One More.

One more. It is with a sad heart I write tonight. The last few days have been a roller coaster to say the least. I began this year on a mission to capture my journey towards making cancer a far distant memory. I vowed that not one more man, woman, or child would have to hear three awful words, “you have cancer.” We have seen enormous progress this year and have made encouraging strides in our efforts. I have seen everything from researchers reformulating ecstasy to use as a cancer fighting agent to a shot that has cured leukemia in clinical trial patients. Yet the fact remains, everyday people are still newly diagnosed. Thousands of people hear those three dreadful words. Of course it always hits home hard when someone you know is diagnosed. On Friday my family got to feel firsthand the range of emotions again that come with the life changing diagnosis of cancer.

Little Talan, 3 years old. Sweet, innocent, lovable. Hospitalized for some stiffness in his muscles. Just as most families communicate these days, I saw some brief updates from Talan’s mom on Facebook. I saw that little Talan was under the weather and was undergoing some tests. Later in the week a sentence or two would stream through my news feed about his abnormal blood counts. Immediately my heart sank. I know all too well what abnormal blood work can mean. I told myself I was just being paranoid due to my line of work and all of the stories I am surrounded by on a daily basis. On Friday I received a phone call from my sister. My worst fears were confirmed by the first sound of her shaking voice. “Talan has leukemia,” was all she could manage to get out.

All of the emotions that came flooding over me felt strange in a way. I held back tears and quickly got off the phone to digest what I had just heard. First I wanted to cry, my heart literally ached. Then I wanted to spring into action. I work for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society for gosh sakes, I can help him. I jumped into research mode and started frantically pulling pamphlets and brochures off of our shelves. A few minutes later I was back to sobbing. I quietly shut my office door and numbly stared at my cold and now completely unappetizing lunch. I was hurting for Talan’s family. I felt guilty for all of the things I know. I know that their life will never be the same. They will be thrown into a world no parent ever wants to be. I knew the initial shock and overwhelming-ness will wear off and the long sleepless nights and endless treatments will begin. I knew how long there road was about to be. I also knew they have no idea what they are in for. The burden of this knowledge weighed heavy on my chest.

As I sat at my desk, mountains of old memories came flooding back. Some of my best childhood memories are with Talan’s mom, Nicole. We are separated by only a few months and spent every summer together since I was nine years old. Nicole lived in Massachusetts and my father would whisk us away from Arizona each summer to spend time with our god parents and their family. We would spend hours catching up, talking about the cutest boys in our schools, playing games, making up dances, swimming in “the pond” for hours. During the school year we would write back and forth to keep in touch. Updating each other on all of the important things in a teenager’s life: boys, boys, and every now and then a new favorite pair of shoes.

As we got older and I was “too old” for family vacations we kind of went our separate ways. Each of us, on separate coasts, as young adults growing up and trying to start our lives. We kept in touch from time to time and saw each other when I would make as my father would say, “An all too rare east coast appearance.” Nicole got married and then had a baby boy. Talan. He is the light of her life. I often think of what different worlds we live in. I have a hard time imagining being a mother and I know Nicole could not imagine life not being a mother.

Now to know, one of my very best childhood friends, is dealing with so much is so overwhelming. Her strength in all of this has been amazing. It’s hard not to feel helpless when you are 3,000 miles away. My dad and my sister are there along with the rest of her amazing family and I am happy for that. It’s also hard not to feel guilty. Is there something more that I could be doing? I said not one more. Now I can’t even say not one more in my own family. Cancer is putting up a strong fight.

However, I will continue to work tirelessly towards our goal; a world without cancer. Hopefully when little Talan grows up he will talk about this ordeal as a distant memory. He will have to explain to his kids what cancer is because it will no longer exist.

Please keep Talan in your thoughts, he had his port put in yesterday and is beginning his chemo treatments. He is strong and brave, cancer always seems to pick those ones.