The story of hatred and friendship and all that falls in between

I hate cancer.

The best part about being a health reporter is that there are a myriad of topics out there that I can oppose as much as I want and nobody cares. Nobody likes cancer.

You hear me cancer! YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS!

But it has become personal. It became personal a long time ago.

It all started with a woman named Sandra.

When I was very young, a friend of my family was diagnosed with cancer. I want to say she had pancreatic cancer, but this was about when I was 8 or so. I had no idea what cancer was. All I knew was that it was the reason I was the only one at the funeral who wasn’t crying, staring at that ash-white face that I never knew to hold anything but a smile.

About the same time, my mother told me that I had to be seen by a doctor. Then she told me I had to have a surgery. Being a doctor’s child, this wasn’t terribly alarming. I knew it was probably for a good reason, and I didn’t understand what it was all about.

The doctors ended up removing a mole from behind my left ear that my mother told me probably wasn’t anything to worry about. Still, they put me through a surgery to get the thing off and the scar sure makes for a good story. I even remember the surgery itself because the dunsel who was supposed to put me under botched the job and I could feel a good part of the procedure, though the pain wasn’t terribly bad and even if it was, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it as I could not move or speak. But they gave me a Happy Meal coupon afterwards. Yay.

The combination of seeing Sandra in that coffin and the surgery I went through made it official. I was afraid of even the possibility of cancer. I didn’t even know what it was, but I knew it could kill you. I had my own scare a few years ago when my migraines started (complete with auras – flashy lights in the eyes). That CT was the scariest thing I ever went through. For the first time in my life, I understood why people put off such terrifying tests. Fortunately, all the docs found was that yes, I do have a brain, and my genetics mean that I will be doomed to hate the world around me every so often because it feels as if there is a whale in my brain and he wants out.

So here I am, a medical reporter. I have plenty of rein to come up with my own story ideas, and so I shine the light on cancer as much as I can. Get your screenings! See your doctor regularly! Support those who fight the fine fight!

And then one day a source and I were talking at the end of an interview and she asked me how my boss’ wife was doing.

I have a miraculous tendency to be very obsessive and yet completely clueless. The puzzle pieces fell into place. That was what was being talked about in a conversation I had barely even noticed but still heard. And I became afraid, because I did not want it to be what I thought it was.

“You know more than me about it, I think. All I know is that something is up. But I didn’t ask.”

My source looked at me and I knew she didn’t want to tell me.

“She has cancer.”

“What kind?”

An icy hand was gripped around my heart and I could only tremble at what my boss and his wife must have felt. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that afraid. I know I never want to.

“Breast cancer.”

My boss and his wife recently became parents to a beautiful baby girl. I had never seen my boss be anything but a responsible leader and a good man until the day his wife first brought his daughter into the office. The rest of the world around him literally ceased to exist. I got a picture of it and it now sits on one of his shelves.

My boss is not just my boss. When I was an intern, he trusted me to get the job done. When I made a mistake of epic magnitude about two months ago, he soundly ripped me apart in front of three other editors and then told me he was disgusted with me.

He wouldn’t have said it to me, I think, if he hadn’t known how big a fire it would have lit under me. It worked, and it made me a better journalist. It also made me a better person.

But after a weekend conference in St. Louis earlier this year, spending time with and getting to know him a little better, I knew I had found myself in a rare spot. My boss wasn’t just the man who gave me my orders and kept me gainfully employed. He became my friend, and I knew that I would follow him anywhere. He had earned my respect and my trust by giving me those things.

He and his family are friends.

And now…

Yes, I’m afraid for them. But I can’t just sit around. It’s not my way. I’m a man of action. I have to do something. And so I shall.

With the help of the strange, wonderful and generous denizens of Fark.com (special thanks to site owner Drew Curtis – whom I once had the pleasure of playing a game of soccer with – for putting up the link on his site), $517 and change have been raised in support of my boss and his wife through me.

I’m walking a 5K next weekend in support of my boss and his wife. To give you an idea of the kind of people I’m supporting, so far 53 people have joined the team to show their support. We’ve raised more than $6,000, blowing away our team goal of $4K.

Any support you all would like to show is welcome. Feel free to send letters of encouragement or donations or what have you. Knowing I have friends like you all who read regularly is why I blog.

Knowing that I can be that kind of a friend for someone else is why I’m doing this.

P.S. – Aaaand, I should probably note that the aforementioned link I mentioned above, the one put up on Fark.com? When I got that link posted… I kinda promised to allow myself to be photoshopped. Me wearing a pink shirt…

There is no way that this can end in any way but an awesome one.

Click here to visit the Race Page of Owensboro’s team, Graciously Pink. If you want to make a donation through me, just click my name on the list on that page.