When Your Sister Has Cancer
By Hannah Domeier
In late May of 2014, I felt like my college life was finally coming together. I was finishing my sophomore year, had close friends, and was succeeding academically. My boyfriend was about to graduate from Columbia College and the two of us were going to go to Europe soon after his graduation.
But then, suddenly, my sister was diagnosed with a brain tumor. My boyfriend and I had just arrived in London and I was FaceTiming my family, talking excitedly about my trip. After I stopped talking and the conversation had quieted down, my mom told me the MRI of my sister’s brain revealed a tumor near her brain stem. My sister, Erica, had recently noticed she could not hear out of her left ear, but we could not imagine this was due to a brain tumor. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to say but I soon started crying; I couldn’t do anything else.
In June Erica had major brain surgery to remove the tumor. A week after the surgery we received the pathology report: her tumor was malignant. Cancer. A word that makes you scared of your own mortality; a word that makes you feel small and powerless, even hopeless. My family and I entered a different world then, one filled with fear, uncertainty, hospitals, doctors, nurses, and endless bottles of medicine. It felt, and continues to feel, like a surreal experience; often I describe this experience as a “nightmare from which I am trying to wake up.”
Dealing with my sister’s cancer has not gotten any easier, although I have grown somewhat accustomed to coping with it. We can do things to make it more bearable: I donated my hair; Erica and I shaved her hair in one hilarious experience when her hair started to fall out from the radiation; we went wig shopping; we sold “Team Erica” T-shirts; we used the money to make gift bags to donate to patients at Boston Children’s Hospital. Amazingly, Erica made a wish through The Granted Wish Foundation, a wish-granting organization, to meet Taylor Swift and her wish came true! Erica and I were able to attend one of Taylor Swift’s secret sessions for her new album at her home in Rhode Island. During these times our worries were soothed and our memories of these events make the future easier to bear.
My sister, who is 18-years-old, was supposed to start her freshman year of college at the University of New Hampshire this fall. Due to the length of her treatments, she will not be able to start college until next year. When the time came for me to return to school, I was burdened by feelings of guilt. How could I go to school when my sister was home receiving radiation and chemotherapy? It wasn’t fair; nothing about this was fair. But I had to go to New York; my parents wouldn’t let me do otherwise. When I arrived at Columbia, I knew it would be difficult to be away from home, but I didn’t yet know how dramatically my sister’s diagnosis would change my college experience. It has become increasingly difficult to balance school, extracurricular activities, friends, and family. My sister’s diagnosis always hangs over me. Most people don’t know about my home life, and it is too difficult for me to tell them in person. My friends’ problems sometimes seem too trivial to me; I can’t sympathize with or relate to them the way I used to. When my boyfriend started medical school at Columbia College of Physicians and Surgeons, I criticized the medical students for being too happy during their white coat ceremony. It was a ridiculous complaint, but all I could think about during the ceremony was the endless frustrating interactions my family had had with doctors. To me, these young students didn’t realize the seriousness of their career choice. I told my boyfriend, “Remember, for you, you meet with patients for ten minutes a day, but for the patient and their family this is their life.”
I have also made an effort to go home more frequently. At home I am confronted directly with my sister’s illness, yet her brave spirit, kind heart, and positive attitude never fail to uplift me. On the other hand, my parents are preoccupied with taking care of my sister and I feel there is no place for me at home. Going back to school is both a relief and a hardship. Once again I am plagued by guilt but I am removed from the daily strife of cancer and the effects of my sister’s surgery.
My sister, parents, and I aren’t “fighting” Erica’s cancer. We are dealing and coping with it one day at a time. There is no other option. We do it all for Erica; we would do anything for her. Cancer isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair. But you have to somehow make the most of what you’re given.