Cancer Center where I sat thinking how glad I was to be there for a check-up, not another round of chemotherapy. I had just celebrated turning 35. After my year-long battle with Hodgkin’s disease, it was a big celebration. I smiled thinking of my house filled with people laughing and dancing. For so long it felt like people only came to the house with flowers and meals.


A wave of guilt came over me as I looked across the room at an older man sitting with his wife. A doctor came in and they talked about his new diagnosis: Lymphoma. He was just beginning his battle.


“You’ll be fine,” I said to him. The words came out before I could stop them. “I have the same doctor. Just listen to what he say’s and you’ll do fine.”


He gave me a long look and seemed to be waiting four more. He was scared.


“I was stage four,” I continued, “and now I’m a survivor. You will be, too.”


I left that day feeling like an intruder. How rude to invite myself into someone else’s life. And what if he wasn’t fine? A few weeks later, a letter came in the mail marked: “To my Waiting Room Angel.” I ripped it open and read:


“On Thurs. October 30, you changed my life.” The man in the waiting room was Ken, an 81 year old who had decided, that day to decline treatment for his disease. But, he said, because of our brief conversation, as he later sat on the examining table, he found himself changing his mind.


“The sound of your voice, the words you spoke overwhelmed me. I felt so strange. I shrugged and heard myself say to the doctor, “I’ll do whatever you think best.”


He went on to write that he believes our meeting was divine intervention. “My 47-year-old daughter, a total believer in angels, cried aloud when I phoned her about you.” She had prayed for God to send an angel to help him decide to go forward with treatments. Apparently, I was that angel.


Do I believe in angels? I don’t know. I do believe in God, and I definitely think things happen for a reason. I’m different now. I’m not climbing Mt. Everest or sky diving, and I haven’t switched to a macrobiotic diet or given up wine. But I see and hear things that may have gone unnoticed before. And I cherish being able to do everyday activities—with the dishes, doing the laundry, cleaning up after dinner, giving my daughters a bath, putting them to bed. It wasn’t long ago that even one of those chores would have exhausted me. Now, it’s just life. My life—moving forward instead of standing still.


Ken said I changed his life. He’s changed mine, too. We wouldn’t know each other if we say each other, but we have become friends through our letters. He recounts stories from his youth; I write to him about our family trips, or how our girls are doing in school. We are both in full remission. He says his treatment brought him no discomfort, and thanked me for the fact that he is cancer free. In his first letter to me, Ken said, “I may not have a great deal of time…but I shall certainly spend it with my family, a family that believes brought you into that waiting room.” I don’t know if I am an angel. What I do know is that Ken’s presence in my life is a blessing. And I look forward to checking the mail more than I ever have before.


Wilton 2009/2010 Holiday

(Emphasis added)