I haven't written in a long time. I haven't felt the inspiration I guess. Yesterday I got my donation bucket for Relay for Life and my tickets to sell for the Bar Crawl. A lot of people that I know have lost loved ones to cancer this year. I have lost many to cancer over the years. The one I never talk about is Charlotte. She was my first. Let me tell you about her.
Charlotte stormed into my life in the 70's. She only entered the room last and with a flourish that brought the attention of everyone in the room. She always smiled. She always spoke her true mind. I was a shy 20 something that had two babies that we were trying to raise. Charlotte owned a race truck. My husband and brother-in-law were the crew chiefs for her. She never rode in the truck. There was a driver that was paid and co-drivers were always celebrity guests.
Charlotte awed me with statements like "Don't whine that something is broke. Buy a book, learn to fix it and then fix it." My husband traveled a lot with the truck and we couldn't afford to hire someone. So I took her advice and learned about plumbing, appliance repair, painting, and many other "Mr. Fix-it" duties.I have totally renovated three houses with very little outside help.
Life was good. Soon I was a member of the pit crew. I had totally and completely fallen in love with off-road racing. I had also fallen in love with the hammer, wrenches, and power tools. I had fallen in love with the legend of Charlotte. And then the Big C entered our lives.
Charlotte always called it the Big C. I believed that by calling it that it wasn't real. You see, cancer was a dirty word back then. There was no Relay. There was no public outpouring to cure it. Charlotte had breast cancer. People used to whisper the word breast because it was too horrible to think that cancer would be there.
I cried when she told me. There were two options for her. Cut the breast off (radical mastectomy) or die. Oh, they told her that they could try chemo but they didn't think it would increase her chances of surviving much. She yelled at me for crying. Said she wasn't giving up and neither was I. So she chose mastectomy with chemo. For the next year she was cancer free.
Then it happened again. In the other breast. But this time she had done research. There was a new drug that was showing potential. It was called Laetrile. It was not approved for use in the United States. But it was approved in Mexico. So Charlotte's trips to Cancun began. The cancer went into remission again. For a short time. Then it came back with a vengeance. And radical mastectomy number two. And chemo and things looked promising.
The last happy moment with Charlotte that I remember is a race in Barstow, CA. The celebrity that was supposed to ride in the truck could not make it to the race. Charlotte asked me to be co-driver. She told me she would bring her fire suit for me as we were the same size. When we arrived in Barstow, it was 120 degrees. It was so hot that you could feel the heat in your lungs. We sat by the pool just talking. Suddenly Charlotte said "This may be the my last race. I am going to ride in the truck."
She went and put the suit on in the incredible heat. Her cool down solution was to jump in the pool with the suit and boots on. She sank to the bottom. I jumped in and pulled her out. We lay poolside laughing hysterically. It was the last time we laughed together and the last race.
It wasn't long before the cancer showed up in other places: lymph glands and then her vital organs. The Big C took her quickly. It it now 40 years later and Charlotte is still a part of my life. I miss her. I hate cancer. We need to wipe it out.
Are you listening?
Charlotte stormed into my life in the 70's. She only entered the room last and with a flourish that brought the attention of everyone in the room. She always smiled. She always spoke her true mind. I was a shy 20 something that had two babies that we were trying to raise. Charlotte owned a race truck. My husband and brother-in-law were the crew chiefs for her. She never rode in the truck. There was a driver that was paid and co-drivers were always celebrity guests.
Charlotte awed me with statements like "Don't whine that something is broke. Buy a book, learn to fix it and then fix it." My husband traveled a lot with the truck and we couldn't afford to hire someone. So I took her advice and learned about plumbing, appliance repair, painting, and many other "Mr. Fix-it" duties.I have totally renovated three houses with very little outside help.
Life was good. Soon I was a member of the pit crew. I had totally and completely fallen in love with off-road racing. I had also fallen in love with the hammer, wrenches, and power tools. I had fallen in love with the legend of Charlotte. And then the Big C entered our lives.
Charlotte always called it the Big C. I believed that by calling it that it wasn't real. You see, cancer was a dirty word back then. There was no Relay. There was no public outpouring to cure it. Charlotte had breast cancer. People used to whisper the word breast because it was too horrible to think that cancer would be there.
I cried when she told me. There were two options for her. Cut the breast off (radical mastectomy) or die. Oh, they told her that they could try chemo but they didn't think it would increase her chances of surviving much. She yelled at me for crying. Said she wasn't giving up and neither was I. So she chose mastectomy with chemo. For the next year she was cancer free.
Then it happened again. In the other breast. But this time she had done research. There was a new drug that was showing potential. It was called Laetrile. It was not approved for use in the United States. But it was approved in Mexico. So Charlotte's trips to Cancun began. The cancer went into remission again. For a short time. Then it came back with a vengeance. And radical mastectomy number two. And chemo and things looked promising.
The last happy moment with Charlotte that I remember is a race in Barstow, CA. The celebrity that was supposed to ride in the truck could not make it to the race. Charlotte asked me to be co-driver. She told me she would bring her fire suit for me as we were the same size. When we arrived in Barstow, it was 120 degrees. It was so hot that you could feel the heat in your lungs. We sat by the pool just talking. Suddenly Charlotte said "This may be the my last race. I am going to ride in the truck."
She went and put the suit on in the incredible heat. Her cool down solution was to jump in the pool with the suit and boots on. She sank to the bottom. I jumped in and pulled her out. We lay poolside laughing hysterically. It was the last time we laughed together and the last race.
It wasn't long before the cancer showed up in other places: lymph glands and then her vital organs. The Big C took her quickly. It it now 40 years later and Charlotte is still a part of my life. I miss her. I hate cancer. We need to wipe it out.
Are you listening?
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