When my friend first told me she had cancer, I cried. I knew she was strong, but a person can only be so strong. Sometimes, a disease wins. She told me that there was a mass pushing on her heart, and she didn’t know if she would make it. What made it harder for me is that she lived 45 minutes away in Sylvania, Ohio.
She told me about the cancer over Snapchat, starting the conversation by sending me a selfie with the caption “In an ambulance.” Immediately, I asked her what was wrong and what I could do to help, even though I knew inside that there was nothing I could do except be there for her emotionally.
I talked to her every day, from the day she was diagnosed with large cell b lymphoma in early May, to the day she started chemo in late May, to the day she lost her hair in June.
Like with anything, some days were better than others. The day she lost her hair was really hard for her; she couldn’t stop looking at photos and thinking she was ugly now that she didn’t have her hair. She posted a selfie on her Instagram with her freshly shaven head and tears in her eyes. The caption stated, “So here we are.” The overwhelming amount of positive and encouraging messages in the comments brought a different kind of tears to her eyes. Happy tears.
She continued to use her Instagram to document her progress, letting her followers know when she was feeling good, and when the chemo was taking a toll on her. She posted photos of her smiling because she was allowed to go home for the weekend, and photos of her with old friends telling them that she missed them. There were photos in the hospital, and photos with her family.
Due to the risk of catching an illness while her immune system was so weak, she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. But her doctors let her come to a camp reunion we had in late July. Her parents drove her up, and she stayed with us for a few hours before having to go back home. It was the first time I had seen her since her diagnosis.
She told all of us how she had gotten really sick after her vacation in April, and how her parents took her to the doctors just to see if anything was wrong. She told us how they noticed a slight heart murmur and checked it out, just in case. She told us how when the doctors saw the tumor pushing on her heart, they told her that it was so big it should’ve already killed her. She told us how happy she was to see us again, and how sad she was when she found out she couldn’t come to camp this summer.
But through all of it, she was smiling and laughing. She was still the same girl I met at camp three years earlier. She never let cancer define her. She fought through all of the hard days and she always had her friends and family to tell her that they loved her.
She finished chemo in September, and was officially cancer-free in early October.
To this day, she continues to give back to places that helped her recover. She worked with the Toledo hospital in delivering teddy bears to children struggling with cancer. She helped her school make blankets for the nonprofit organization “Fleece and Thank You” which works to provide comfort to children battling illnesses. She raised over $600 for the Toledo Children’s Hospital Oncology Unit.
My friend with toys she helped buy for the Toledo Children's Hospital. They were delivered to children who are battling cancer and other illnesses.
My friend with the 67 blankets her school helped make for children in the branch of the Toledo Children's Hospital where she stayed for treatment.
My friend with the True Gold Award awarded to her by her school. It was given to her by a 3rd grade warrior and his father for her continued work with the hospital.
I’m happy to call myself her friend, and I’m incredibly glad that I could be there for her in her weakest moments. The effect she had on me is enormous. She taught me to be more confident, kind, and grateful. She never gave up, and even though there were times when she hated not having hair, or not being able to get out of bed because she was so sick, she kept fighting. Her perseverance has had more of an effect on me than I think she knows.
Her cancer changed her life, but it also changed mine.