The estimated number of new cases of cancer in 2016 in the United States is 1,685,210. 65,090 of those cases are in Illinois. 10,160 cases are female breast cancer. 1 of them is my mom.
           

In March of this year, my mom went to her annual mammogram appointment feeling as healthy as she could be. Unfortunately, her doctor found something unusual, something unexpected, and my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer not long after. Upon hearing this news, my heart stopped beating and started beating a thousand times faster at the same time. My insides felt dark and dead like there was nothing I could do now, but there was also a bright, red, screeching alarm in my head revealing my worries and stress about my mom’s condition. My mind was racing faster than my heart though. My mind was the Saturn V rocket of Apollo 11, racing into outer space, but the only thing that could bring me back down to earth, that brought my heart rate back to normal, was something unknown to me at the time. Afraid and confused, I lost myself in the cosmos, fearing that I would lose my mom too.
           

Almost immediately, I shut myself out. I did not tell anyone about my fears, and I drowned silently in my worries. Much like many other people, I coped by keeping my private matters private. Talking about the situation with my parents, I never felt relieved; I felt suffocated. I couldn’t reply without my voice sounding weak. My words were like mice, fragile and small, and every time they tried to escape, a boa constrictor would tighten its grip and prevent me from speaking.  My mom had always been there for me, and now I was guilty of not being there for her. She must’ve been a thousand times more worried about her condition and what would happen at the end of this, but I could not muster up the strength to be there for her. I needed the support of my friends and especially my family, in order to gain the strength to support myself and realize that this wasn’t about my life, it was about hers.
           

In the beginning, I did not realize all the ways my family reached out to me to make sure I was well and my family was comfortable. Many people offered me words of encouragement, but I could tell they only did it because they felt obligated. Of course, the gesture was nice, but it wasn’t always believable. I was stuck in my own world, my own bubble, my own terrifying thoughts until one day, my older cousin who lives in Chicago and works at Loyola as a nurse (paying off his un-payable student loans) sent me a text I would never forget. He was obviously a busy guy, but in a short paragraph, he told me that he knew about my mom. He knew it was going to be okay. He knew I was worried, and he knew what it felt like. He knew it was uncomfortable to talk about, but he knew that he would be there if I ever wanted to. He knew I needed that text. His mother was once sick like my mom, but things escalated, and she wasn’t as lucky as my mother. With this small gesture, I no longer lacked the power to be the strength my mom needed.

My cousin took the greatest tragedy in his life and transformed it into my greatest hope. Watching him and his brother suffer the death of their mom, I experienced an ache in my heart I had never felt before. I could never imagine how much it pained him, but he chose to be there for me because he knew it would get better. He was happy, successful, and motivated to do his best now because he had the support of great family and friends then. Without that support, he might have been stuck in a dark tunnel forever, but he found the light and became my light. He knew the power of someone extending a helping hand, and he extended that hand to me. By reaching out to me, even though I acted like I did not need help at all, he made me realize that it was okay--that it was necessary--to get help.

Suddenly, my eyes were clear, and I could see the small things that everyone was doing to give my family strength in a weak period of our lives. My aunt, who had recently been through a situation almost exactly like my mom’s, recommended countless specialists, took off work to go to her doctor’s appointments, and talked to me and my brother personally to assure us that our mother was okay. My uncle who works in the hospital as an x-ray technician, talked to his friend and my mother’s surgeon, in order to make sure my mom was in good hands. My grandmother, who hates cooking and driving, sat in her car for an hour with a plate of lasagna for our dinner. One of my best friends stayed up until I could see the sun peeking through my blinds on a school night to keep my thoughts from destroying my brain. I thought I was fighting a battle by myself. One soldier versus a thousand men cavalry. I thought my weapons were broken and frail, but before I could even begin my march toward my opponents, I was surrounded by an army who had gone unnoticed for so long. They helped me defeat my dangerous thoughts and pummel my strife in order to win the war.
     

During one of the busiest weeks of my life, my mom had her mastectomy and countless family members and friends spent hours in the hospital waiting to see the results. When she finally came out of the operating room and we could all visit her, she took my hand and smiled. In front of everyone, she thanked me for being there for her. Without my family and friends, I would’ve never been able to see the light at the end of the tunnel and act as the pillar of support my mom needed to lean on. My family and I were able to escape the darkness and find the light, and continue to find the best in every situation. Through struggle and triumph, we realized that although we may have tough times, there is always an opportunity to come out on top. Not only have we become a stronger family unit, we are the strength and support for others fighting the same battle that we were. I find myself appreciating tiny favors just as much as un-repayable acts of kindness because I know that each can have the same, powerful impact. It was not the act itself that made my heart swell and my courage soar, it was the fact that other people would put themselves on the back-burner for just one moment, so I would feel secure
           

In the United States, there will be 1,089,520 estimated survivors of cancer. 41,010 of those reside in Illinois. 8,500 cases are female breast cancer and 1 of them is my mom. But none would have fought and won the battle without their armies standing right beside them.