doing helping saving
By Pat Law™ • Aug 21st, 2008 • Category: FeaturesNiki would have been twenty-eight, if she was alive today. Ovarian cancer is not very kind with women. It is like being sentenced to life without parole, only to have someone change his mind and plant you on the electric chair after a year of merciless torture. It is a death sentence that creeps up from behind, wraps its darkness swiftly around you, make you suffer enough to wish be dead instead. Yeah, to feel so much pain that you’d rather be dead. Niki did not beg. For whatever time she had left, Niki made sure she lived it. However painful it was. She even tracked her battle on a blog.
Could I have done the same? I don’t know.
I knew Niki through mutual friends we shared but we were never more than acquaintances. In a pathetic way, I was relieved of our lack of intimacy. I didn’t think I was strong enough to deal with any of my closest friends dying. I don’t think I’m ready yet. Hell, I don’t think anyone can train to be ready. It’ll just hit you. Hopefully, when that happens, I’d find the strength Niki had.
When I found out that she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and that she was tracking her progress with her blog, I began reading religiously. It was excruciating, reading her blog and her sufferings, but I did so anyway. She gave me strength through hers. I just wished I had the chance of telling her what an inspiration she was to me. I didn’t even leave a bloody comment.
An hour ago, I found out that my uncle has been diagnosed with nose cancer. I should call. But what the fuck do I say? God bless you? That’s the problem with me, you know? I don’t deal well with deaths. I welcome mine wholeheartedly, and perhaps a bit too passionately, but I don’t deal well with the deaths of others. Words get choked, emotions numbed, and I end up not doing anything yet again.
What can I really do?
Quite coincidentally, I saw this video link posted on Facebook by a friend. Blame it on my menstrual cycle, but this hit me hard. The World Community Grid donates the time your computer is turned on, but is idle, to projects that benefit humanity. The software is free to download, and it doesn’t kill you. I’m doing my bit this time. And I hope you will too.
Pat Law™is a Digital Strategist who, in her time in the Adland, has marketed a range of global brands including adidas, Cadbury Schweppes, Chrysler, Harley-Davidson, Hewlett-Packard, Johnnie Walker, L’Oréal, and Royal Salute. A self-confessed Social Media junkie, Pat has since joined the 360° Digital Influence team at Ogilvy PR. Pat also writes for iSh, LOTL International, and Singapore Architect.
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Hi there.
It happened to me that my dad was diagnosed with nose cancer when i was in sec 4, roughly 6 years back. as it was in the very first stage, all of us kept quiet. he was overly skeptical in sharing utensils due to the lack of knowledge in medical science. My elder bro and i didn’t even dare to care much but all we do was.. Acknowledge his existence (more than ever) on top of his “style” of being a ‘expressionless’ dad.
If you find it hard to get the words outta your mouth, you could always organize gathering, or send your regards through another medium. I’m sure.. They’ll know that it’s the thought that counts.
Just like for my dad, the rest of my cousins didn’t really dare to bring up the topic to him, but gradually send their regards through my mom or through the occasional visits to my granny’s place.
Shrugs, at times it’s the acknowledgement that is good enough, without having to bring up the pain of the reality.
there’s just no set guidelines on how to deal with people who are suffering from incurable/near incurable diseases. i guess you just have to try every approach till you find one that makes both parties happy.
when my late grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, we all acted, well, as if nothing happened. she was a pretty stoic, matter-of-fact woman anyway. she dictated how she wanted her funeral to be held, and then went about her life as normal till she was admitted to the hospital.
Hi Sarah,
I am sorry to hear about your father. I hope he is doing well. It was both brave and generous of you to share what you’ve gone through on my little blog. I’m at loss for words, really. Thank you. And I wish both you and your father well. Take care now.
Patricia
Hi hedonistics anonymous, I bet your grandmother is up there kicking some angels’ asses.