DOC'S PENALTY BOX

BY THE SPORTS DOC

 

 

 

Jon Lester: Winner & Survivor

 

             Last Monday night, while I was emceeing the Brenham Athletic Awards program, Jon Lester was throwing a no hitter for my Boston Red Sox.

            When I heard of his feat while on my way home from the awards program, I was furious that I had missed this amazing feat.  Not because he’s a member of the Red Sox, but because he’s a survivor!

            In July of 2006 Jon Lester was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a form of Cancer.  He underwent months of treatment and therapy, and a little over a year later he was back in the Boston rotation.  He went on to win game four of the World Series which clinched the Sox’ second title in four years.

            I, like millions of Americans, have a special place in my heart for Cancer survivors.  There is basically nothing I won’t do for the American Cancer Society, The Sunshine Kids or Relay for Life—or any other group that supports Cancer Research.

            My first contact with the disease came about a quarter-of-a-century ago, when my sister Jennifer’s best friend Lisa was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

            Lisa was a larger-than-life, loud, happy, high-spirited teenager who had befriended my sister and my family when we had moved to the town of Sheffield.  There were many times when it seemed my parents had two daughters, Jen and Lisa.  For many years it was a given, whenever you saw Jen there was Lisa and vice-versa. 

            At first, I didn’t get along with Lisa too well, but eventually she grew on me—like she did on everyone she came in contact with. 

            Then, one day just before she was to turn 20, Lisa was diagnosed with a brain tumor—malignant.  Over the next months all our family could do was watch as this vibrant young lady was eventually reduced to a weak, fragile victim of this grotesque, disgusting disease.

            I’ll never forget the last time I saw Lisa—I’d driven my parents to see her in the hospital in what were her final days.  I was just going to wait in the car, but my mom convinced me to go inside.

            We found Lisa in late stages of her battle—frail and resigned to her fate.  We talked and laughed, nervously, for about a half hour.  When we went to leave, I did something I’d never done before—I leaned over and kissed her goodbye.  A kiss I’ll never forget as long as I live.

            Early in the morning, two days later my sister came into my bedroom, sat on the edge of my bed and told me Lisa’s fight was over.  At first I didn’t cry—was too angry to cry.  Who gave Cancer the right to rob Jennifer of her best friend in the world, or, to rob the rest of the world from meeting Lisa? 

            And the truly sad thing is that this story is not unique—there’s nothing different or special about this story.  Millions and millions of people have dealt with, and will deal with, this exact same situation.  Nearly every American has been touched by Cancer in one way or another—and if they haven’t yet, they will be someday. 

            When many say Jon Lester’s achievement was “nice”, “a neat thing”, or “so encouraging”, I see it as spitting in the face of Cancer—telling the disease to “…kiss my %$#!  You’re not going to beat me, you Son of a @#$%&!”  (Sorry about the language but you have to be tough with this thing.)

            So here’s to Jon Lester and his incredible achievement, not the no-hitter, but beating the monster.  And here’s to Jon and every other survivor’s long, long, long, happy life.

            And, by the way, I’m glad you all got to meet Lisa.

 

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