The strange thing about cancer is it doesn’t hit you right away. It took a solid six months for the reality of my new life to settle in. The next series of posts can most pointedly be described as going through the motions. I didn’t understand the significance of how my life would change until years later. Let me start at the beginning.
The drive from Northern California to Malibu would be one I’d never forget. Collegiately seasoned, I packed the car with the anticipation of the upcoming volleyball season. Bitter my summer would always be shorter than my classmates, I anxiously set out to begin the fall semester – new crushes, classes, and the drive to be a part of one of the best volleyball teams in the nation. After all, we’d been 4th in the nation the year prior. I was ready to begin my sophomore season at Pepperdine by putting all my energy into volleyball and school.
While I was driving, I found a bump on my neck. I showed my mother, who happens to be a former nurse. The moment she put her hand on my throat, felt the hard lump, and I saw the overwhelming look of concern on her face, I knew a trip to the doctor would shortly ensue. Luckily, volleyball physicals were the next day. Concern mounted when I wasn’t cleared and was immediately referred to the Lead Surgeon of Head & Neck at UCLA.
The next two weeks was a blur of tests. I continued to live like whatever was going on in my neck would subside. Doctors can fix everything. Bad things only happen to people when they get old. And cancer certainly wouldn’t happen to me – my childhood had already been plagued when my best friend beat leukemia by age 7. At least these were the falsities I repeatedly told myself, while I continued through double days, fitting in doctors’ appointments as my busy NCAA schedule would allow.
Biopsies are not fun. As someone who’s had more than five, I can say that with confidence. Biopsies are not fun. With my father and mother’s hands in each of mine, I endured the extraordinarily thick needle, and prayed that would be the worst of it. I told the doctor, “Just call my cell when we know the results. I’m in the middle of double days, so my schedule is pretty tight.” He called me a few days later, and told me I needed to come in. “Can’t you just tell me now? I’d hate to come all the way to LA just for you to tell me what’s going on when you already know.” He said, he’d prefer if I saw him in person. Red flag.
The room was sterile, and I anxious. I wanted to get the rendezvous over with; I had to get back to practice. I don’t remember the first five minutes of the conversation. It was all fluff to the nail that was about to pierce my consciousness. Now this part I remember vividly. His sad eyes portrayed sympathy, “It’s cancer, so we’re going to do surgery ASAP. We don’t know how fast it’s growing, so we need to get in there.” “Wait, so I have cancer?” “Yes.”
The words and processes that ensued after that fell upon deaf ears. I have cancer. That’s all I need to know.
I joined my best friend. Welcome to the cancer club.
Donum of Vita 
LB,
I mean…I thought I was the club you wanted to join, the LB IC.
No for serious, I enjoy reading your blog posts so far…well…enjoy maybe isn’t the right word. They hurt me but they inspire me to be less focused on what doesn’t matter.
<3,
LB
A mother’s worst nightmare. Please, God, let it be me not my beautiful, wonderful daughter that has so much to offer to the world. Take me, take me. It’s not fair, it’s not fair!
I thought I had been through the worst times of my life, diagnosed with a non-cancerous brain tumor, surgery, & radiation 5 years before.
Nope, this was the worst.
It was a Sunday in Malibu at 7pm as the sunsets on one of the most beautiful places. I felt the lump and I knew. My mind raced: no walk-ins open only hospitals and I did not want to over react. I knew that NCAA check-ups were the next day, and had to let go knowing this would be a long process. I drove home 6 hours knowing I would be back.
When you are an RN, with high level experience in hospital nursing, at the most critical levels it can be a blessing and a curse. For us it was both. I knew alot, and I had the experience and professional courtesy by MD’s and staff to communicate and ask questions and understand to translate to Ali and family. They told me info right away. I knew too much as the anxiety rocked my world.
I seriously just got the chills and remember this as if it were yesterday…
When we got the news all I kept thinking was this can’t be true. This has to be a mistake. God wouldn’t make another one of my friends suffer through cancer, especially not Ali, not my best friend.
