“Don’t wait for answers
Just take your chances
Don’t ask me why.”
-Billy Joel

My freshman year of college I moved two hours away from home into a room on the fifth floor of a dormitory that happened to have no elevator. I knew prior to my arrival that I would have two roommates – I had talked to both on the phone and had received a letter and a picture from one. In the letter she told me that she had cystic fibrosis and had had a double lung transplant. I would later learn that her identical twin sister’s life had already been claimed by CF years before, and that her older brother also had the disease.

By the time I entered the dorm room, she had moved in, taken the biggest closet, picked the best bed, and had basically laid claim to anything worth having in that shithole dorm room. Not only that but she looked nothing like her picture, and I was so startled by her face, bloated from steroids. I wasn’t really sure how I was going to be able to deal with her, with it, with living with people.

The first night, I went to a club and a party with the girls across the hall. In my true stupid fashion, I met a guy and ended up swapping countless amounts of spit with him, and then he “walked” me home. He was pretty drunk. He climbed into my bed where he promptly passed out. When he woke up in the morning and I said it was about time for him to go, he vomited all over the floor and then stumbled on his way. What a way to start college, no?

I scrubbed the carpet and scrubbed it, but unfortunately, the cleaner ended up bleaching the color out of the carpet. On a weekend when both my mother and my roommate’s mom were in town, mom asked about it. Knowing the full story, my roommate’s mom lied for me and my roommate followed through on the charade. Because of them, I didn’t have to explain that on my first night of college I brought home a drunk stranger.

Cystic fibrosis can be a really ugly disease. My roommate was on countless medications and was admitted to the hospital several times that year. She had a port that she used to administer IV medication every morning and every evening. Everyone on our hall was awakened to the beeping of her IV each morning. At the end of the day, when she would come home from class you could hear her labored breathing – heaving up the five flights of stairs (no elevator – why did they put someone with CF on the fifth floor with no elevator?).

While the three of us had several great moments (including the adoption of our old lady nicknames – we called her Esther), it wasn’t always easy. My other roomie (nicknamed Mildred, by the way – and don’t hold your breath, I am not telling you mine) and I got along really well. We bonded over music and in our freshman year we wrote two songs together, and sang together frequently. Our favorite song to sing was Billy Joel’s “The Longest Time”. Mildred would take harmony, and it was always just a really fun time (and not bordering on pathetic like it might sound).

One night, Esther got really pissed. She wanted to hear “Don’t Ask Me Why” by Billy Joel. I can’t remember why we didn’t play it, but we didn’t. Instead, she woke us up at 5 a.m. the next morning blasting the damn song. To this day, when I hear it, I think of her.

She died seven years ago. Her older brother has since died too.

Having seen first hand how CF can ravage a person’s body, it is one of my causes. I have a few causes that I support – with my time, with my money or both, and CF is one of them. The other is the American Cancer Society. Chances are, when the fraternal order of police calls, I’m going to give them a lame ass excuse why I can’t donate to their organization. Same for the disabled veterans who keep sending me return address labels (but thanks, y’all, I have so many freakin’ labels, I’ll never be able to move). However, I have my two pet causes that mean the most in my heart, and those are the ones I’m a sucker for nearly every time.

My family has been hit particularly hard by cancer. My grandfather kicked stomach cancer more than twenty years ago – and is thankfully cancerfree to this date. He had over half of his stomach removed in the 1980s, and at that time, we really were scared we might lose him. To this day, my grandfather has continued to kick the ass of every thing that ails his health – including a quadruple bypass in 2000. My cousin was struck with a particularly rare type of cancer in the late 90s – one that offered a survival rate of only 5%. With chemo and radiation, she beat the odds – and just finished her freshman year of college. My grandmother passed away of colon cancer last year.

A few years ago, I captained a team for the ACS Relay for Life. Along with my coworkers, we made awesome strides with fundraising, increasing awareness, and keeping that track populated with our friends and family supporting us as we supported the ACS. In the 24 hours on site (and I was there the whole time), I walked fifteen miles in support of cancer research and finding a cure. This year, though I’m not on a team and my fundraising efforts were not as impressive, I’ll still be taking part of the Relay in honor of my friends and family who have survived cancer, and in memory of those who haven’t.

I’m not totally intending to be on my soap box today, though I’m sure it sounds that way. I think it’s important to find a cause that you believe in, embrace it, and do what you can to honor those that the cause supports.

Don’t wait for answers.
Just take your chances.
Don’t ask me why.