2008 RFL, episode 3: the heart of the matter

As the person paid to be the wedding photographer, it's my job to go and stand in front of everyone and get the best shot, but as a mere guest at that same wedding, I must stand back. At previous years' RFL, I took lots of pictures, but refrained from being invasive. Just like being hired to get the money shots, being given 'permission' opens those same doors. With this year's RFL, knowing the point of my presence was to document through photographs the unfolding of events gave me a sense of freedom and responsibility. I felt duty-bound to do the best damned job i could, the only way I know how - by connecting with the event.

Relay for Life happens for one reason only: because cancer has not been eradicated. Cancer was, for me, a distant far-off thing, nothing that ever even came remotely close to me. For whatever reason my friends Stacie's situation (her sister had been diagnosed with an aggressive liver cancer and died withoun 3 weeks of diganosis) pushed a button in me, and I became part of the club that says, "Cancer got too close to me for comfort." I thought, Oh, God, if that was MY sister I would be devastated and so we were connected.

However, making connections didn't happen for me in the thick of things. Although I arrived by 3:00 p.m. on the day of the Relay, most of my shooting in fact occured after all the other Butt Clickin' girls had left. Being the one to organize things, I spent as much time in the first 5 or so hours delegating as I did shooting, right up until after the sun had set, after the awards and prizes had been doled out, after the scheduled on-site events had completed, after all the vendor and awareness tents except for the lonely Volunteer Info booth had been closed up for the night. And shortly after Cam Tait had arrived. Wanting pictures for the live blog he was doing. At 1:00 in the morning.

I've met Cam a couple of times now, once when I was in college, and again when I was co-hosting a media club field trip for inner-city teens. Cam might not have remembered me, but he remembered the field trip - one of the students had been making fun of Cam, and Cam stopped the program to a) give him a verbal lashing and b) punt him from the presentation. Cam, for those who don't know, has been a writer for the Edmonton Journal since 1979. Cam, for what it's worth, has cerebral palsy (hence punting the kid who was making fun of him) and one quickly learns patience when speaking with him. (The hardest part is remembering not to finish his sentences - it's cute when I do that with my husband but not so much with Cam...) Anyhow. Cam and I chatted a bit while we worked, our macs glowing side by side, in our makeshift office.

I asked: "So, Cam, how did you end up deciding to show up at Foote Field at this indecent hour of the night?" We swapped "Why do I Relay" stories. Whenever you ask that question, you are immediately taken on an emotional roller coaster beside the person telling you their story of how they got involved. Turns out, Cam is like the rest of us - regardless of how many times you've heard of the Relay for Life, regardless of how many people we hear about in the news, at work, wherever, it doesn't become *real* until cancer comes close enough to you feel it's icy fingers grappling for someone close enough to you that it's palpable; and you find yourself wandering in circles (well, ovals, technically - it is a track, after all) with hundreds of other people who have felt cancer close enough for it to be *real* and not something that only happens to someone else.

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Once I'd gotten a few pictures over to Cam, he sent me off in search of the luminary he and his wife had set out on the track, with a request for a photo if I happened to see it. No Relay for Life (in Edmonton, anyways) would be complete without periods of rain, and so, umbrella in hand and with that false sense of security having 'official' photographer status, I wandered right onto the track and honed in on a woman walking by herself. "Hi! I'm Hope - I'm one of the photographers here - we did your team picture over by the HOPE sign, remember?" She did remember. She had asked me how much it cost to get my name put up in lights... ~groan~ I mustered up all the courage I could and dove right in. "So, well - since I, uh - toook so many pictures I figured - er... maybe I... I'm always curious: why do you Relay?"

