I am, temporarily, someone who has never known cancer for myself. Yet every day I realize how lucky I am, especially as those around me come into contact with the disease directly.

Why do I say, “every day”? Just this week, a close grade-school friend told me that her doctor found a suspicious lump in her breast. As I wrote this story, we were waiting for the results of the biopsy.

As is true for most of us, throughout my life cancer has directly affected those close to me and has left me wishing, and working, for the day that cancer will no longer be a threat to our lives. Here I’d like to reflect on a few of the cancer cases that have had an impact on me, hoping that all of us -- cancer patients, health professionals, and others -- go through this exercise to help deepen our commitment to the cause.

Lauren -- a college student in her 20s

During my college years, a freshman dorm-mate and I caught up from time-to-time at the Olympic-sized swimming pool where we did our laps. One day, she complained to me of hip pain, and mentioned visiting several medical centers that were unable to determine the root of the problem. I assumed it was an over-use injury. So, after several months passed without my seeing her, I did not think much of it.… until I saw her at the pool again. She had had a leg amputated. She was calm as she explained that the Stanford Children’s Hospital had finally diagnosed her with cancer. She was thankful to be alive, though without a limb. Lauren’s case reinforced the lesson that we must do a lot of our own homework when it comes to diagnosing, and even treating, disease.

Nathan –a professor in his 60s

Also during my college years, my favorite modern dance teacher and mentor, Diane, was diagnosed with, and died of, cancer. The same was true of my advisor, Nathan, a sociologist and specialist in disease prevention. Interestingly, when I ran into his granddaughter at a conference in Sweden recently (more than ten years after his death), and mentioned how much I loved working with her grandfather and how sorry I was about his skin cancer, she said that she thought he had died of “old age”. She must have been less than ten at the time, but it is interesting that, now a college graduate herself, she had no idea of this cancer or that she too may be at risk. (Interestingly, since my “knowledge” of cancer came in college, I too may have had relatives and friends die of cancer while I was a girl, but I was not aware of it until later in life).

Sio – a music conductor and designer in his mid-70s

The most recent case of cancer affecting my life occurred in the last several months. A dear friend, Sio, a composer (the 1964 Olympics theme song), designer (with works displayed at the MOMA in NYC), scientist (M.D.), and director of a music school for children in Hokkaido, Japan, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I quickly looked it up on the Internet and discussed his prognosis with my physician husband. All sources agreed that there was little that could be done. Meanwhile, in Japan, his friends and family were optimistic (perhaps there is no other way to approach this issue). I insisted on coming to visit him urgently. In hindsight, despite the smiles, hugs and joy, I can see that everyone “knew”, and that it was just a matter of time. The evening I arrived, for instance, guests starting pouring in from all over the region, driving as many as five hours for the visit. They were former students and colleagues whom Sio had introduced me to in the past. I tried not to think of what this meant. We spent three days together, viewing the home he had designed and recently finished crafting, talking about his music school, and eating good meals created by his wife (though he rested during mealtimes). He was so alive, yet he looked somehow distant. When I returned from this trip three months ago, he and I maintained regular contact, yet I never heard about his declining health. Though I should have suspected something, it was still a jolt to get a message from his wife on December 24th, telling me that he had “gone to heaven” the day before. That night, my dreams revealed another truth about cancer and about death. I dreamt I was putting a child to sleep and knew we should never see each other again. I tried to comfort him while he struggled to stay awake and resisted separation. I finally left some books and toys and ripped myself away, feeling the most agonizing grief imaginable. When someone is dying, we want to be there to help, as for a newborn child. It feels unnatural to say goodbye, when you want to stay nearby and care for someone you love.