Fighting the Beast

I’m Elizabeth Donald, captain of the St. Andrew’s team. I’ve been walking Relays off and on for more than 20 years, most of them here in Edwardsville.  I’m not a cancer survivor or caregiver. 

But I am angry.

I’m angry because there’s a list of people in my life I should be able to introduce you to, and they’re not here anymore.

There's Rachael Wise, a dear friend who fought breast cancer from her early 20s. She was a voracious reader with a wicked sense of humor and a personality you could see shining across a room.

Candace Sauermann, who my young son once described as "teddy bears and rainbows." A dear friend who switched from engineering to Disney vacation travel agent because she loved it so much, who walked with us in Relay after Relay long before her own cancer took her from us.

His real name was Stuart Bergman, but I never once heard anyone call him that. Nearly seven feet tall, of course his name was Shorty, famous for his mysterious "blue stuff," an alcoholic mixture of his own devising that could leave your mouth numb if you were foolish enough to bolt the shot. 

Dick Adams. He would have been my father-in-law because he married a woman with ten children - that's love, folks - and one of those children grew up to be my husband. Unfortunately, Dick died years before Jim and I met, and thus I never knew the man who helped raise him.

Andy Winemiller, one of my closest friends from college whose loss is still so heartbreaking I can't quite write it. It is impossible to me that I'm in a world where Andy is gone. 

Brian Lancaster-Mayzure, who survived high school and night shifts at McDonald's with me back when we were younglings in Tennessee. Vic Milan, author and friend who mentored so many of us fledgling writers on the convention circuit. David Black. Judy Boucher. Hugh Casey. Duane Nelson. Brennan O'Keefe. My uncle, Brian Donald.

Too many friends and family. 

And then there’s the folks who have fought cancer and won their battles, a list that is fortunately much longer than the list of those we've lost... and growing longer every year.

Is there anyone, anywhere, who hasn’t been touched by cancer? 

David didn’t have a lot of patience for the people who told him, “I’ll pray for you,” and did nothing else. He was a man in a pitched battle, and words just didn’t fix anything. Not for him, and not for his kids. He was angry, and felt cheated of the life he wanted.

As a woman of faith, I do believe that prayer has meaning. But I also think David had a point. Prayer without action isn’t as useful as standing up and doing something about it.

We donate. We hold fundraisers. We walk the track. And we share our stories, stories of the fight with the Beast. We remind everyone that cancer is the truly universal disease, the one that touches us all. We do not walk the Relay to torture ourselves, a sponsored endurance test. We do it to stand watch, taking turns into the night, reminding each other that we are all in this together.

It’s my hope that someday, this won’t be necessary. That they’ll make the breakthrough, and we won’t lose any more talented artists, brilliant minds, teachers, spouses, friends.

Because Rachel should be laughing with me and Candace should be planning her next Disney vacation. Shorty should be melting plastic cups with the Blue Stuff. Dick should be throwing a baseball with his grandchildren. Andy should be singing a Broadway tune with me and laughing when I get the words wrong.

It isn’t fair.

It isn’t right.

And it can be stopped.

I believe that.

I hope you do, too.