Cancer, the whispered word
Sunday, May 10, 2009
By: Allison Martell

This is my story of why I relay. I have lost three grandparents to this disease. It needs to stop!!

This is not a simple question to answer. The dreaded "C" word has been ingrained in my mind since an early age when my dad was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

As a small child, I always remember going to Halifax on "The Checkup Trip", and my dad being so relieved on the trip home after hearing that he had a good report. I could never completely grasp what that meant for him. The appointments became further and further apart, until finally he was told that he no longer had to make the trek to Halifax for "The Checkup Trip", and that day I swore that my dad had won a million dollars.

Unfortunately, this was not to be our family's last bout with this disease that shows no prejudice. My grandfather was stricken with lung cancer, and as a teenager, I had vivid memories of my grandfather coughing so much that he could not breathe. In a cruel twist of fate, he died on Christmas Day in 1984. So when most people were getting up to open presents and put the turkey dinner on, my mother and her siblings were getting ready to plan a funeral. Which leads to the next chapter in the "C" story, and probably the one that has affected me personally the most. This is the story of my grandmother.

She was an amazing woman, all 4 ft 10 ins of her. She read everything from the Bible to the Dictionary, and made us all beautiful handknitted sweaters, the best cookies ever, and handmade quilts that kept us and later, her great grandchildren warm. She was the kindest person, and always had an extra potato on in case company dropped in, and always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. She took care of my grandfather during his battle, only to be faced with one of her own later on. She was originally diagnosed with breast cancer the year my mom got married, and then went cancer free for many years.

In 1992, the ugliest of diseases once again reared its head. She became ill with breast cancer again, and this time she was not so fortunate to be cancer free. It eventually moved into her brain, and we watched as the woman we called when we were stuck on a crossword puzzle or a lexicon, became a former shell of herself. She suffered from some visual hallucinations, stroke-like symptoms, and probably the worse for us other than her physical pain - memory loss. All of a sudden our family library was fading before our eyes.

In 1999, she lost her battle, 17 days before the birth of her fourth great grandchild, my son Trent. To add insult to an unbearable injury, the day we were to bury her, we received a call that my dad's brother had also passed away due to a fast moving cancer. So now all of a sudden, we were grieving for two cancer victims, rather than one. That time in my life has affected me in a profound way, making me more determined than ever to fight this disease.

In 2004, a very good friend of mine was diagnosed with a fast moving form of breast cancer, she fought a courageous battle, but unfortunately in July 2005, she passed away. She was a sweet girl whom everyone loved, and it just made me mad, that this light was taken from our world too soon. Women who are 34 years old should not be losing their hair and going through body wrecking treatments, they should be playing with their children, planning weddings or trips.

I am sick of statistics talking about children not being able to play outside for the fear that it could affect their immune systems, and of hearing that 1 in 8 women will face breast cancer. We cannot be content to let these statistics grow. We must fight, we must do whatever we can to make these numbers obsolete. So I relay for the those lost, for those fighting and most of all I relay for a Cancer Free future.

On June 19, 2009, at the Arichat Relay For Life I will be shaving my head to honour those people who fight this dreaded beast everyday, and my son Logan will also be shaving his. I am hoping some of you out there will support me in this endeavour.