Seventeen

“You are the Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing Queen, feel the beat from the tambourine
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen”
~ ABBA

It’s been 17 years since I was told I was in “remission.” This is the day that one of my oncologists called our home. I was standing in the kitchen, holding the receiver, yes phones were once attached to the wall. “Thea, the tumor board met today and reviewed your case. We have decided that there is no signs of cancer and you are officially in remission.” There are a number of definitions for the word “remission” and the one that sticks for me, more than the medical term, is “the cancellation of a penalty.”

So from that day forward, October 7th became my second birthday. At first we were just counting to five, once you are five years in remission, some consider you cured. My parents threw me an epic party with a tent in our backyard, a custom cocktail menu and all of the people that had been part of the journey were there. Then it became another milestone at ten years because the doctors and researchers had collected everything they needed from me and I didn’t have to go back to my oncologist anymore. And at this point in my adulthood it truly is an epic reminder how lucky my family and I are to have come out on the other side.

Since first the very first day I became involved with Stupid Cancer, I was bombarded by all sides of cancer again. It was real. It was scary. It was all encompassing. There was an organization improving the quality of life of those impacted by cancer. It was the organization I desperately needed when I was diagnosed with cancer. I was introduced to it casually over the phone, but in reality it was a huge, life changing experience with a door swinging open to an entire world of likeminded young adults that were welcoming me in.

Some days I have to remind myself that I have opted back in to this world. On the hardest days — learning about test results, attending a funeral, wiping the tears, impromptu therapy sessions, decisions to no longer have treatment, therapies not working and other mind-blowing moments — I face my choice to be an advocate, friend, leader and tear wiper. The hard days are why I volunteer.

The easier days — moderating a panel, celebrating cancerversaries, brand building, fundraising, CancerCon, OMG, t-shirt designs, copywriting, strategic planning, board retreats and so many more — are the fuel for the hard days. It was about three years ago, when a fellow Stupid Cancer survivor, told me that I changed her life. That by being me, her life was easier to live. My words, experience and dedication to Stupid Cancer made her life easier to bear. I bottle up those moments and save them for rainy days.

Today, on my 17th year in remission, I ask you to visit StupidCancer.org and share it with one person outside of the cancer community.

You never know if and when they may need us. And if this story — or any of the millions of other stories from young adults impacted by cancer every year — has moved you in anyway, please visit my Crowdrise page.