Two Moments

It is just about noon and I’m scaling the rocks quickly as I can, scrambling to be the first to reach the lake. I am slightly out of breath, but exhilarated by the cool fall air against my skin and the question my friend Marcus has posed to me: how would I define poverty in the context of developing countries? We are deep in conversation about Africa, our shared love, and sustainable development, our common goal. As we climb, we are surrounded by gigantic forests of quaking aspens, enormous granite rocks and soaring falcons. We reach the summit and I stand, looking over the mountains, the lake and the rolling clouds. I drink the air in deeply and marvel. This is cancer.

It is either late at night or early in the morning. I am awoken abruptly by a sharp pain in my right side. It is a pain I am familiar with. It’s come before, as though some muscle inside my rib cage has either swollen or cramped and now pushes sharply against my side. The pain becomes almost unbearable. I have difficulty breathing, moving, finding any position that is even remotely comfortable. Instead, I cry and curse God for making me sick, for kicking me when I feel down already, for thrusting this unknown sensation upon me without the tools to fight it. I am overcome by the sensation of pain and discomfort and soon my salty tears have dampened the pillow and sheets. But I’ve built myself independently so that I can cry on my own as an adult. I can suffer in silence in my bed and not bother anyone. But Annika comes downstairs, reminding me that I don’t have to suffer alone, not tonight at least. Tonight, I have a friend nearby who can hold me as I cry and rub my aching back and try to calm me down to the point where I can breath again. I drink the air in deeply when my body allows me to, and release my pain and my hurt. This is also cancer.