by John Boguhn

Created on: August 26, 2009   Last Updated: August 27, 2009

The issue of breast cancer has exploded all around me. As of yet it has not addressed me face to face, but it has hit one degree away on more than one occasion. So I may not be able to tell you first hand stories of how to help a cancer champion, but I know what it means to be part of that secondary line of support. It is not possible to cloak oneself from the sweep of the disease; it's too broad and touches too many. And the list grows too fast to outrun! That said, I do how ever have a story of survival that I think is worth sharing. It is not mine but the couple who shared it with me deserve to have their story told.

My first real experience with Breast Cancer was in the mid 80's. I was a contractor and this lively older couple were two of my best customers. Hell, they were more than customers, they were my friends. I took care of them, they watched out for me. He was a big loud Irishman, she was a sweet little Italian woman; but together they were a team. One day the woman, who we will call The Rose, bent down to pick up a bag of groceries off the floor and one of her prosthetics (she had gone through this in the 70's so it was more like an oversized bean bag) slipped out. After an awkward moment and a little embarrassment she picked it up and stuffed it down inside her house dress. The Rose explained the entire story to me as she made her adjustments. The Cancer, the double mastectomy, the treatments, the hair loss, the pain, the challenge to go on; and just how important her husband, who we will call The Bear, was to her getting through all of it.

He let her cry, but never let feel sorry for herself. He stood there while she screamed, and cursed God, and beat on him like it was his fault. He let her hate and hurt, and swim in sadness; but never quit. Most of all he never let her forget how important she was to his survival. She was his Queen, and he would conquer the world for her; but he would not let her surrender to the beast. When ever it got to be to much he propped her up on that big old back of his and carried her into tomorrow. She was his Queen and they were a team. According to him in over 45 years of marriage they never did anything else separately, why should she think this would be any different? I wasn't there when they went through it but I was there fifteen years later to witness the strength of survival. I'd see The Rose and The Bear standing side by side in the backyard, his arm over her shoulder; a senior couple enjoying the sunset. Slowly his arm would work down her back and onto a cheek. He'd give a little squeeze, she'd give back a sideways look and a nudge. He'd smile back and reply, "my Queen." Pulling his arm to her shoulder then slipping hers around his back; she'd draw him in a little tighter. And in that moment it was clear to me what it takes to survive; it's knowing that you're needed in tomorrow.

You don't survive just for yourself, you do it for those who love and need you. And you don't fight the battle alone, you do with the ones that love and need you. What I learned from my two friends is that when the Beast tries to tear your world apart pull tighter to the ones that matter. Let them carry you when the walk gets to hard. Let them hold you when it all hurts to much. Remember you're needed; tomorrow has a place for you. There is life beyond the beast, and it's waiting for you. So wrap yourself in your circle of friends and trust them to help get you there.

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