November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness month. I knew nothing about this particularly brutal form of cancer until my Grandmother Anita died from it over ten years ago. And then my aunt Suzie received the dreadful diagnosis and passed away only a few short years after her mother.
And then my Dad. Wallace, or “Buddy” to his friends and family, was diagnosed in May 2005 with terminal pancreatic cancer. He passed away on August 5th of that same year. He was 62. This was a difficult time for my family on so many levels, the loss of him made that much more painful by the realization that there was a 50% chance that the disease ran in the family.
Pancreatic cancer is known as the “silent disease.” Symptoms often do not present until it’s too late, translating to a meager 5% survival rate of 5 years past the diagnosis date. It has one of the highest fatality rates of all cancers (37,170 cases diagnosed in the United States in 2007, and 33,700 deaths) and is the fourth highest cancer killer in the United States among both men and women.
My Dad was a spitfire of a man, a healthy short-man complex combined with extreme intelligence and a ferocious will making for an individual that one could not forget. To watch him suffer from this disease–the second most painful behind bone cancer–was unbearable. Laid low by the mind-numbing medications and persistent pain, it was only due to my Mom’s devotion and around the clock care that he died with some small measure of dignity intact.
It took time, but I’ve finally been able to accept that some good can come from this. I can schedule my brother and I for tests that will help with early detection. I can feel good about my choice to not smoke, something that leads to a 50% increased chance of the cancer occurring. I can eat my fruits and vegetables and get massive loads of vitamin D.
I can support groups like the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network, a “nationwide network of people dedicated to working together to advance research, support patients, and create hope for those affected by pancreatic cancer.”
I can publicly applaud people like Patrick Swayze and Dr. Randy Pausch (1960 - 2008), who shared their stories so that others might benefit.
I can be thankful for my mom. She gave until she had nothing left, and then she gave some more. She is a shining example of what we all should strive to be each and every day.
And I can tell you my story. If just one person walks away from reading this and decides to investigate their family’s cancer history or even commits to eating a few more green vegetables, then I’ve done something.
And so can you. Support cancer research. Talk to your friends and family. And dare to hope.
