This was in the email my husband, our team captain, sent to our bike team 36 hours before our bike ride:
Riding for a day in the rain will not be the most comfortable thing to do. It may be a good way for us to remember why we are doing this. I witnessed my sister-in-law’s fight, and most of you have witnessed family, friends and loved ones fighting cancer. That sucks. Riding a day in the rain would be a cakewalk in comparison to fighting cancer.
June 12, 2022 was the date of the 50th Annual American Cancer Society’s Bridge to the Beach Bike-A-Thon. It was my 2nd year riding 67 miles in honor of my sister, mom and many others who have had and do have cancer.
Our first-time riding was in September of 2021. We had a perfect weather day and a slight tailwind most of the way. We made record time and actually had to wait at the last rest stop so that our family and friends would have time to make it to the finish line.
This year was different. The forecast was not great. Actually, they were calling for strong storms: rain, thunder, lightning and heavy wind. But there is no rain date for the ride. So, each person on the team made their own personal decision on whether or not to ride. And ride we did.
Our team consisted of 14 riders, two dedicated friends who provided support along the route, financial support to our fundraising efforts, and family and friends who waited for us at the finish line.
To be honest, after the ride was done, I went in to a funk for a couple of days. I think it is normal after you look forward to a big event for so long and then it comes and is over. We put so much time into planning the logistics of the day, I spent a lot of time in the “saddle” as the bikers say, and then it’s all over.
As I spent the next few days reflecting on our bike ride, I realized how many similarities there were to our day of riding and my sister’s cancer journey. And I want to share that with you.
Diagnosis and Signing Up
When Amy was diagnosed with cancer in 2010, she and her family made the decision to follow an aggressive treatment plan that was presented by her oncologist. They were all in from day one. When you decide to ride 67-miles on a bike, and you are not an experienced bike rider, it’s like going all in. You’re not starting with a 10- or 25-mile commitment. You are going right to a challenging goal.
Starting Treatment and Our Start
Having cancer means appointments, calls, paperwork, explanations, discussions with family and friends, insurance claims, arrangements to be made. There is uncertainty and stress. You are entering into the unknown. You are putting your trust, and life, into other’s hands.
As we were waiting in a parking garage to start the ride, the official start time came and went. But it was pouring. I mean POURING. Everyone kept looking at the radar on their phones. If we just wait ten more minutes, this red cell should be past. But we didn’t have a choice. They were going to close the bridge soon. So we set off into the unknown, and were soaked through by the time we made it to the start at the Ben Franklin Bridge. Just like with cancer – you are clouded with uncertainty and the unknown, but you must move forward.
Places of Rest
As we made our way over the bridge and into New Jersey, it started to thunder. And perhaps a flash or two of lightning. We found refuge under an overpass. Many times Amy found refuge during her journey. She found places of rest to recharge, reframe and seek shelter. She loved going to the beach, even when it wasn’t so easy to get there. She loved being in the midst of whatever was going on, getting strength, love and encouragement from others.
Staying in the Gap
As we continued through New Jersey on our bikes, we kept trying to stay “in the gap”, as we called it. There were two lines of storms coming through and if we were lucky, we could stay in the gap between the lines. Anyone in treatment for cancer is looking to stay in the gap of active disease. That’s basically the goal of most treatments – to remove cancer from the body and keep it from returning.
Health and Mechanical Difficulties
Many times during Amy’s treatment, she would have to deal with other health problems, in addition to cancer. She developed neuropathy from her medications, which meant her feet were often tingly or had no feeling. She developed shingles once, as her immune system was so compromised. She had a procedure that required anesthesia, and when she got home, she experienced a seizure – which can be a side effect from coming out of the anesthesia. Many times I thought my gosh, can she just deal with cancer alone?
On our bike ride, we had lots of “mechanicals”, which are problems with your bike. We had 4 flat tires and 3 chains dropped. This required a lot of time to fix, and so many times our group was split and we were waiting to regroup at the next rest stop. This also affected our ability to stay in the “gap”.
Encouraging Times of Support
Our friends, Jen and Chad, helped get us to the start and then were driving two cars to New Jersey for us. Instead of heading on down and waiting at the finish line, unbeknownst to us, they decided to stay with the route and find places to see us. They would just appear at random times and places, cheering, ringing bells, and offering support. They also had my husband’s bike tool box in the back of their truck, which was helpful for our many “mechanicals”. It was so life-giving to have these unexpected times of support.
Amy had so many people on her side. Her support community was wide and far. I want to recognize one time in particular when she was met with encouragement and support. In July of 2018, our father died. Amy was receiving treatment when Becky called to tell her the news. We went to Nevada and buried our dad. Amy had to leave the evening after Dad’s service and take a red-eye back to DC and go straight to her chemo appointment from the airport. Amy had made a friend, Leah, who was receiving treatment at the same times Amy did. They developed a friendship. That morning, when Amy arrived to the treatment center, Leah had cut up watermelon and snacks for Amy to eat. She knew that Amy was coming straight from the airport from her dad’s funeral, and wanted to provide support. Leah was a beautiful support to Amy in many ways.
Hospice and the Finish Line
In December of 2019, after being in ICU for two weeks with no improvement, Amy was sent home on hospice. Therapists come to the house to help with her mobility, but after a couple of weeks, her oncologist told her there was nothing else they could do to treat Amy. Having a plan was Amy’s purpose and charge. She did whatever the treatment called for and was always so positive. Being told there was no more treatment available was not something she wanted to hear.
As I shared in the beginning, I went into a funk after the finish. Everyone went back to their normal routines, and I was once again in a world without my sister. Doing something in her honor gave me purpose and power.
This isn’t the end of the story. Even after coming home on hospice, we had a beautiful Christmas with Amy, and it was a time none of us will forget. She also helped design our jerseys for this bike ride, and every time I look at her on the back of the jersey as we are riding, I know she is with us.
She was definitely with us on our ride this year. After we finished, when our team, family and friends gathered together that evening, we commented that Amy was our angel that day. She kept our team of 14 people, 5 of whom are inexperienced riders, riding in those conditions, safe. Thanks, Amastella.
I will continue to do everything in my power to keep her memory alive. Whether that’s a 67-mile bike ride, or writing a blog about how she is still such a part of my life, I will always talk about, and remember you, Amy. I miss you more than words can say.