I remember calling my Mom, crying, and telling her I couldn’t go through this again with another friend, it was too soon, and we were all too young. The flashes and scent of the hospital room rushed back to me and I broke down. But as quickly as those flashbacks came, so did the realization that I needed to get it together – this wasn’t about me, this was about Ali. My role was to be as strong as I could be to be there for her – to be part of her support group, make her laugh when she was having a down day, and most importantly, help her to believe that she could and would beat cancer.
Ali, I’m really really looking forward to this blog and all that it blooms into. Your story is incredible! And it’s heart-warming and real to hear your mom’s side, too (hi Suzanne!). Thanks for sharing and for being such a wonderful (brave, rock of a) friend.
Yes, I remember that first day very well. As your aunt and uncle, John and I always played the role of “it’s just a bump in the road”, not a lump in your neck. Looking back now, we probably did not honor your journey as much as we should have in those early days. We, along with you, treated it like it was an inconvenience in a promising and lovely life. Heading to Pepperdine to continue an unbelievable ride, you tossed the news aside, to make room for optimism, determination, and inevitably denial. We joined you on that “River in
Egypyt – Da-Nilel” . In our boat of safety and security with the diagnosis of cancer bumping up against our boat we drifted down the quiet waters along side you, waiting for the next port in the storm. We have all learned so much along the way. We are ever so grateful for your discovery that it is time for your voice to be heard. In the speaking and the writing of it, comes the healing. We honor your journey sweet Ali. Our lives are better for having you in our hearts. Keep writing, people are listening.
Auntie Linda
Welcome to the worst club in the world. Membership is free, but no one ever wants to join! 😉
You expressed yourself beautifully, and I hope you keep writing…if there’s even one person out there who thinks they’re going through this alone and then they find your blog, you’ve helped. 🙂
Cheers,
Kara
Dear Ali,
You really touched me emotionally with your writing that I could almost feel your pain. No one can really, though, unless they have been through this themselves.
You don’t know me, but I am a Hyde friend of your mothers–a member of the Ha-Ha club. We all have been praying for you and your family every since you were first diagnosed. It was hard to see your Mom suffer through your trials being a mother myself, but so joyful when she gave us the good news about you.
I wish you a long, healthy, and happy life, dear one.
Hugs,
Cynthia (Cindy) Pedrazzini
Thank you everyone for the very kind and thoughtful words. Writing and reliving everything I’ve gone through brings a lot of healing, as do your comments. I appreciate you reading my story and sharing with you all.
Much love.
Everyone knows that Pepperdine University is one of the most beautiful places on earth. When you are atop the ‘mountain’ in the heroes garden at the Graziadio Bus. School you have a 300 degree aerial view of Malibu & Pacific Ocean.
It is here that I walked out daily and prayed.
The heroes garden is a small Zen place. Gorgeous rock path with stream running beneath your feet to an infinity pool that drapes over the cliff as you look at the Pacific Ocean and the American flag. There is the Lord’s prayer engraved on the stones. It was built and dedicated by alumni whose husband was part of 9/11 terrorist disaster. So peaceful.
Yet is was not about the landscape but the entire staff at Pepperdine who supported not only Ali, but our family.
Nina Matthies is the highly decorated NCAA coach for volleyball along with asst Tim Jensen. Ali was recruited by every school in the nation, as an all tournament team for Jr. Olympics, and had her choice of nearly anywhere and have a scholarship.
She chose a walk on position with Pepperdine. From the first day she met Nina and saw Pepperdine, and despite all the recruitment, she knew she would commit.
And she was right. But not for the reasons we thought.
In the end, we ended up with the most caring group of people in the world, that I would go to bat for any day of the week as they did for us.
As Ali said, Nina was the rock for her but for me also.
I was so in shock for weeks I did not know where I was.
They arranged a place to stay, and kept checking in all the while leading our team to incredible heights in NCAA.
As an artist, I needed something to do, and the art department allowed me to drop in art classes, which was a mental healing was to chanel thoughts.
From the gym, to academics, to UCLA doctors, it was Pepperdine people holding us up, and helping us through.
Parents know Ali went to Pepperdine and come to me to ask about our experience.
I tell them it is the most wonderful place on earth. When you let go of your child, you know there are strong loving arms to support your child to become an adult.
I will be forever grateful.