To date, writing the article about cancer has been the hardest one for me to produce. As someone who strives to do justice to each topic she writes on, it’s been a struggle for me to put down in words exactly what I would like to talk about here. Not because this is a topic of little writable material, I could write pages upon pages about why cancer sucks and how unfair it can be, but I don’t think I would be doing any justice here. Morose paragraphs about the constant pain and suffering that cancer has on individuals, while I would draw sympathy from readers, wouldn’t be that influential. You see, by framing this essay around why lives are made miserable by cancer, I would be giving it the control to be the ugly, powerful monster it is. Instead, I would like to take control myself. Instead of talking about why cancer is a demon, I want to talk about why cancer doesn’t have to control you, and how even in the worst way, cancer teaches you so much about strength, resilience, and love.

It wasn’t always easy for me to have that frame of mind. So often, my faith in modern medicine had been shaken by news of re-occurrences in the cancer that plagues my mom, known as retroperitoneal liposarcoma- a rare, difficult tumor to treat because of its deep location and size. Potential promises turned quickly into heartbreaking realities for my family, because even as my mom’s doctors have tried their best to eradicate the problem, cancer as a mysterious entity has a way of letting you down time and time again. Failed chemotherapy treatments, dozens upon dozens of pills to treat infections, and painful surgeries are written in her history- and witnessing each one, I lost a little hope for change every time something went wrong. Just recently, upon learning that her new chemo and radiation treatment not only failed to reduce the size of her tumor, but it was continuing to grow- I broke down into tears. One of my best friends held me while I cried on my bed, rubbing my back and reiterating “It’ll be okay.”

As hard as it can be to admit sometimes, I think my friend is right. I don’t believe everything will turn up roses, but I have to have hope that this whole situation is about learning, growth, and gratitude. Something that separates me from a lot of teenagers is a deep connection with my mom. When other people my age are off making memories and their parents take the back seat on the ride, my mom is sitting shot-gun on mine. She is my best friend, my ally, my confidant, and partner in crime. I think about her every day. An illness like cancer puts a lot of things into perspective for you, like how precious tiny moments are with the people you love the most. I now carry this attitude with me in everything I do. I remember the importance of expressing love and happiness for others because you never know when one day they bring you bad news and your world is completely flipped upside down. Cancer has given me this kind of insight. As huge as the costs are, there are definitely things to be said of cancer, like its immense ability to bring people together. I’ve also learned the importance of appreciating my family because I’m lucky enough to have one. When my mom is in the hospital and isn’t home, it’s like having an out of body experience because that isn’t my normal reality. But I understand that is the painful reality for so many people, so I never take her presence, or that of my father and brother, for granted.

And sometimes, I do lose sight of this. I don’t think by the time I was 17 years old, I should have known how to perform saline and heparin flushes through an IV, or understand how to properly care for a synthetic wig. I get in my own head occasionally, thinking that the world is unfair and that my family should be together without having to suffer. But I also know that without pain there is no growth. Without going through traumatic situations, how do we begin to appreciate all that we have?

I would never wish cancer on anyone, because no one should have to witness such sickness. Cancer has the ability to turn off a sort of light in someone, and suddenly everything seems to fall into darkness. But I want to be that light for my mom when she can’t be one herself. When she isn’t strong I will be strong for her, and for my family. Cancer has given me the ability to handle a lot because the alternative of giving up isn’t a great option, and it’s not something I intend to do. I will grow from this experience, learn from it, and not let it destroy me. The other day, my mom sent me a text that said “I need some angels”, and while I’m no angel, I will try my best to be one for her.