I read an unusual poem recently that presented hope as a double-edged sword. The poet empathized with those who choose to surrender to the fight with cancer; yet their loved ones aren’t ready for them to quit. The poet implored: why must patients bear the burden of a “last hope” laid upon them by loved ones, while enduring ineffectual treatments?
Reading those words reminded me of a doctor I heard about during a visit to the Center for Palliative and Supportive Care at University of Alabama Birmingham. The doctor was known for giving his patients every possible treatment option, including “you can choose to do nothing.” I admired that doctor’s courage in presenting a much less talked about option.
As I continued reading through the poem, I struggled with the concept of hope being presented as a detriment—much like the label of “false hope.” I don’t believe in “false hope” anymore than I believe in “last hope.” Hope doesn’t end with a disease process or with losing a loved one. Conversely, I believe that hope doesn’t end; it is what carries us through such painful times. Hope propels us to go on despite our circumstances.
When we refuse to accept that a loved one chooses to surrender the fight, we are clinging to fear…not hope. Guilt is another binding force; it teases our mind with “what if?” What if the treatment works this time? Yet, we must remember that empathy is tied to dignity. When you empathize with someone you don’t make choices for them—you listen and give them the dignity to choose—even when it doesn’t match what you (or the doctors) think is best.
I have found a new sense of peace and hope; it comes to me through the eyes of children. There is no double-edge sword in the way they view hope. A child’s ability to experience hope isn’t based on what the future might hold, or on the “what if’s.” It is based on the day to day journey with a loved one. Their perception of hope comes in snapshot moments. Adults, however, typically perceive situations based on life experiences and respond based on that baggage.
A child’s view of hope—and life itself—is quite a blessing worth considering. When I wrote the Little Pink Book™ “When Mom’s Cancer Doesn’t Go Away” for my sweet cousin, my heart felt exceedingly heavy for her teen-aged son. To convey hope inside the most painful point of their lives, I knew that empathy and dignity had to be intricately tied together. Through sparks of hope and snapshot moments, I filled their story with treasured lasts, sweet good-byes and eternal hope.
To me, there is no “last hope” or “false hope” in the book of life. When we live with hope and let go with hope, Huge Outcomes are Possible Everyday—that is HOPE!
Maryann Makekau, Author & Inspirational Speaker (www.becausehopematters.com)
When cancer steps back into your life it can send you down a heart-wrenching emotional path. Feelings of anger, confusion, frustration and sadness collide inside your head like the noise of a child banging on pots and pans. Sooner or later though, your mind settles on the reality of the situation. Then hope can get a grip on you.
I’m a firm believer in pity parties. To find hope we sometimes first have to get through a pity party—and often more than one. It’s seems like “party” is a misnomer because crying and withdrawing doesn’t feel like a party at all. Yet, when we allow ourselves to go through it, something cathartic happens—glimmers of hope begin to emerge. A wise friend once said to me, “we can’t always choose what we go through, but we can always choose how we go through it.” That’s the essence of allowing hope to have its grip on you and your struggle.
Through my own struggles and walking beside others, I’ve learned a lot about hope. That hope has been magnified by some amazing people in my path. One friend beat Lymphoma after being told he had a ten percent chance; he’s now a 3-year survivor. At last year’s Young Survival Coalition, I met a number of women diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer, attending as one-month to five-year survivors.
I prayed alongside others for a woman who was in the battle for the third time, twice with breast cancer, then esophageal cancer. She was told that her prognosis was “very poor.” She’s now more than a year outside the battle and mentoring others newly diagnosed. Her unwavering faith is apparent in her words: “you must be willing to focus on the small miracles, not the darkness.” Then recently, I was honored to meet another woman of unwavering faith. She’s a young mother (and breast cancer survivor) with four children; and now she’s facing stage 4 lung cancer. She boldly claimed total healing before treatment began.
Some would read those stories and say, “that sounds great, but that’s not the case for everyone.” Sadly, that’s true. One might gain a month, another a year or some ten years and more—yet, they’re grateful for every moment. The commonality that I see is their choice about how they go through their struggle. Dwelling on the diagnosis could have resulted in hopelessness. Instead, they all chose to dwell on hope and surround themselves with those who did the same.
Perhaps pity parties should be timed, much like when you give a child time-out. Cancer is a reason to get really mad and time-outs are part of the grief process. There’s a time to pout and there’s a time to shout. Pity parties ought to be followed by praise parties where the focus is on the small miracles, rather than the darkness.
I’d love to see “stage” redefined for patients, as literally: a period or step in a process. That definition infers that you’re going up and forward; now those are hopeful words! After all, isn’t that the reason for treatment, to help patients and their families move on with life again? When hope gets a grip, there’s no telling what will happen—even if cancer steps into your life again.
