After our
beautiful May
wedding, where
tons of family
shared lots of
laughs and
memories, my
new husband
and I flew away
to a romantic
getaway in
Maui to spend our honeymoon together. When
we got home, my first phone call was to my Mom
to ask her when I could come over to tell her all
about it and show her our hundreds of pictures
we took throughout our vacation. I was surprised
when my Dad answered the phone and said she
was having kidney pain and was napping. I was
bummed, but understood that she just needed her
rest. The next morning my Mom called me, she
sounded exhausted and said she needed to go
to the emergency room. I immediately went and
picked her up and took her to the emergency room
to see what was going on with her. They found a
tumor in her kidney. My Mom was not the type to
jump to any type of conclusion that something was
wrong with her, and was a very normal, basic,
everyday person with no significant issues with her
health. So you can imagine my family's surprise
when the doctor came in to tell us that the tumor
in her kidney was in fact cancer. The word no one
wants to hear: Cancer. We had to wrap our brains
around what exactly that meant for us, for her, and
for our family.
My family knew the following months after her
diagnosis was going to be difficult, but we had no
idea how short of time we were going to have with
her. After the removal of her kidney, chemotherapy
treatments, multiple hospital visits and scans to
determine each stage she was at, at five months
after her diagnosis, we again heard words that no
one wants to hear: It's terminal cancer. November
21, 2011, my Mom lost her battle with kidney
cancer. At that moment, naturally, I thought of every
single memory I've had with my Mom. I thought of
my Dad and how he was going to be without his
wife of 32 years. I thought of my nephew that had
only 2 years with her, yet worshiped the ground she
walked on. I thought of my siblings and how much
we looked up to her, and how we were going to
keep our family together, like she did. I thought of
my future unborn children and how they will never
get the opportunity to know their amazing, loving
grandmother. I thought about how nothing was
ever going to be the same without her.
The Run for Ribbons event has been something I
knew I had to get involved in. It doesn't discriminate
any type of cancer; it's your choice on who, what
and why you support. I know it has been said many
times, but cancer affects everyone in one way or
another. I run for my mother Jackie Richelieu.
~
Nicole Prince, Foundation Board Member
After 7th grade basketball practice one February
evening in 1997, I took a peek at my team pictures.
I saw my individual photo and ran to my mom
"what's this lump under my jaw?" I was mortified, I
hadn't noticed it until I saw the photo. She replied
with, "when you get sick, your lymph nodes swell
up. You're probably just getting sick." A month went
by and nothing. Same active me. Our family doctor
sent us to a specialist. He performed a biopsy which
came back inconclusive, so surgery was my only
option. They removed a lymph node and a
saliva gland from the left side of my neck. In
April 1997, my results came back, I had
cancer. I was only 13 years old, I still had
my entire life left to live.
My whirlwind had already began and
I hadn't even realized it. My mom and
I moved to Seattle for treatment at Children's
hospital. I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's
lymphoma. I received a port line for chemo and my
first round was at the end of May 1997. I received
two, three day rounds of chemotherapy, 21 days
of radiation and in total I've had five surgeries. It
was the longest summer of my life. All I wanted
was to be a kid. Between all the rounds of chemo
there were handfuls of pills and shots to help keep
me from getting sick. At the end of August 1997,
my mom and I finally moved back home to
Prosser. I am blessed beyond words for
the family I was given and for all of their
support. Today I am proud to say I'm a
15 and a half year survivor! Long term
and short term side effects still affect
my life today, nothing unbearable, but a
constant reminder of my battle. Forever
grateful. I run so more and more people
can say, "I'm a survivor."
~ Ashlee Rubon