Peggy Tabor Millin
My former boss's boss - a long-time friend and mentor - was very recently diagnosed with stage IIa breast cancer. For the sake of anonymity, we'll call her Beth. I met Beth in March of 2002. I was 22. Right out of college. Anxious, excited, and ready to start my career. Beth had been with the company for a while, perhaps 15 years at the time. She'd seen it all - from the dot-matrix printer in '86 to the Swan Hotel in Orlando in '00 - and she was ready to share her experience with me, professional and personal.
Beth figured out pretty early on that I learn best by "falling flat on my face." Wow. It's hard to see that in black and white, but it's oh-so true. She helped guide me through my 6-plus years with the company. Sometimes directly. Sometimes indirectly. A lot of times, by stepping back and watching me make an absolute fool of myself. The most important lessons are the hardest learned.
Three weeks ago, I got an email from my former boss, letting me know about Beth's diagnosis. She very delicately handled the news and wanted to share it with those who worked for and with Beth. My jaw dropped open. My heart sank. Beth? Really? Of all the people I've run across in my life. . . really? I wasn't sure what to do or say. I sent her a card. I've been praying. I almost always either run the Komen 5K or at least support someone who will be running. I felt like I needed to do something bigger. I wasn't sure what, or where to start, but I knew I needed to do something.
Then it hit me. Another friend of mine recently donated her beautiful ponytail to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths. Now I don't have a ponytail and I haven't in many years, but this. . . this is something I can do. This is a visible, physical thing I can do. Prayer is amazing. This I know. But it isn't anything out of the ordinary for me. Donating or participating in the Komen isn't anything new. Maybe I'll write BETH real big on the back of my shirt this year, but what is that doing? Nothing. Nada. It's the status quo. It's not hard. It's not a struggle. It's not . . . well. It's not anything, really.
Fighting cancer? Fighting cancer is extreme. Emotion. Exhaustion. Frustration. Questions. Doubt. Anxiety. Fear. Fatigue. Illness. Pain. Suffering. Exaltation, in the end. Fighting cancer is amazing. Victory. Triumph. Defeat. Falling down. Getting back up. Defiance. Believing in miracles, and in yourself. Fighting cancer is inspirational. Fighting cancer is the stuff heroes (and heroines) are made of. Hair? Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I can do this. I will do this. Not for me, but to remind myself of where Beth is going. And of where she's been. And of where she will one day stand, wearing her pink survivors shirt, proud as all get-out about her newly grown spiky, brunette hair that belongs to her. When she tosses her wig into the flames and laughs in cancer's face, maybe, just maybe, I will have been a teensy little part of that.
I plan to blog monthly about my own insignificant journey. I'll take a monthly photo to reassure myself that yes, it is growing. The first photo is of what my hair looked like the last time I had it cut (just before Thanksgiving). The second photo is today. Here goes nothin'.
Thank you so much yes you may think it is a small thing but for those of us fighting this fight it's a big thing. So for one who is fighting THANK YOU (that may be small) but it's from the heart & anything from the heart is big. Good luck & Ilove you more now than ever before.
ReplyDelete