As powerful as we may be, whether we be rich or poor, and no matter our ethnicity, death is inevitable. We are constantly reminded of our vulnerabilities. Cancer is one such reminder. It is silent but echoes throughout all corners of the Earth and adds to the devastation and anguish that taunt and haunt us, often stripping away our pride.
Still cancer compels us to think about our human condition. Why our choices? Why the cruelty? Why the evil? Why do some of us embrace the power within us, but unbalance the scale by choosing more of the darkness to hurt others? Why do we worry so much instead of taking time to laugh, to be kind, to be generous, to love, to live? Some of us allow greed to transform us into monsters despite the fact that in just a matter of sometimes only weeks we can be no more.
The image of a neighbour lying on the corner of the road years ago just after dusk comes to mind – she was too weak to stand, to sit, to move as she was dying of breast cancer. It is a disease that is not of complete hopelessness for the faces of the survivors are evidence of that.
I have watched a few loved ones die. The torture of watching loved ones slowly slip away, knowing that you are helpless in alleviating their physical pain, is dispiriting.
Cancerous tumours are described as malignant; the cells grow and spread like the fears and hopelessness the disease continues to provoke.
At eighteen, I watched my paternal grandfather slowly die because of cancer. Although he was a tower of brilliance, humour and strength, he was frail and a shell of his former self before his journey to the light.
In 2007, my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer. Although I had watched my grandfather slowly transition, her experience would have the greatest impact on me. In 2010, she celebrated her 70th. She held a big celebration and requested that all her relatives be there. I missed it because of work commitments, but I wish I had journeyed to Essequibo to celebrate with her. The events in the months thereafter convinced me that she knew it would be her last shindig.
Early the next year, she was ill. I visited the hospital every afternoon to see her, hoping that she would recover and rejecting that death was imminent until one afternoon I saw the results of how the cancer had ravaged her body. The memory still haunts me. The look, the smell, the nightmares.
A few weeks after, she was discharged. Often when people are near death, the love and light of relatives comforts them. Within a day or two, my aunt was back in the hospital. I made the visit to see her a couple days later. In the few days I had not seen her it seemed like she had lost over a hundred pounds. She was hallucinating; babbling about a birthday party she was having and asking if we had gotten cake and ice-cream. I wept that afternoon because I finally accepted, she was not long for this world. The day after the call came.
This year, I watched a friend’s mother slowly transition at the Georgetown Hospital, also because of cancer. I went as often as I could. I hated stepping into the atmosphere of gloom those afternoons and seeing the sick with bandages, tubes, drips, masks, missing limbs, coughing, moaning, crying, comatose.
October has ended. It is the month chosen to raise awareness about cancer and also to remember those who we have lost and to celebrate survivors. For the past three years, GTT has coordinated activities during the month to raise funds for cancer treatment. Other organisations also have walks and other activities during Pinktober. This was the first year I participated in the Pinktober walk organised by GTT. A sea of pink gathered at D’Urban Park early Saturday morning. My sister and I stood in the crowd, chatting and listening to the music as the crowd prepared to walk or run. The walk itself evoked various emotions. I thought of my grandfather and aunt. I thought of an uncle who also died from cancer. I thought of my friend’s mother – the memories still fresh because it was just a few months ago. I observed a family as the crowd moved – a father, mother and child with the face of a loved one who had died printed on their t-shirts in memory of her. And there were others like them.
Many have been critical of the activities, with some questioning if all the funds raised are really donated to cancer. Sources have verified that all the monies raised is donated. Others believe that some people only participated for photo-ops and social media fame to boost their egos. Others voiced that they would rather privately donate money directly to cancer treatment and research instead of getting behind any corporation.
Everyone is entitled to their choices and opinions and we can all still coexist. To dismiss the Pinktober activities as a ploy or being without merit is unsound although demanding accountability is fair. The sea of pink was not only an activity that raised awareness and funds but honored the memories of those who have died. Those who may be suffering were reminded that they are not alone. And while some may have only done it for selfish reasons, such as photo-ops and likes on social media, the thousands who walked reminded us that the fight is ongoing and the battle we hope will eventually be won.
As long as people are still dying, we cannot sit still. As long as people are still being diagnosed, we cannot stand in our corners being critical of every effort that is made to do something positive. As long as people are still unaware of their risk, we cannot be silent.
I walked in the memory of those I lost. I walked for an aunt who survived. I was reminded that I have a commitment to do regular check-ups, live a healthy lifestyle and do my part in raising awareness. And I would hope that every other person evaluates their risk and takes the necessary precautions.
In Guyana, we are often grappling with gloom, so much so that it is necessary to seek out positive experiences. For me, the sea of pink was a beautiful and sobering experience.
