How Much Longer Do We Have To Wait?

During the four months between the time that my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer until he died, I spent every waking moment consumed with thoughts about cancer. In between feelings of deep sadness and fear, my sister and I searched for a miracle cure. The pain I felt was excruciating. The days were long, yet too short. Time was running out, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

During those months, I was only partially present. I certainly wasn’t productive at work or at anything else. But, on occasion, I would look around and notice that life was continuing around me, oblivious to my family’s heartache. We were fortunate to have had plenty of support from family and friends (for which we are eternally grateful), but the people sitting across from me in the airport or in a restaurant were clueless that I was losing someone I loved. I vowed to be more attentive to the pain of others – those I knew and those I didn’t. Unfortunately, I’ve made that vow numerous times with the best of intentions; yet, I have failed too many times to count.

I remember watching my 90 year-old grandfather lean over his son’s bed (my 65 year-old father), tears streaming down his face as he said, “It should be me, not him.”

I was reminded of these memories this week.

There have been many medical advances in the past 20 years. I know there are hundreds, thousands of scientists and researchers who are tirelessly working to find cures for cancer, as well as other diseases. I know that we’ve made progress. I have friends who are cancer survivors. I also know that it takes time. In the years since my father’s death, I’ve lost several friends to cancer. I’ve watched friends lose a child to cancer. When someone you care about is waiting/hoping for a cure, it becomes harder to “wait” on those cures.

During the past couple of months, I’ve been attending several conferences and meetings that have featured presentations about autonomous and connected vehicles. I even got to ride in a friend’s new Tesla a few weeks ago. The technology is amazing, and it feels like it is progressing at a remarkable speed. If I live another 10-20 years, it is likely that I will actually own one of these vehicles in my lifetime.

I wish that I could say the same for seeing a cure for the insidious diseases that plague us. To do so, we will need to invest resources into ameliorating the diseases and conditions AND into preventing the potential causes by addressing environmental conditions that may contribute to these conditions. There are numerous credible scientific studies that suggest that certain chemicals as well as preservatives in our food have links to increased risks of developing certain types of cancer.

While the autonomous/connected vehicle technology seems to be advancing quickly, it doesn’t seem that progress in developing cures for diseases and conditions is moving at the same speed. I’m not suggesting that Elon Musk is the answer to finding cures for cancer or any of the other insidious diseases afflicting my friends and family such as multiple sclerosis, diabetes, or Alzheimer’s. But perhaps, if medical scientists had his resources, it would hasten the speed of finding cures.

Once again, my family has lost someone to cancer. My stepsister passed away this week after a valiant battle with metastatic cancer. Her husband, my stepfather, and her siblings are feeling the loss acutely. Her death will be recorded in the Texas Cancer Registry, a population-based registry to help measure the cancer burden in our state. As a public health professional, I understand the importance of a systematic approach to gather and analyze data to get a complete and accurate picture of health issues. I know that statistics can provide important information about disease trends and risk factors. Statistics can also lead researchers to identify preventive interventions.

But, my stepsister was more than a statistic. She was a wife, daughter, sister, and aunt. She was a daughter-in-law and sister-in-law. She was a stepdaughter. She was a friend. She was a piano teacher who cared about her students. She raised, rescued, and showed Irish Setters. She was a person who lived and loved. I’m sure that she and her husband felt the burden of cancer in ways that will never be measured.

Her family is comforted by the fact that her suffering has ended and that she is in a better place. But seriously, we’re almost into the third decade of the 21st century. How much longer are we going to have to wait for cures?

Rest in peace, Glenna.