For years, newspaper columnist Al Martinez has shared stories about his children with readers. In today’s Los Angeles Times, Mr. Martinez is asking his readers to share their own stories of hope.
Mr. Martinez reports that his eldest daughter, Cindy, has been diagnosed with cancer that has spread to her liver. The diagnosis has him reflecting on the day he first met his daughter in 1952, when she was nearly a year old. He had missed the birth because he was a marine stationed in Korea. A Red Cross worker had originally told him he was the father of a baby girl named Sarah. Weeks later he learned her name was actually Cinthia.
I still call her Sarah occasionally; it’s a joke we share, Sarah and I. I write about her today because she, and all of our family, is involved in a different kind of war; more insidious in a way. Cindy has cancer.
It was discovered some weeks ago, a finding that took a part of her large intestine during subsequent surgery. The surgeon noticed that it had spread to her liver. Soon chemo will begin to shrink the tumor, and then it will be removed.
We discover in adversity what we are composed of. We suffer the shock of painful news, cry tears of self-pity and then, if there is steel in us, we march on. Cindy is going forward like a warrior into the fray with a toughness that I had expected from her. I know this girl….
I’m putting her name in print today so that you can tell me stories of your own fight against cancer; so you can help our family find the strength and courage to defeat the enemy within…. Cindy was handed to me a long time ago and occupies a special place in my life and in my heart, and I’m not about to hand her back.
To learn more, read “Looking For Strength to Fight Cancer.”
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From 1 to 25 of 37 Comments
As one of millions of cancer survivors, I felt I had to write. Though it was four years ago, I can remember hearing the diagnosis as it was but minutes ago. The good news is that it was four years ago and as I write this I am healthy, happy, about to get married and have moved on with living (not just surviving). I also write to tell you and your daughter that the other good news is that my life has been so much richer since the cancer in terms of the people with whom I have been in contact - doctors, nurses (especially the nurses!), and the other patients and their families. I also learned to let go of my vanity and see the real beauty in the world and I let go of all of that planning and worrying that we as humans spend so much energy on. So, I often tell people - it was the best thing that ever happened to me and my family! I hear in your letter that Cindy is strong and so are you - so you will survive! And you both run the risk of coming out even better on the other side -
— LesliDear Mr. Martinez,
I’m just a few years younger than your daughter. My Dad and I were always close - his and Mom’s love and support really kept me going when I had surgery and radiation three years ago. Ironically, he died of long cancer two years afterwords, but our caring for each other in turn will remain in my heart forever. Keep the love coming!
— averygosfieldDear Mr. Martinez,
I am so sorry that your family has to go through this pain. When I was diagnosed I kept saying that I would do whatever I had to as long as it was not my child. It turns out my mother was saying the same thing. Unfortunately we are not given that choice.
Be there for your daughter. Keep things as normal as you possibly can for her. Get online and find some message boards for the cancer that she has, for caregivers and more. There is a wonderful web site called LotsaHelpingHands.org that you can use to help her friends and neighbors help both her and you during this difficult time.
She is fortunate to have you and her family and I wish you both a smooth road through this journey.
— AftercancerKate http://aftercancernowwhat.blogspot.com
I cried when I read today’s posting - but to be honest, I cried for myself not for you or for Cindy/Sarah. You see, my own father would never write or say anything so loving to me and I was jealous of the loving bond you share.
I can’t offer a story about cancer survival, but I can offer a thought that I find encouraging - but it has to do with God, so I hope I don’t offend you if this clashes with your beliefs.
My parents treated me very badly when I was a child, and one day a therapist mentioned God to me. I wondered, did God just sit back and watch as I endured verbal, emotional, and other kinds of abuse? “No” he said, “God was holding your soul in the palm of his hand - because that is the true essence of who you are. He always protected your soul - even as your body was in pain.”
So now I say to you and to Cindy, keep that visual in your heart, focus on it during the times of pain and struggle - it may not release you from the immediate pain, but it helps to know that it is transitory and it will eventually end. The physical suffering that you may be enduring is difficult, but know that your essence, your soul - is in the hands of your heavenly Father and it sounds as though it is also being protected by your earthly father.
May you find encouragement and strength fromone another!
— sh522Dear Al & Cindy,
My heart goes out to you & your family–but you don’t need sympathy, you need courage & hope.
Everyone’s cancer & everyone’s body is different, but in June when my mother-in-law was diagnosed with ovarian cancer we all thought it was the end of the line.
She only agreed to surgery because her symptoms were intolerable. And surgery wasn’t even going to be possible if chemo couldn’t shrink her tumor enough to take the high risk out of the surgery.
Long story short–the chemo far surpassed her surgeon’s expectations for shrinking the tumor & even though the pathology had showed her cancer to be ovarian, it wasn’t.
It was a rare form of cancer–but it was the primary site –and her prognosis is much much better than expected. You just never know! Had she not gone to an ace in the field of gynecologic oncology (& she had to travel to do this), she’d have given up & been in hospice now.
