The Three Times Cancer Made Me Cry

by Skylar Wallace

I used to be very good at focusing on the negative side of life. In high school, I was on pace to break the single season scoring record in basketball, and then I broke my leg mid-season. I didn’t see that as an opportunity to overcome adversity. I saw it as a horrible, unfair situation. When I got laid off from my job immediately after arriving home from my honeymoon, I didn’t view that as a chance for growth. I saw it as awful luck, and I let it drag me down for years. So naturally, when my four-year-old son Will was diagnosed with cancer, I certainly didn’t take time to find the good in the situation. I saw it for the tragedy that it was. However, supporting him through that cancer battle changed me for the better. This is the story of the three times cancer made me cry, and how I found the good side of life through those tears.

November 30th, 2016 was a day I will never forget. I was sitting at my desk at work when my mother called. She seemed tense as she asked “Where are you?” “I’m at work”, I replied. “What’s wrong?” That’s when she started to cry. She told me that they found something during my son’s checkup. She told me we needed to make the 180-mile drive to Children’s Mercy in Kansas City immediately . I still remember leaving work in a panicked rush and driving across town to get my youngest son from the daycare. At one point, I was just sitting at a stop sign frozen and unsure of what was happening.

That next day was the first time cancer made me cry. We were in the children’s oncology unit at the hospital, sitting in a room. I remember being next to my wife and feeling so anxious. I was wearing an old yellow Livestrong bracelet that I had worn for years. Occasionally, people would ask me why I still wore it, and I would always reply “To remember to never take anything for granted.” That day, as I sat in that room, I was just staring at it in shock. My daily reminder had become a reality. Did I take my son’s future for granted?, I remember thinking over and over.

Suddenly, the door flew open and the doctor came in. She was brief and to the point. “We found a cantaloupe-sized tumor on your son’s kidney. It has taken over his entire abdomen, and it is inoperable. The cancer has also spread into his lungs. It’s stage 4.” I sat stunned for a moment, and then the tears started. They were very angry tears. I remember thinking that it wasn’t fair and that he didn’t deserve this. I remember ripping the Livestrong bracelet off my wrist and throwing it into the trash can. Then I just fell on the hospital bed and cried. I was so angry, frustrated and scared. My son Will was an exceptional boy and he didn’t deserve this. He just didn’t.

A few days later, we moved up to Kansas City to start his chemo treatments in hopes of shrinking the tumor down to an operable level. They needed to get it out, but it was just too big. We were living at The Ronald McDonald House near the hospital. One afternoon, I remember walking out onto the porch to think. I was just standing there, leaning against the cold brick wall, when I noticed them. Through the window of the home next door, I could see four young medical students standing around a table in their kitchen. All four of them were in scrubs and they were wearing party hats. There was a small birthday cake on the table between them, and one of them leaned in and blew out some candles.

This was the second time cancer made me cry. I remember staring at those kids and wondering if my son would ever get to experience friendship like that? I remember looking at those four and seeing so much hope, potential and opportunity. It was such a beautiful moment in their lives, and all I wanted

was for my son to experience that. That’s when the tears started. This time they were different. They weren’t angry. I was no longer mad at the situation. This time they were deeply sorrowful tears. I mourned for my son. I so desperately wanted him to have experiences like the one happening through the window in front of me, and I had no idea if he ever would.

Before I tell you about the last time cancer made me cry, I need to do a little bit of set design. Our home is a little unique. It is an Atomic Ranch Mid-Century Modern home. It is built into a hillside, and I literally mow the grass growing on our roof. It is basically one long walkout basement. It is also fairly large. Our bedroom is at one end of the home. From there, a long tile walkway travels from our room down a hall, through the living room, between the dining room and kitchen, past the main entryway, around a corner, and finally to the boys’ bedroom and bathroom. It is a good thirty-to-forty-yard walk from our bedroom to theirs. This distance will prove to be important in a moment.

