Wife, mother, friend loved by many
By Greg Seubert
Let’s face it.
Anyone who says cancer isn’t a big deal is either lying or has no idea what they’re talking about.
That’s right, cancer. I’m talking about you and I’m talking to you. You’ve been in my life before, so I know exactly who you are.
You took my 73-year-old grandma in 1980 when I was a high school senior in Marshfield. She spent many of her final days at home with my family, so I was able to see first-hand what you’re capable of doing.
You showed up again 10 years later, this time in my 60-year-old dad. He was able to get rid of you for a while, but you showed up again and again before finally taking him on Valentine’s Day in 1994 at the ripe old age of 63.
You also showed up in other relatives, friends and their families over the years. Sometimes you left, but most of the time, you hung around and refused to go away.
I thought I was finished with you for the time being, but you found me again.
No, you didn’t actually show up in me this time – at least not that I know of – but you found my wife, Sheri.
She certainly didn’t invite you to show up in her liver. We didn’t even know you were there until it was too late.
We found out you were back in our lives this summer not long after taking what turned out to be our final family vacation. We did all kinds of fun family stuff that week while staying at our rented cabin and had no idea that you were along, too.
I don’t know, maybe you weren’t ready to tell us you were here for the long haul.
Anyway, we found out about you in July and came up with a plan that might get rid of you once and for all. It’s called chemotherapy and I’m sure you know what that is.
Chemotherapy to you is kind of like what kryptonite is to Superman.
Two days before we were going to attack you with radiation, the cancer team at ThedaCare in Appleton suggested Sheri would be an ideal candidate for Y-90, also known as selective internal radiation therapy. It’s a relatively new approach to treating lesions in the liver. A catheter is used to deliver tiny radioactive beads into blood vessels that lead directly to the tumor.
In this case, cancer, that’s you.
The Y-90 treatment happened in October in Appleton, right around Halloween. That made sense to me, since the treatment was supposed to scare you and you were supposed to leave.
Well, cancer, you know what happened next. You didn’t want to leave. In fact, you made yourself right at home and decided to grow in Sheri’s liver. You also paid a visit to her lungs as well.
We got the news four days before Christmas that you weren’t going anywhere and the two of us had to make a decision whether to keep fighting or leave you alone. We decided to leave you alone.
Sheri – and you – came home Dec. 22, which would have been my dad’s 93rd birthday. Dylan, Kyle and I were going to make sure her final hours were going to be as comfortable for her as possible.
Well, cancer, you weren’t finished. After you kept us up all night, Sheri went to ThedaCare-Waupaca the next morning, where she spent her final hours in hospice care. The room had everything our family and friends needed and the care she received was outstanding.
You know all about that, cancer. You give people a glimmer of home that everything’s going to be OK and that life goes on, but you had one more trick up your sleeve.
You decided it was time for Sheri to leave us while we were getting ready to come see her. Sure, we all said our goodbyes on Dec. 23, but you decided that enough is enough and it was time for her to go on Christmas Eve, of all days. Her nurses were the only ones there.
That’s how it is with you, cancer.
You don’t care if the people – and pets, from what I hear – that you visit are young or old, male or female, rich or poor, healthy or unhealthy. You don’t care about their families and how you affect them.
You don’t care that instead of spending Christmas with their families, some people are making funeral arrangements for their loved one on that day.
You know what, cancer? You may have taken our wife, mother, sister, sister-in-law, aunt and friend, but you didn’t win this battle.
Sure, you’ll find somewhere else to go, like you’re probably doing right now.
You didn’t win this battle because those that knew Sheri all have fond memories of a wonderful, caring person who left this world far too soon.
- Greg Seubert is the sports editor of the Waupaca County Post, New London Press Star and Clintonville Tribune-Gazette.