Maryann Makekau, Author & Inspirational Speaker (www.becausehopematters.com)
Three years ago today, I was standing in my kitchen preparing our holiday menu. That was the day my best friend, Vicki, called to tell me she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer. I’ll never forget how I gasped for air as she simultaneously gasped for words. All she could muster was, “I have cancer. I want to tell my 2nd graders, but I don’t want to scare them.” I gained enough composure to tell her that I’d find the perfect book to help the 2nd graders in her classroom, and that I’d be there for her anytime day or night.
Today, my friend called me again with a cancer diagnosis. This time, however, she was standing in my shoes. Her best friend since childhood received the news today: “you have breast cancer.” As I heard her mirror my feelings of three years ago, that overwhelming air-sucking feeling came over me again. Vicki was painfully confused as she mentally moved from survivor to co-survivor. She hadn’t seen it coming and yet, without any preemptive news flash, cancer had invaded her life again.
At first, I wanted to shout “NO.” I wanted to get mad, really mad at cancer! I wanted to make it go away—I hate cancer revisiting my friend’s life in this way. Within moments of our conversation, I again realized that I have no power to erase cancer. Yet, I do have Hope, and I can ease the pain it creates. I can advocate so that others understand cancer’s impact. I can embrace the children walking alongside adults with cancer—just like when I wrote the book my friend needed for her 2nd graders. I can be a messenger of Hope.
Just yesterday, I booked a plane ticket for Nashville. My purpose was to attend a special outreach for cancer patients next week. I now realize that outreach will be an overflowing vessel of Hope for another outreach. As I pour it out to cancer patients, I will be filled with renewed Hope. That’s the beautiful contagious nature of Hope; as you pour it out, more pours in.
I will visit my best friend and pour renewed Hope into her heart to be magnified for her friend who’s now facing the battle. It’s no coincidence that my outreach event is scheduled less than an hour from Vicki. I believe it is all part of God’s plan to remind me that Huge Outcomes are Possible Everyday—that is the power of H.O.P.E. It can outshine anything, even cancer.
Maryann Makekau, Author & Inspirational Speaker (www.becausehopematters.com)
I remember reading The Little Engine That Could to my children and watching their faces delight over the story’s prevailing hopeful message: “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can….so I can!” Attitude can either be the biggest part of the battle, or the key to rising above the battle. That little book, first published in 1930, has continued to infect millions of children, and adults, with an attitude of don’t give up, no matter what!
Life’s ups and downs can feel much like the rolling train in that story—an uncertain journey where attitude is key. We don’t always get to choose where we go, but we do get to choose how we respond to the journey. Such is the theme of The Little Engine That Could; and that’s been the template for sharing the message of The Little Pink Book that could. After I wrote When Your Teacher Has Cancer, a few early reviewers said that my audience was too limited, and that I’d have to change some things—-like take “prayer” and “God” out.
So, I spent some time researching. Did you know that there are approximately 98, 936 public & private schools; 78 million parents; 38,000 libraries in the United States alone? I’d say that’s beyond a “limited audience” and it didn’t stop there. That Little Pink Book that could led me to create five more titles, embark on 19 book tours in 21 months, and prompt outreach in 16 countries—in classrooms and beyond. “Prayer” and “God” remain, inside every Little Pink Book amongst other helpful healing tools.
Sometimes, we don’t understand our own potential until a catalyst interjects. When my best friend was diagnosed with breast cancer, I resolved to make a difference with hope. That marked the beginning of a Little Pink Book that could. My determination grew as I shared more hope, wrote more books, and believed more in my potential. Becoming a children’s author and speaker came naturally in the sense that I felt led to do it; yet it was a departure from my career in psychological testing and research. In moments of doubt, I tell myself, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!” When logic says no, I think of my “survivor” best friend, two family members who are winning the battle, and all my heroes in cancer battles who encourage my path. My heroes have taught me that although my mantra may begin with I think I can, my attitude is the key to knowing I can! I can make a difference with hope!
Last week, with community support my graphic artist and I held 2nd annual events with Starbucks and Buffalo Wild Wings, plus a new event: “Taste of Wellness.” My translator flew in to speak at our new event. Dr. Amaryllis Sánchez’ (Dr. Mari) message of hope in celebrating her mother’s life stolen away by breast cancer, was tied to Mother Teresa’s words: “We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love…”I can do things you cannot, you can do things I cannot; together we can do great things.”
Dr. Mari’s message was a poignant reminder that we must not let our preconceived limits steer the course. Collective gifts, unified in great love, make all the difference. That’s the definition of community, during October and beyond. Inside life’s toughest journeys, we must learn to trust in that small still voice: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can! Never give up!
Maryann Makekau, Author & Inspirational Speaker (www.becausehopematters.com)
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