Between chemo treatments we were allowed to go back home. However, the doctor gave us an ominous warning the first time we left that stuck with me. “Don’t let him play too hard. There is always a chance that the tumor could rupture, and that would most likely kill him.” So that was obviously something fun to think about for every single second that we were at home trying to relax. I would often just lay in bed thinking about that warning. I would think about the tumor rupturing and me throwing him into a car and rushing to the hospital. I would just run these horrible scenarios over and over in my mind as I tried to sleep.

On this one particular night, I had finally dozed off into a very deep sleep. Suddenly, I was awoken by my wife’s blood curdling screams coming from across the house. She was in the boys’ room, and I could tell by the amount of noise she was producing that something was terribly wrong. That’s when it hit me. “THE TUMOR HAS RUPTURED!” I thought. I instantly flew from the bed and began running to their room. I flew through the hall and past the living room. I shot through the kitchen in a blur. At that moment, not even an Olympic sprinter could have kept pace with me. I was on a mission. All my fears were being realized, and I knew that I had to get him to the hospital as soon as possible.

As I rounded the last corner in the hall, I saw that they were not in his room. They were in the bathroom. For a split second, I thought that something seemed odd about that, but then it was too late. I slipped on something wet and fell hard on my back. My skull smacked the tile and things went dim. I laid there for a minute, completely dazed, and that’s when the smell hit me. I couldn’t place it, but it was bad. I began to realize that something was very wrong about my situation.

I’m not sure if it was the putrid smell or the potential concussion that started to make me feel nauseous. I let out a painful groan, and that’s when I heard her. My wife was sitting on the bathroom floor next to me and she started to laugh. Then she started to laugh even harder. That’s when I realized what had happened. Will got sick and puked. He puked in his bed, and again on the tile in the hall on the way to the bathroom. Now, I was laying on that same tile with a potentially fractured skull in my son’s puke. I was covered in it, and my wife was just sitting there next to me laughing. This was the third time that cancer made me cry. I just started to laugh with her, and we both sat there laughing until the tears started to fall. This time they were tears of joy. The total ridiculousness of the situation was overwhelming, and joy prevailed.

Shortly after that, I was in the shower washing off the vomit and I realized something. I didn’t have to let this situation control me. I didn’t have to focus on the negative side of my son’s cancer battle

if I didn’t want to. If a potentially traumatic brain injury in a pile of puke could bring joy to my wife and I during the absolute worst time of our lives, there was no reason that we couldn’t find joy in my son’s battle. At that moment, I made a promise to myself- from then on, I would be an optimist. I would do everything possible to find joy and opportunity in every situation that life threw at me.

Over the next few months, we went through a lot of hardship. My son had an extremely difficult battle, and it was often overwhelming. However, we were always together. We made memories. We spent time together. We laughed a lot. It seemed like no matter how bad things got, we were always able to find some joy in those moments, and we have great memories that we made despite the tragedy.

My son went on to dominate cancer. He is now neatly 5 years cancer free and living his best life. I have also changed. Since that moment in the shower, I have been on a tremendous path of personal growth. I am now able to view every trial as an opportunity. When life gets hard, I channel my inner Bastille and ask myself “How am I gonna be an optimist about this?” Then I focus on finding a way to use the hardship to improve myself. Over the course of three very impactful cries, cancer showed me how to live. I would certainly not wish this journey on anyone, but I am far better for having experienced it. I now know that if you let life beat you down, it will. However, if you choose to make the most of every moment, you will find joy. When things seem to be too much, just ask yourself “How am I gonna be an optimist about this?”

Skylar Wallace

Skylar is from Seneca, MO. He spends his days working in the mortgage industry, and his nights focused on family. In his spare time, he tries to think of ways to improve his community, he invests in real estate, he provides free classes to wanna-be investors, and drinks a lot of craft beer. Perpetually pursuing passion summarizes Skylar's worldview.

The three times cancer made me cry: an essay by Skylar Wallace

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