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| Jacaranda tree-blooms in the spring |
In Australia, October is the month for Breast Cancer Awareness. Similar to Canada, there are various fundraising events requiring attendance, monetary donations, and increased awareness about the importance of self-screening and regular visits to the doctor. Unfortunately, breast cancer (BC) is not just an abstract concept to most of us. Impacting 1:8 women (before the age of 85 yrs), it is more likely than not that we all know someone who has been challenged by this disease. Many of us know someone that has lost their battle.
Or, if you are like me, you know someone who did not get to fully engage in a BC fight. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in May of 1998. Prior to her diagnosis, she had not seen a doctor for regular physicals since my brother was born in the early 70's. By the time she was diagnosed with breast cancer, the tumors had metastasized to her lungs and her brain. Her prognosis was terminal. Before she could even try to summon the energy and resources to fight any kind of battle, she had already lost her fight. As you might be able to imagine, as her daughter (and as her primary caregiver from this moment forward), receiving this news felt like a knife to my heart. The scary "C" word delivered with not one ounce of hope. I have never felt so devastated or helpless as I did that afternoon when the Peter Lougheed Emergency room doctor informed me that my mother did not stand even a remote chance of surviving the attack of this disease.
So, since May 23, 1998, I have taken on the BC battle on behalf of my mom. In the beginning, I engaged with her doctors, seeking a glimmer of hope that there was SOMETHING my mom could do to help herself survive. As it became increasingly clear that her "self-help ship" had long since sailed, I focused on how I could contribute to cancer-cure efforts. For many years, I raised monies for the CIBC Run for the Cure. I walked 60 km in The Weekend to End Breast Cancer with three very dear family friends: women who were equally invested in fighting this battle in honour of my mom. In 2005, I joined the Board of Directors for the Wings of Hope Breast Cancer Foundation (www.wings-of-hope.com) and spent several years assisting with fundraising efforts to provide financial and psychosocial support to breast cancer patients. I donated to others' fundraising efforts. And I encouraged my female friends to pay attention to their breast health: through regular self-exams, annual physicals, and mammograms.
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| Run for the Cure-Vancouver 2002 Running for Pauline & Leslie |
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| Run for the Cure-Calgary 2003 Julia's first "run" for Grandma Pauline |
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| The Weekend to End Breast Cancer Aug 2005 We walked 60 km over 2 days |
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| My "team" for the Weekend and my "family" for life |
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| The FINISH line--we did it! I cried like a baby for about an hour--the most rewarding fundraising experience yet |
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| Wings of Hope Breast Cancer Foundation Board of Directors October 2005 Annual Fundraising Luncheon |
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| Run for the Cure 2007 Julia walked 5 km for BC at age 4 |
I often think about a conversation that I had prior to the Weekend to End Breast Cancer 2005. Each participant was required to raise $1500 in order to participate in this event. I was able to meet this fundraising goal through the generosity of family and friends who clearly wanted to support my need to fight. However, one friend informed me that she wasn't comfortable donating money to my campaign. She felt that such fundraising efforts were unethical in the sense that all of the donated monies did not go directly to research (with this particular event, there were high overhead costs as it was organized by professional fundraisers). Further, she doubted that researchers would ever find a cure for breast cancer so she was choosing to direct her charity contributions to different "less trendy" causes. At the time, I remember feeling gutted by her feedback and promptly responded as such, indicating that I hadn't chosen breast cancer as my cause. It had chosen me. And my family. And more specifically, it had chosen my mom. Many years later, as I reflect on this discussion, I realize that I have never stopped fighting BC. I have hope that I can somehow gain retribution from a disease that robbed my community of a fantastic school teacher. It robbed my children of their child-loving, gentle-spirited grandmother. And it robbed me of my number-one fan: the person who was always in my corner and whose words and actions always showed me that I was loved for exactly who I already was. Who wouldn't choose to retaliate against an enemy like that?
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| March 2006 My mom attended my law school graduation banquet I remember her being very excited and proud |
Since we moved to Australia, I haven't re-engaged in the BC battle. In truth, I think I took a break from the fight, even before we moved overseas. Four years ago, as I was immersed in my graduate studies in psychology, I was drawn into the world of palliative care, death and bereavement. In some ways, this new focus might appear like a loss of hope. But I like to think that in order to accomplish my own healing, I needed to redirect my efforts into helping those individuals who had "lost their battle" find some glimmer of hope (in the form of peace).
There is a LOT of attention and millions of dollars directed toward finding a breast cancer cure. As there should be. Because it's a horrible disease and it impacts too many people who are in the prime of their lives: (most often women) who are raising children, supporting other family members, and enjoying professional success. But I think it is equally important to give voice to the reality that sometimes, we don't "win" the battle, we don't even get a chance to enter the ring. I know from professional experience that wonderful people get devastating news about cancer every day. And more often than not, support for those people is not funded (in scope or magnitude) in nearly the same way as cancer research. I know from personal experience that there is fear and loneliness and isolation when people hear the word "terminal": they know their hope to win the cancer-fight is gone. But, people who can't successfully fight a BC battle are still here on earth (for at least a little while), and they (and their families) are in need of some form of hope, even if it isn't the ultimate prize of life.
I watch those purple Jacaranda flowers bloom in my backyard and I think about my mom. I think about spring/fall and October and Breast Cancer Awareness. I wonder where, how, and when I will next engage in the BC battle. These are my efforts to honour my mom's experience: of finding herself in the middle of a fight that she knew from the beginning she would not win.
RIP Margaret Pauline Fraser (February 24, 1941 - January 1, 1999). There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss you. I will continue the fight. xoxo