I’m 100% for traditional medicine, but you owe it yourself to make sure Cindy does all she can to really nourish her body & mind through her chemo.
I’m not speaking from personal experience, but I would encourage Cindy to at least read Kris Carr’s story (she has a rare form of untreatable liver cancer & is alive & well), as well as Shelley Abegg’s story. These are anecdotal, to be sure–but you want to pull out all the stops here!
Cindy is my generation–1 year older than I am. After I read about Kris & Shelley, I knew their route would be a route I’d seriously explore for myself & my family–right along with traditional medicine–should cancer come our way. In many ways, it common sense. I’d also buy a copy of Dr. David Servan-Schreiber’s book.
You’ll find links to both Shelley & Kris’ stories at this link:
http://www.happyhealthylonglife.com/happy_healthy_long_life/2008/11/cancer-regression.html
Again–stay strong–accept all help from family & friends–give it your best try. You just never know!
My prayers to you!
— The Healthy Librarian1st let me say I never respond to these things, but something in your request moved me to do so. I am a 14 year breast cancer survivor, and a better person for having had it. And if I learned anything at all - it’s that cancer is not the enemy, it can be a friend, a friend bringing gifts. Gifts like understanding the value of loving relationships, of special time together, of cracking open your fears to find the space to be present for one another, expanding your compassion and perspective, so a reordering of priorities can happen - teaching us all what is truly important. It’s so easy to want to fight, isn’t it? It’s what we’re all taught to do. But rather than soldiers of war, consider a ‘peace on cancer’. Nothing heals in the act of battle. Only in love can healing happen. So tell her to lean into it with love and patience for herself and for her process, with a gentle heart that allows her healing to begin.
— Anne AlwellI was treated for seven years straight for Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. I had a Bone Marrow Transplant using my own marrow, which ultimately did not give me a cure. However, my Doctor treated me in such a manner, that when an innovative treatment came along, I was able to have it. So here I am 15 years post diagnosis still alive and functioning, after hearing I might only have six months to live after my transplant failed. Hope and a positive outlook go far in helping the Doctors help you.
— Deirdre Prestondear al,
— STEPHANIEfirst, let me say i’m sorry to know your daughter has cancer.
i was born in 1959 and my dad was a sailor stationed in cuba. in 2003 at age 43, i was diagnosed with stage 4 non-hodgkins lymphoma. i was told the average person in my conditions would live 3-7 years. that was 5 years ago.
my cancer is not in remission and i’ve been in and out of treatments and trials to the point that i’m tired of being reminded, by hospital visits, that i have this disease.
my mom and dad are divorced, but each took turns caring for me when i went through my intitial chemo treatments.
i’ve never seen them shed a tear, although i’m sure in private moments they may have. my dad lost his younger brother to cancer a few years before my own diagnosis.
i soldier on. i work, i play. my attitude about life has certainly changed. most days are good, and when this crap gets me down, i pretty much keep it to myself. many comment on my positive attitude about my fight, but i don’t know what else one would do. just lay down for this cancer monster to roll over you? prayer has been the most fortifying. whatever you may believe in, pray to it. pray for strength, for guidance, for the best outcome, for mercy and i guess, pray for the ability to let go, should it come to that.
you have my prayers, al, for you and your daughter and your family. be blessed.
I read this post earlier today, and I’ve been thinking about it – and about Cindy/Sarah – ever since. I would like to share my husband Tim’s story of cancer. In 1990, at the age of 40, Tim was diagnosed with a very serious, cancerous brain tumor. It was, to quote his doctor, “the size of an orange.” We were in shock as we made our tour of neurosurgeons; we finally chose one. Then, Tim did the usual — radiation and chemotherapy. Somehow, probably because of Tim’s great attitude, he continued to survive. But the side effects of the treatments really began to take their toll.
I think the most important thing I can tell you and Cindy, is that, even though the doctors may say there isn’t much to do — beyond what they themselves have recommended — I believe there really is. Cindy can make sure that the foods she eats are nutritious, and not filled with empty calories – especially sugar. And she might consider consulting a nutritionist. We consulted a terrific one who, we heard, had wonderful results with cancer patients. We were very impressed, and felt that we owed Tim’s long survival, in large part, to her advice.
Tim’s doctors never asked what we were doing – or what he was taking – in addition to what they themselves recommended. And once, when Tim had already survived several years beyond his initial prognosis, Tim did try to tell his neurosurgeon about his diet and his vitamins. But his doctor really wasn’t interested.
Tim died in 2005, fifteen years after his initial diagnosis. In that time, he only had one recurrence of his tumor. But we felt that we had several “extra” years, because we didn’t just rely on his doctors’ “orders.”
So, my advice to you – and to Cindy – is to do lots of your own research. Go online; talk with people you know who have lived longer than their doctors “have given” them. There really are lots of things you can do.
Oh, and one last thing: Enjoy every single day. That’s something Tim and I learned to do when he got sick, and we ended up having several really great years together!
