Elizabeth
When I saw the 29-year-old breast cancer patient laughing at her 14-month-old son's antics, I realized I needed to stop whining about my life and start celebrating it again.
When I saw the 29-year-old breast cancer patient laughing at her 14-month-old son's antics, I realized I needed to stop whining about my life and start celebrating it again.
Every Wednesday morning on my way to chemotherapy, I stop at Starbucks for a tall black and white, even though I can't drink it, just to remind myself of the freedom I've lost to this disease.
The last time mom called me out of the blue, she told me she had lung cancer.
Today you shaved your hair into a mohawk to make my mom laugh over losing hers to chemo and today I realized that you are my hero.
In order to feel as if he had some sort of control over his cancer, my father would search the streets for a dollar in change before each chemo session.
After hearing from my mother that my father had lung cancer, the only thing I knew to do was light up a cigarette.
It really screwed up my day when the dermatologist told me that the weird scar on my nose was actually skin cancer.
I collapsed into a chair when the vet told me he had cancer, but he put his head in my lap to comfort me, sensing only my sadness.
Answering the door to trick-or-treaters in all her hairless chemo glory, my mother has inspired me more than she could ever imagine.
The fact that doctors are sometimes wrong took away my child.
It's been eight years this Thanksgiving, and they still sob over his death.
The 1/32nd dose of the experimental drug cut her cancer in half, and I can't help but wonder if she would be alive today if they would have just given her a full therapeutic dose.
My first kiss happened just months after my mother died.
It's sad that my mother's cancer-filled dog seemed more frisky and alert on the day before he was put to sleep than he had been in years.
I went to the doctor to find out why I had cold that wouldn't go away and a cut that wouldn't stop bleeding, and I left with several appointments for chemotherapy.
I just found out that my thirty-year old trailer trash cousin is dying of cancer and all I can think of is "Good riddance."
As he walked by, I wondered if the bald headed boy had cancer.
How fitting it was that my best friend's abusive husband died a painful death from melanoma of the rectum.
Seriously, within the four or five months that I worked at a small accounting firm, a CPA died suddenly of cancer, one of the secretaries had a miscarriage, and the other CPA's husband was found by his mother after having died of auto-erotic asphyxiation.