There’s a fine line between the moving and the maudlin, and every day writers attempt to walk that tightrope.
Disclosure: I know John Mark Eberhart, the book editor at The Kansas City Star and author of the essay ”Living With Cancer: 6 years under its insidious shadow, hair and wig jokes are powerful comfort.” [Ed. note: The column has expired on the Star website (wtf?) but is available here.]
I also know John Mark’s wife Sherri Eberhart, the subject of the column.
I remember John Mark and Sherri coming to see me in the hospital shortly after I was diagnosed with stage III ovarian cancer in September 2001.
Many people came, and many brought flower bouquets. But Sherri brought a single fuchsia orchid. She held it in a way that suggested she already loved it, but was going to give it to me anyway.
In those days I envied nearly everyone who walked through the door because most of them did not have cancer.
Sherri and I did not know then that just nine months later she would be diagnosed with breast cancer. Sherri is younger than me. Sherri was stage 2 and I was stage 3. Sherri had breast cancer, not ovarian, and she had stats I coveted. But cancer—once again—revealed that it does not read the play book.
I know few optimists who are also realists. In fact, on some days I might insist that such a combination is impossible, but Sherri is evidence to the contrary.
I put off reading John Mark’s column till today. While it’s true that caregivers can suffer more than the cancer patient, sometimes family members make too much of their own battles. There are days when patients feel like saying: Walk a mile in my shoes.
So I’m a bit leery of writing by cancer caregivers, but in this column John Mark gets it just right.
As for Sherri, well, she always gets it right. That’s who she is.
[Ed. note: Sherri died on October 13, 2008.]
Christie Buckner 1970-2009
Speaking of wigs, my young New Orleans friend, ovarian-cancer survivor Christie Buckner, said it as well as anyone in her prize-winning essay in Gambit Weekly.
Wigs are expensive and they look like crap. You have three choices: Grandma, Country-Western Singer, or Streetwalker. Mine are from the Streetwalker collection.
I wanted a streetwalker wig too, but I live in Kansas City, not New Orleans, and streetwalker wigs are hard to come by. You can’t tell from this picture, but I’ve seen Christie’s wig in person, and it’s as red as a tomato.