T. had a rare tumour in the middle of her chest, between her lungs and close to her heart. Her symptoms were: coughing. "That was it. I coughed." Initial diagnosis was suspected pneumonia. Three years later, she is still mad at her Dr. for not examining her xray before going on vacation, and grateful for the nurse who pulled her file when the meds she'd been prescribed weren't working, showed it to the Dr on call, and got her an immediate appointment. T. still remembers asking the nurse, "Well, what is it?" and the nurse kept telling her she should just come in. For a very long time, she kept it to herself, until the biopsy came back positive, and then having to tell everyone: her best friend, her children and worst, her husband - from whom she kept this information until he returned from a stint working out of town. "I kept it to myself, because I didn't want to burden anyone until I knew for sure; I didn't want to tell him ~this~ in a phone call." According to T., when they diagnosed her, the Cross Cancer Institute said that in Alberta this year, there will be 4 cases of T.'s kind of cancer, and of those 4, only 2 will beat it. 50/50 sounds good for a lot of things, "...but not on your life." T. takes nothing for granted and couldn't be more proud of her daughter who, at a whopping 11 years old, is the brains behind their Relay Team. "She's 11, and she's the team captain. For a bunch of kids, they managed to raise over $3000 selling their own stuff, doing back sales, asking friends and family again and again and again to donate..."

T., now cancer free for 3 years, was cold and wanted to go get a hot drink, and so we hugged and parted ways. I meandered my way about in the coalbin-dust drizzle, the rain coming down harder now and making its way earthwards at dangerous slants, exteniguishing all but a few lucky luminaries who miraculously managed to stay lit. Aside from a few die-hards in the dining hall and a handful of folkks in varying states of consciousness seeking chelter and warmth in Saville, with the sky still a couple of hours from lightening up I decided to go another round looking for the Luminary Cam had told me was out there somewhere. As I strolled past yet another section unsuccessfully I was swept into the fold of a large relay group (by 3 am people are usually walking in partners not as a unit).

"Why do you Relay?" I asked the two people standing closest to me. My Dad had cancer, "The young woman beside me says chipperly. Her Dad just smiles a huge smile - one of those combination pride and embarrassment smiles - and keeps walking. "So who's on your team?" Turns out the daughter is a year off from becoming a nurse. She tells me of finding out her Dad had cancer, and the effect it had on her family, and then says, "And now, I'm a nurse... well, we're all going to be nurses..." she says as she waves her arm around to rest of her team. A couple of the other girls hustle in closer while Dad drops back a bit to rest, and we chat about nursing - they are all 2nd or 3rd year in the nursing program, and they've all had some experience working in the field. One girl pipes in, "You know what the worst thing is? When people ask, 'How bad is it?' and you can't tell them... I mean, we see lab results and xrays and we're not stupid, but we cannot say anything - that's the doctors' job."

Several of the girls express that they often questions the doctors' decisions. Sometimes they are frustrated with the inefficacy of our health care system, the backlogs and under-staffing that frequently end up with beds closing and the quality of health care avilable in Alberta to be compromised. At this point, I have to wonder what went through the head of the nurse who had to call T. in for her x-ray results, the one who worked for the Dr. who went on holidays for 3 weeks without bothering to tell a woman she had a grapefruit-sized mass growing between her lungs - did the Dr. overlook it accidentally or purposely, and which is (theoretically) worse?

Whatever the case may be, walking in (ovals) provides plenty of time for reflection, and plenty of time for making connections with some fairly amazing people who have truly adopted the mantra to Celebrate! Remember! and Fight Back! There is an abundance of stories just waiting to be heard, heartbreaking stories about battles fought and lost, battles fought and won only to be lost later, battles in progress, and battles that have been won and are still victorious. Each year I have returned to RFL, I have met amazing new people who each and every one have a story about why they Relay, as unique as our fingerprints and yet not unique at all. I will continue to ask, "Why do you Relay?" And if anyone ever thinks to ask me, I will say, "At the heart of the matter, the reason I Relay is that the matter has become close to my heart."

Thanks to you all for listening to me blather on and on and on about the Relay. Be sure and watch in a few weeks for our official team slideshow, highlighting the best of the best of our team's efforts to Click some Cancer Butt...

Comments

Anonymous said…
still waiting... ;)
Anonymous said…
Can't wait for part 3!

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