The Ferry Meeting

The second thing that caught my eye was the Coldwater Creek bag in her right hand. Unmistakable and strangely exciting….they always have clothes that you can’t find anywhere else….different…and they fit!

“I love Coldwater Creek,” I said, and she smiled broadly. “Me, too” she replied excitedly and shared that her shopping excursion had been very successful. She held other bags in the mix, too. Bags of different sizes, colors, and shapes, but the Coldwater Creek bag was a standout. Just like the red bandana she wore wrapped around her head. That was what I’d noticed first.

Now that we’d broken the ice with the bag talk, it was time, so I took a deep breath and asked “Like wearing bandanas, or are you one of us?”

She looked at me and smiled, admitting that she’d lost most of her hair after only the third chemo treatment. It was as though a faucet had been turned on and the flow of liquid information ran in strong and powerful streams, almost as though the shut-off valve had been holding everything back against its will. She was open and honest, and a delight!

“You, too?” she asked, and I told her that I had just been diagnosed with Stage 2 multi-focal infiltrating ductal carcinoma….breast cancer. She looked surprised. I guess because I wasn’t wearing a bandana yet, but I told her there was a great likelihood that I was right behind her.

As we stood there waiting for the ferry back to Port Kent, New York, we stood and talked and shared about experiences past and future, what to expect, things to know, problems to avoid if at all possible, and we became sisters. Her name was Diane Winch, and she was a bit shorter than I. Five years younger, too. Hers was an in situ Stage 1 ductal cancer that they found early enough on which to do breast conservation surgery. She hated the first chemotherapy treatment as it made her sick as a dog, and then she demanded that they give her the real drug instead of the generic. She needed to be her own best advocate, too.

And so we traded names and addresses and stories for the hour’s ride, and we hugged really hard at the end of the trip. She stared into my eyes and told me to fight it with everything I’ve got, and she told me that I’d given her something. She said she was awed by my positive attitude and ability to openly and honestly face the challenge of this cancer. She told me that most people are afraid to talk about it and don’t know how to treat her these days, and I’ve found the same thing.

Yes, I have cancer. That doesn’t make me any different than I was yesterday, or make me appreciate the smell of the ocean any more than I did yesterday. It doesn’t define me, and it doesn’t own me. I get up every morning and I go to work. I leave, and I hug as many people a day as I can. I always have. I always will.
I think the worst thing any of us can face is the absence of human touch. Don’t isolate me because of my cancer, and don’t be afraid to talk to me. I need to live, and love, and laugh just as I do every day, and have for the past sixty years. I need to refill my bucket every day, so hug me, laugh with me, cry with me, walk the beach with me, ride the ferry with me, and close your eyes, too, to smell the fresh air around us every day….just like you would have…yesterday.

I need you at my side, my friend. Don’t be afraid. I’ll hold your hand tightly, and we’ll get through this…together.

Best of luck, Diane…my thoughts and prayers are with you…and all those fighting cancer.