What Does it Mean to Be Lucky?
I think of myself as lucky. Well, not that lucky since I was diagnosed with a rare bone cancer when I was 16.
By Olivia Egge
But lucky since I am still here today. Recently, I was asked to share my story. But I was stuck when I was trying to come up with what I wanted to say. I didn’t feel like anything I learned was “profound” enough to tell my story. However, my father felt differently. He told me that I was a survivor. This made me mad. I decided I officially didn’t want to tell my story.
You see, I didn’t do anything “special” to survive, and I certainly didn’t do anything different than my friends who passed away from the same disease. So, what makes my story as a survivor meaningful in the first place? My friends who were given a terminal prognosis suffered far more than I did — they endured MORE rounds of chemotherapy, MORE surgeries, and MORE heartbreaking bad news. They should be here today, giving you a life lesson instead of me. So, I’m NOT going to tell you my story. I am going to share with you what three friends of mine, all diagnosed with terminal osteosarcoma, taught me about life.
KELLY
I first met Kelly at physical therapy. She had just finished treatment, and I was just starting. I knew who she was because the doctors and my parents kept trying to connect me with other kids with osteosarcoma. Our moms began talking about Kelly and me in front of us as if we weren’t there, just like how moms do, and my mom mentioned I was getting really nauseous every time they would flush my IV line with saline. When I tasted the saline, my brain immediately connected it to chemo, and I would get sick. Kelly overheard my mom and piped up, saying that the nurses had a stash of IV flushes without saline but only used them if you asked for them. It was sort of a hospital secret.
Through Kelly’s advice, I started to understand the power of connecting with people going through the same thing. Kelly and I quickly became friends, and she told me everything there was to know about the treatment road ahead of me. I will be forever grateful for her guidance and what she taught me about being there for others, especially when someone is suffering in the same way. She gave me hope and ensured I knew she was there for me. Words cannot describe how much this shaped the rest of my treatment. And thanks to Kelly, I became friends with John.
JOHN
John was diagnosed a month after I finished treatment, and I like to think I was his version of Kelly — telling him what to expect and the ins and outs of the hospital. John was my osteosarcoma friend that I knew the longest.
I could share about the time we were invited to the White House to meet with former Vice President Pence to discuss a new cancer bill and instead spent 15 minutes trying to convince Pence to shave his head for cancer awareness. John taught me so much, but the most meaningful thing he taught me was to look at the world from a broader perspective than yourself and empathize with those around you, ALWAYS, even when you are suffering.
Around the same time John was given a terminal prognosis, I was told I would have to have my entire knee and parts of my tibia and femur replaced due to an infection on my metal prosthesis. I tried to hide this from him since what he was going through was so much worse, but he asked how I was feeling and how my leg was doing every day. Instead of comparing our suffering and being bitter about the world's unfairness, he just wanted to ensure I was alright.
The night before my surgery, John and I watched a Capitals hockey game. When I walked into the building, the metal detector went off. I explained to the security people that I had metal in my leg. John went through next, and the alarm went off again. John explained how he also had metal in his leg. The officer eyed us suspiciously. What are the odds two 19-year-olds have large metal implants in their legs? We laughed. This was something that could only happen to us, being together. We had so much fun at the game. I remember being so amazed at his perspective on life, his constant smile, and his ability to focus on other people. He was always thinking beyond himself.
The next morning, I went in for surgery, only waking 8 hours later and learning that John had passed away. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about our friendship.
CHARLOTTE
When Charlotte and I first met, we quickly realized we both had twin brothers, giving us a lot to talk about. Our friendship may have started because we had the same cancer, but that was not why we got along so well.
Since Charlotte lived in California, I didn’t get to meet her in person until she came to tour the University of Virginia. She was probably the most excited and optimistic person I have ever met. Charlotte taught me to never let anything stop you from living life the way you want.
Days before Charlotte passed away, she talked about how excited she was for her senior year of high school and that she was working hard on her University of Virginia application. Charlotte wasn’t going to let anything, even a terminal prognosis, stand in the way of her being excited about life and the future. She taught me the importance of living the life you want to live, even in the face of adversity. When I walk around the grounds, I can’t help but think of how much she would have contributed to UVA.
What it Means to Survive
Now, back to survivorship and what it means to survive. When it comes to cancer, I am not sure surviving means anything more than being lucky that you had access to treatment and that your body happened to respond well. I didn’t survive a week in the wilderness like some guy from a survivalist show who escapes bears or eats gross bugs. Anyone who knows me knows I would NEVER survive a week alone in the woods.
No, I got really sick in a hospital bed, and luckily the medicine worked.
Although I don’t think surviving means much, I do think there are ways that I can make my survivorship meaningful. To me, this means living the way Kelly, John, and Charlotte lived theirs every day. I want to form powerful relationships with people, especially those I might relate to. I want to have a perspective outside of myself that sees the bigger picture and is able to always think of others. And lastly, I want to live my life with purpose, the way I choose, and without letting anything stop me. If I can live my life with these lessons learned from these three beautiful and brave human beings, only then will I believe that survivorship is meaningful.
