Thriving Past Cancer: Marine's Journey

I was seventeen when my niece, Sarin Wakimian, was born. I was transitioning between teenhood and adulthood, preparing myself for endless college possibilities, planning my perfect future, questioning life, because obviously that's something we humans love doing: would I travel the world and become a famous reporter, write novels in a cabin off of Walden Pond, or treat patients in a psych ward somewhere? I dreamt, as all children do. And I dreamt big. Sarin penetrated my dreams. She drew me out of my teenage egocentricism and brought into my world a freshness I had yet to experience. I held her, played with her, and loved her intensely. Two years into my college revelry, Sarin began exhibiting physical ailments that impacted her life. Inflammation hindered her ability to walk and instead of toddling and running around she began to withdraw into her own hell. A frown replaced her smile as her reality shifted. She slowly lost her mobility and just when children are preparing f...

We all have a back story.  It's why we say what we say and do what we do.  It's the foundation on which our lives are constructed. Some of the foundation is constructed on sand, others on mud, and yet others on the rockiest of terrain. When we invite a person into our lives, we rarely reveal the foundation. We never delve into our pasts and our conversations hover somewhere around weather, movies, and other trivial topics.  I'm quite good at this, and this is what hit me when I sat in church this last Sunday, listening to the pastor talk about people's "back stories" and how they impact every single moment of our lives, behaviors, and actions.  Although I've shared my "back story" with the world, cancer's ravaging effects cripple me, almost as if there's termites trying to gnaw at the timber house that stands upon it. It leads me to doubt myself, my thoughts, actions, and decisions. As many of you know, I went back to work a couple ...