The moment I hopped into my mother’s small white Toyota Camry, I could feel that something wasn’t right. The air in the car was heavy with tension and frosted with something deeper than a casual pick up from a friend’s house on a Sunday morning. I looked at my mother suspiciously. She looked back at me with tears in her usually bright blue eyes and tried to smile, “How was Allie’s house?” her voice shook.
“It was good,” I responded cautiously. I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. I tried unsuccessfully to uncover the meaning behind the way she was acting. Could she have thought that I had been doing something I shouldn’t while at Allie’s house? Did she think that I was still upset with her for the brief argument that we had gotten in the day before? Her eyes looked ahead at the road to home that we had traveled countless times, but her thoughts were a million miles away. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I ventured.
She stared at me for a dangerously long amount of time. Her worried eyes scanned my face. Making an inaudible decision, she looked away shaking her head and pulled the car to the side of the road. With her eyes on her lap, she opened her mouth and immediately closed it. Peering up at me again and seeing the fright that was sure to be written on every inch of my already too worn sixteen year old face, she took a deep breath and finally verbalized the thought that had been torturing her: “The doctor’s office called with your results…Natalie, you have cancer.”
On November 25th, 2012, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Cancer is a scary word. The elephant in the room. A subject that most people tend to avoid due to the huge spectrum of emotions denoted with it. All around my small town there were stares. Stares weighted with questions that very few actually dared to ask. No one that knew treated me like I was the same person. Though I had been considered strong my entire life, suddenly the announcement of this disease classified me as weak and fragile. It angered me, and I wanted with every ounce of my being to remain the same. To not let cancer change what I was capable of. I knew that my soul and desires were as strong as ever, but I started finding it harder to perform daily tasks that used to be easy and even enjoyable to me. It was difficult to pay attention in class, carry on normal conversations, run for long whiles the way I used to. My body was exhausted and my mind was clouded. The few things keeping me going were the constant support from my close friends and family and the knowledge that this wasn’t who I was. The way I felt in this time was far from my best, and cancer would not limit my future.
As of today, I am cancer free. My body is no longer constantly fighting an internal war. The battle waged on my body has been concluded, and I have emerged victorious. Nothing can limit my possibilities. This experience has led to a passion for life that is exhibited in many forms in my own. I intend to work in the health care field after graduation in order to help others in the way that I was helped throughout my time in the hospital. A big part of being secure and healthy is having a sufficient amount of blood necessary to your personal system. This is where giving blood affects my story.
Every time I give blood I picture the people experiencing something similar to what I have. I see a young woman lying in a hospital bed cold and scared, wondering how she could possibly have cancer at the age of sixteen. I envision a father of three staring at a white wall angry and shaking because he doesn’t understand how he could need major heart surgery. What is going to happen to his family if his last moments are on that table? He can’t leave them. I imagine a newly wedded wife sobbing beside the bedside table of her husband, whose car overturned on the road. He lost so much blood, and has yet to awaken. It can’t be the end; they have so many plans. Three scenarios, always different, run through my head every time I give blood. Three lives that my blood can help to save, which leads to hundreds of lives that are touched.
I know what it means for your life to be in someone else’s hands. If not for my doctor that discovered the lump on my throat at my first well woman exam, the surgeon that removed it, and the team that helped me with my radiation and recovery, I very well might not be alive today. I want to be a part of that process. I want to help others live, so that they too can continue to experience all that the future holds for their own lives and those of their family and friends. Giving blood allows me to be a part of saving lives. It helps me help others, and is always a great reminder of the blessing of life. I’m thankful to be here, and I know that whoever my blood goes to will be as well.
