So I may not have told you this, but I am what they consider a “Cancer Survivor.”   Now, I didn’t have the Make-A-Wish type disease where my life was seriously in jeopardy, but I did have cervical/uterine cancer 6 years ago, and I’m happy (for a change) to report that I have gotten it successfully treated with surgery.   I’ve seen seriously bad cancer battles among my family and friends, and I consider myself very lucky that my experience wasn’t as extensive, or as bleak, as others’.   Mainly because they caught it early with me. Moral of the story: get your checkups, people.

So it is with that sense of gratitude and hope, I signed up for this year’s Relay for Life. In case you don’t know, this is a great fundraiser from the American Cancer Society, the Official Sponsor of Birthdays^® – a sentiment I really like because I like living and I really like cake.   Don’t feel too badly if you don’t know it – I wasn’t all that familiar with the specifics either, and I’m sure I benefitted from it in some way, directly or indirectly.

I’ve been in “walk-a-thon’s” in the past. Every year, I do some sort of walk for charity, and I’m accustomed to that process. You sign up, maybe with a team, then proceed to receive emails from them every month for the rest of your natural life. On the eve of the event, you frantically email friends and family for some sponsorship money, then make a check out yourself so you can attend the event without too much shame. And receive the free T-shirt. Show up the next day, check in for the free T-shirt for hitting your fundraising goal (you’re so awesome!) and start walkin’.   No muss, no fuss and you’re usually done by mid-day.

With the Relay for Life, I didn’t have a team, and, sadly enough, basically planned to walk it by myself. Again, I figured it’d be a quick power walk, raise some money for a good cause, and that’d be it. Except, as I started the countdown, I began to realize that this “Relay” was a bit more involved than I originally thought.

¹re·lay noun \ˈrē-ˌlā\

: a race between teams in which each team member runs, swims, etc., a different part of the race

: a group of people, horses, etc., that takes the place of others so that something (such as a job or an activity) is done continuously

Had I actually looked into it earlier, I might have realized that someone was expecting me — or my horse — to do something continuously. And as I later learned, continuously for 24 hours! Uh oh…

Since I was teamless and horseless, I didn’t have anyone to spell me on my 24-hour cancer-conquering activity. I say “activity” because I still wasn’t quite sure what they had planned for me. I was pretty certain we weren’t swimming, and I wouldn’t be much help with research or anything scientific, but other than that, it was anyone’s guess. I still had my money on walking, but since no one bothered to inform me of the 24 hour requirement, they might have decided to just lay low until they got me there and shamed me into staying the full day doing cross country ski relays.

I showed up at the appointed time and looked for the Registration Tent to pick up my free T-shirt, and to finally figure out what I’d be spending my time doing.   ‘Couldn’t find that, so I stumbled upon the Survivors’ Table. Luckily, I had the foresight to check that box when I signed up, so they had me down as a Survivor. Which meant, not only was I fortunate enough to beat cancer, but I was also entitled to another, separate free T-shirt, that designated me as different from all the other walkers/swimmers/horse riders.   Plus, a gift bag containing a vase, a beaded bracelet of hope and some coupons to local businesses. My cancer-free cup runneth over!   The kind woman manning the table informed me that things (what things, specifically…?)   would be kicking off at 10:00 am in the Main Tent.   So, I pulled on my special Survivor T, headed over to the tent and took a seat expectantly.

At 10:00, there was a series of welcomes, addresses, thank you’s, acknowledgements and general “We-couldn’t-do-it-without…”s from various local organizers, officials and participants.   And finally, the Four Mayors (which, at first, I thought was either a singing group or a band of second tier superheroes, but were actually four mayors from our neighboring townships) began the call-out of the Survivors.   We had been instructed to come forward when your name was called to accept a flower and queue up for the Survivors’ Lap.   So far so good. No horses.

I was called late in the roster, and took my place in line among what seemed like mostly senior citizens. I was given a carnation by an adorable Pee Wee Cheerleader, who smiled at me timidly. Then we took our places at the starting line and began the Survivors’ Lap, accompanied by Sara Bareilles’ song, Brave.   The seniors and I, shuffling slowly around a high school parking lot.   And an amazing thing happened. People clapped. They cheered. They shouted and smiled. At me…at us all.   And I cried.   I was honestly overcome by the moment, the kindness shown and the realization of what an accomplishment beating cancer is for anyone.

We finished the lap and they invited the Caregivers to join the Survivors in another lap. More cheering, more smiles, more gratitude.   And finally, by this time, many of my senior compadres were a bit winded, so they announced we could proceed to the Survivors’ Lunch.   All this and a free lunch, too!

We headed over to the Survivors’ Lunch Tent and were served our choice of hoagies, wraps and sandwiches, salad, chips and dessert.   By this time, I was feeling a bit guilty that maybe my cancer wasn’t serious enough to warrant all these freebies.   Only the Stage 3’s and higher should get the free cookies.   But I accepted their kindness, and their turkey wrap, just the same.

I soon realized that this particular Relay was going to be a series of activities and fundraisers, held through throughout the day and night, but, as far as they were concerned, my job was done. Since I wasn’t assigned to a team, and I signed up as a Survivor and completed my lap, they didn’t have anything else for me to do, formally.   So, I did a couple laps around the high school — just to say I walked — participated in some of the fundraising booth activities and made my way home.

This was not the day I was expecting, but it was a good day, nonetheless. I found myself honestly touched at the effort that went into commemorating the milestones that each of us shared, celebrating the time stolen away from that miserable disease.

Survivor…caregiver…fundraiser…relative…friend. We all were touched by the same thing and, for one day, could say we beat it.  And that was pretty great.