by Ariel Eton

Created on: June 03, 2008

When I speak of her death, most people ask, "How old was she?" Barely able to answer, I exclaim, "She was too young!" Elise, at the age of thirty-four was suffering with pains in her lower abdomen for three days. We thought: Nothing to be concerned about, it's probably a stomach virus. As the three days grew into five, she decided to go to the emergency room. After a thorough examination, which included: blood work, an x-ray and then a MRI, the doctors discovered a blockage in her colon. The blockage was an enlarged tumor. She was then given a biopsy, and to our dismay we learned that the tumor was malignant. Emergency surgery was performed to remove the tumor and they immediately started giving her aggressive chemotherapy.

In numerous instances she had surpassed and survived every obstacle thrown into her path. For four long and grueling years, on a weekly basis, she would attend a neighborhood hospital to receive chemotherapy. Even though new nodules would appear in the colon and in her stomach, we were always hopeful, to be exact, there was no doubt in our minds that she would win this battle. She was a warrior amongst warriors; she wasn't about to give in or give up, this was just another hurdle she had to cross.
Only, this time, crossing the hurdle would have a whole new meaning.
As the news of her illness circulated at her place of employment, there was an outpouring of LOVE veiled with shock and sadness. The employees donated whatever they had to offer. The people there were very generous with contributing money to help compensate for the now missing paycheck; the paycheck that was no longer assisting in the household. Others, they gave their time by visiting, with honest attempts to keep her spirits uplifted, to give her hope and provide her with prayers. Some members from the job brought with them cooked meals for her and her family. In the midst of this picture, a woman lies dormant in her bed, a woman who was once so full of life, now silently struggling to regain that position.
Through my observation of other patients (family and friends) stricken with cancer, it was plain to see that chemotherapy was not a joke. Often times the chemotherapy appeared to be worse than the illness it was combating. Two days following Elise's chemo treatment, to say the least, she was totally miserable.
Consumed with bouts of nausea and excessive diarrhea, the bathroom became her new dwelling. Somehow, she managed to wave her hand to say hello or give a warm smile while

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