My Experience In My Life

It’s astonishing how one diagnosis can completely alter the life of a family. One day you’re looking to move into the fancy houses along the coast, and the next you’re forced to consider if you would be able to afford the same home with one income. When I was three years old my mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer. I was too young to know what was happening, but at the age of seven, when my mom was diagnosed for the second time, I began to notice a change in my family’s daily life. I was told not to sit on my mom’s lap and that she could not play with me as much as usual due to her Chemotherapy, but it was not until her third time contracting cancer that I noticed the pain she was in. I was fourteen when I finally learned about the very thing I had been trying to figure out for nearly my entire life. This burden has solely shaped the way I act and how I handle life’s many challenges, but how it accomplished this was not always a joyous experience.

Cancer is a frightening topic, the National Cancer Institute states that “more women in America have died of [cancer] in the last two decades [than in WW1 and WW2 combined]”. It’s no wonder the word alone can bring anguish to many, there is still much we don’t understand about cancer. It wasn’t until recently that we began to noticed a trend of disease in my family. My grandmother Olga Losoya Suarez passed away in August of 2015 to colon cancer at the age of 75. As one can imagine this was devastating as she was the center of the family, always bringing everyone together on the holidays. Soon disaster struck again as my grandmother on my father’s side, Carolina Tovar, passed from pancreatic cancer in June of 2016 at the age of 71. Although most of the family felt a mixture of emotions, one that dominated the rest was concern. My parents, Aunts, and Uncles concerned that cancer was becoming more prominent in our family sought checkups from their doctors. My Aunt Linda informed

This past summer, I, along with my mother and father, travelled to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. My mom had been invited to participate in the St. Jude For Life Study because when she was around six to eight years old, she had a form of leukemia called Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. This particular study is to help all present and future St. Jude patients and help to research for a cure. While there, I saw first-hand how cancer can affect a family. You can just see all of the stress, the worry, the exhaustion, the tiredness, the fear, and the tears on the families’ and the patients’ faces.

Jean Vondrak is a fifty-six-year-old woman who was always a fighter. She had already lost her husband only a few years earlier to skin cancer and now she was being diagnosed with breast cancer. Jean was always a stubborn, strong-willed woman who seemed as though she could simply take on the world. “I was fifty-two when I was diagnosed with breast cancer.” “Before the cancer I would’ve described myself as a cheerful, strong, motivated mother, grandmother and teacher who cares deeply for my family.” “I loved to care for my family and I loved to always be up and around involved in my farm. But during the time I had cancer I felt troubled, discouraged, and anxious.”

Each year, approximately 12.7 million people are diagnosed with cancer and unfortunately that number is not decreasing. My sister, Caitlin, was a part of that statistic 12 years ago, and to say her Ewing’s Sarcoma changed not only her life, but also my family’s would be an understatement. As a child, witnessing the deterioration of my sister’s health and the my family’s normalcy ultimately shaped me into the person I am today; a person that welcomes change with a resilient nature built on a foundation to never quit. I am blessed to say that my sister is flourishing and her cancer has been in remission and upon meeting her today, one would have no idea she ever endured such a relentless disease. Nevertheless in the past two years, my mother

I crawled into bed with her one night. Under the blankets and wrapped in her arms, I whispered, “Why did the doctors take your hair away?” To this, my mom softly explained to me the process of chemotherapy. I was four years old at the time, and two years prior to this my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Having never drank, smoked, or done drugs, her diagnosis came as an incredible shock. She fought it for the next three years of her life, and though I was very little at the time, I have very vivid memories of being with her through this. I remember rubbing her bald head while we watched movies, I remember painting her pictures daily, and most often I remember doing yoga with her on the beach.

The three words no one ever wants to hear politely were articulated: “YOU HAVE CANCER.” I was in tears in a matter of seconds. I texted my husband in the waiting room, he came to the treatment room and couldn’t believe the devastating news either. The doctor went on explaining the next steps to take for surgical procedures, counseling, family genetics and treatment options. Still in shock, I went to the administrator and received a folder of necessary information regarding everything and anything about breast cancer. (Teresa Harris)

In September of my junior year of high school, my mom told me for the third time that she had cancer. She had spent the entire summer coughing. It was a bad summer cold or maybe a stubborn case of bronchitis. No one could seem to figure out what was causing the cough. A late summer bronchoscopy finally solved the case. It was cancer. Calmly, she reassured me on that September day, “It’s an early stage cancer. They say it’s very treatable. We’ve been down this road before.” The next nine months was a road that no one in my family had traveled. Frequent doctor visits, chemotherapy treatments, and hospitalizations became our new normal. We painstakingly watched as each round of chemo treatments devastated and weakened her. Through everything, my mom was resilient, tough, and determined to live.

Two years ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage four brain cancer. During this time there were countless visits to the hospital. Typically, a visit would consist of shed tears and painful discussions about the next steps, but not this one. Before I set foot into my mother's room I heard the laughter of my oldest sister, Jojo, and chuckles

One day my dad came home from work. He looked really upset and didn’t seem like himself. Him and my mom told my brother, sister and I to come to the kitchen because they had bad news. “Kids, your great grandpa was diagnosed with lung cancer yesterday.” My mom told us with watery eyes. “Yeah,” My dad started, “We just found out this morning.” This was very upsetting and depressing news for my family and I to hear, but we all got through it together. We did this by going to see him as much as we could, even thought he lived three hours away from

In 2012 my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, for the following year and a half I watched my mother undergo multiple surgeries, daily radiation, and a variety of other intensive treatments. Throughout the entire process I watched my mother physically and mentally deteriorate. At the time my knowledge of the disease was minimal and not only was I fearful of my mothers future, but I was also unaware of the physiological functions that would overcome my mothers body eternally. Following a year and a half of agonizing and aggressive treatments my family received the news that my mother was officially in complete remission. Throughout my mothers battle with breast cancer my family and I met countless individuals who were

After a while of sitting in my grandparents living room mindlessly playing with my toys I decided to get up. I walked towards the commotion going on in the small hallway connecting the living room to the kitchen. The gathering of people consisted of my mom, dad, grandpa, and grandma. Curious about what was going on I walked over to the group. I reached my mom and looked up to see that her eyes were bloodshot, as if she had been crying. I looked over to my dad and his face, like everyone else's, was grim. During this time I kept hearing one repeating word, cancer. I started to listen more closely to the conversation going on around me because even at the age of seven I knew that cancer was bad news. I listened intently and heard my mom explain how she had colon cancer.

When I was a child my friend, Abby, was diagnosed with leukemia. At the time, I didn’t understand how serious of a diagnosis that was, I just assumed that it was just like any other illness; she would get better. She did not get better. Abby was eight years old when she died. The memorial was a somber affair; I didn’t know how to react. We were both eight but only one of us got to be nine. I finally understood what leukemia was, a death sentence.

In October of my sophomore year, my mother sat me down on our couch and told me she had breast cancer. My mother has a habit of spinning terrible news to sound like casual conversation. She said that we would go into this optimistic, hoping for something small or easily handled. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with stage three malignant phyllodes tumors in her right breast. Hearing this, I was devastated. My mother had recently been recovering from a car accident in which she was a pedestrian hit by a speeding vehicle. We had finally finished the multiple surgeries necessary to fix her lower spine, left shoulder, and pelvis. It felt as though we had just come out of that. It seemed unreal that we would have two physical tragedies so close

When I was between the ages of ten and twenty-seven, my mother managed to treat her cancer diagnosis as one of life's unique teaching