Nineteen years ago, in the last few days before Christmas, my usual last minute panic shopping was curtailed by a curious sharp pain on the left side of my abdomen just below my ribs. The previous spring, I had undergone cancer surgery and chemotherapy treatment, but I did not believe this pain was related: my self-diagnosis was that it must have been constipation. Now, however, two days before Christmas, the day my family was to arrive, the now constant pain wore me down like a stuck sewing machine needle punching through cloth. I reluctantly went to the hospital.

After many tests and a day of waiting in the emergency room, my oncologist arrived, shook my hand nervously, and sat down in a metal chair with a hard pink seat beside my bed. She spoke, “We believe you are having a reoccurrence of your pancreatic cancer. Over the next six months, you will have chemo. This time you will have radiation and then more chemo.”

I was released and arrived home to a house full of guests and family. My husband, Wayne, had briefed my family about the day’s events. Everyone around me worked very gingerly and pretended all was normal. My brother cooked dinner. My mother set the table. Wayne and my son, Chris, hovered around wondering what to do and say. I sat on the couch and felt as if I were in a seat on a bumpy airplane ride. Most importantly, I was trying to think of what to say to Chris, whom I had assured only months before that I was definitely going to beat my cancer.

The next afternoon, my friend and massage therapist, Tanya arrived. Tanya invited me to lie down on the portable table which was covered with warm blankets and towels. She asked me gently what was going on. Between tears and deep breaths I confessed my news. She listened patiently, then put her hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said, “The only thing they know is that they don’t know.” She paused momentarily and then continued, “No matter what you find out, you will want to enjoy this time.” These words eased from her mouth like the sun peeking out through black storm clouds. Her words had opened a window of hope for me and had renewed my confidence. Her simple heartfelt comment, “The only thing they know is that they don’t know” gave me something to hold on to.

During the next few days, I smiled my very best smiles for the holiday photos, while somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if these might be the last photos my family would have of me at Christmas. Although there were times when I touched down into the dark side, most of the time I laughed and enjoyed the delicious dinners and loving company. I tried to soak up every minute of the holiday. Perhaps, the best gift I received that year was the suggestion from a friend there was a small possibility, that I may not have cancer. Two weeks later, after all the biopsies, scans, lab work and tests, I was given a clean bill of health. It had all been a false alarm.

“The only thing they know is that they don’t know.” This remark, which came from the heart of my friend Tanya, I still use to comfort and inspire those struck by the news of cancer. In such dark times, these words contain a small but real hope. This simple, powerful message not only kept the window of hope open for me, but has been passed to others who may need one branch to hold onto while heading towards the waterfall, and as small as that branch may be, sometimes it seems to be just big enough.

I ride in my fifteenth Pan Mass Challenge this year to raise money for cancer research for those who are smiling their very best smiles not knowing if they will be here next year. I ride for those who are no longer in our photos. I ride to give hope to anyone who needs it.

If each person I reach out to can go to my profile http://profile.pmc.org/LW0065 and donate whatever amount possible, (100% goes toward cancer research!) we will make a difference.

We must act now! In fourteen years, we have raised over $219,000 and all that money has gone directly to cancer research at Dana Farber. We have made huge advancements, but we must continue to support this battle. Finding a cure for cancer is only a matter of time, research, and money. Find a way to join this fight. You will have a direct effect on saving people’s lives ?? maybe mine, maybe your children’s, maybe your own. Just as my friend gave me a window of hope, I need you to give hope to those of us who are still fighting cancer. Please send this along to your friends who may beinterested in supporting me! You will be part of history. You will be part of my team. You will be part of curing cancer. I am living proof!

Love, Loie