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This is not about me, I am not writing this in my death bed. I just want to tell you about someone I loved, still love...
It was the summer of 2007. My mother, grandmother and I were staying in New-York with my aunt and uncle. That (very hot) day, we walked around the beautiful city of Manhattan. I had just turned 11. We came home, tiered, sweaty and thirsty.
I don't remember what happened after, but I can easily guess : we ate, the grown ups sat down and talked, and I was probably playing. I do know that my grandmother had a yellowish look, my mother noticed also. We asked her if she was OK. ''I'm fine.''
But my mother drove back down to Maryland with her, leaving me with my aunt. That night I learned how to play Rumicube, the family game.
The rest of the summer is a blur now, I forgot. I do know that my grandmother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I spent most of my summer in the hospital with her.
For those of you who aren't familiar with this type of cancer, it's normal. You don't hear about it often for the simple reason that no cure exists. You can rarely 'catch' the signs, most people being diagnosed well into the 2nd stage. It goes down hill pretty fast after that. Most patients only live up to 6 months, my grandmother, age 80 at the time, lived for a year and a half. A miracle they said.
Pancreatic cancer, is when your pancreas stop functioning, not being a doctor I don't want to give you any false information. But you can't operate if it wasn't caught in the first stage, or only very few people are. And if you don't operate, the cancer spreads.
It can be genetic, or you might just be really unlucky. We young ones don't have to worry, I have looked it up, not a single case (that I could find) has been treated for children or young adults, most patients are over 35.
It is incurable, so not many organizations exist to help fund research to find a cure for this disease.
But more and more people are being diagnoseded with pancreatic cancer.
This story was not to warn you or to make people open their eyes. It's not even about my grandmother. I don't really know why I'm writing this, I just think that it deserves to be heard.
I do hope that one day, someone will contradict me and write about a loved one who fought just as hard as my grandmother, and overcame it. Someone to live to tell the tale.