Julia Schopick
— Julia Schopickhttp://www.HonestMedicine.com
Al, on the off chance that you are reading comments on Tara’s wonderful blog, and remember me from my brief sojourn at the Los Angeles Times in the late 1990s, I wanted to send you and your familiy my prayers. What brought me to Los Angeles was a beloved colleague, Bob Reinhold, who had joined the LAT editorial board and shortly thereafter was diagnosed with the most lethal form of brain cancer. He never had a chance but was valient, good-humored and a model of grace under pressure, as he had been throughout his distinguished career. Our colleagues there, who barely knew us, and our colleagues here, who knew us well, were unfailing in their kindness. And while his story did not have a happy ending it was a rich time in so many ways, testing him (and me) in ways we would never have wished for but tried very hard to put to good use and sometimes even enjoy. Your daughter sounds up to this terrible challenge and blessed with wonderful parents, siblings and friends. The outcome, I know, is all that matters. But I also wish for all of you a good journey, and there is such a thing, that the entire family — and most of all Cindy — will carry as a blessing for years and years to come. —–jane gross
— Jane Grossasdfasd fasdf asdf
— Anonymoushttp://asasasdasdasdgds.com/
I’ve traipsed my cancer laden self throughout the U.S. recording dozens of conversations with young adult cancer patients. Superlatives fly about the toughest, hardest, scariest, worst, and even best part of cancer. I heard repeatedly that telling your mom or dad you have cancer is THE worst part of the disease. I waited a day to tell my parents when I was diagnosed at 27. Another woman waited three days. Another waited three years, doing the whole rigmarole of cancer incognito.
It is not the natural order of things for a parent to face the mortality of a child. It forces everyone to feel vulnerable, and unprotected by way we thought the world was supposed to work. And while that can feel horrible and scary, there is a large nugget of humility in there too: ‘Oh, so the world doesn’t work the way I thought it did?’ I’ve lived with cancer for eight years and counting. My depth of strength comes from tasting this humble pie, from admitting that I am vulnerable rather than running from it. From this place, I know I can try to do anything.
http://everythingchangesbook.blogspot.com/
— Kairol Rosenthal“livestrong” as Lance Armstrong places on his ubiquitous yellow bracelets says it all.
You have to live it strong day to day. Read his autobiography. As a US Marine you will appreciate how he overcame the physical side of defeating the disease.
— Helen from HawaiiAlthough I have not been diagnosed with cancer, I have faced it head on through my son and husband. In 1985, our son, who was 8 at the time, was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. I know how you feel: maybe like being hit upside the head with a 2-by-4? With his type of cancer, he was given a 20% chance of surviving 10 years. Well, today, he is 31 and beat the odds. Yes, the going was rough, and he is dealing with some chronic, but manageable, health issues because of the treatment. But he is alive and well and living independently. So, when my husband was diagnosed with a high grade prostate cancer five years ago, it didn’t hit us like it did with our son. Kind of like a “been there, done that” kind of thing. Of course, we took it seriously and he went through surgery, radiation, and now, since it has recurred, he is getting further hormone treatments. However, he is doing well on the treatments and doing pretty much what he wants to do in his retirement. One book that helped when my husband was diagnosed was Lance Armstrong’s book: “It’s Not About the Bike.” My advice is not to look too far ahead. As clichéd as it sounds, taking one day at a time really helps: Just look at getting through that next procedure, or the next doc appointment, or the next treatment, etc. You don’t have to take it all on at once. Hope this helps. So, never give up. There are miracle stories all the time. I really believe that cancer is becoming something that can be treated as a chronic disease, like diabetes, something that you live with but go on living life to the fullest. Love and prayers to you and your special Cindy.
— ConnieMy daughter was almost 3 years old when she was diagnosed with stage 4 Neuroblastoma. When asked, “do any children survive” the oncologist responded “some do”; a correct response given the 80% mortality rate. Cancer is a roller coaster, one minute you are living a normal life with all of the trivial and not so trivial trials and tribulations, and the next you are making life and death decisions on almost a daily basis; zero to light speed in the time it take to order a latte.
You are now “one of them” a sick person or the parent of a sick person, you are treated differently; many friends cannot handle the proximity. When you tell someone you see a visceral, physical reaction, especially if they have children, this is normal. They will tell you how strong you are and how well you have risen to the occasion; you know the truth you are just doing what must be done, you have no other options, bravery has nothing to do with it. 9/11 barely registered with us, we were in chemo, Osama trumped our tragedy; belated condolences New York.
In our case we were lucky, seven years post diagnosis and she is a strong healthy little girl with a moderate hearing loss (platinum based chemotherapy) and thin hair (oh how she pines for pigtails). The cure was miserable but the alternative worse. The real trick is not to give up hope, every case is different, ever person is different, and we are at a tipping point in medicine, stay alive long enough and the cure will come. You must learn to live with the other shoe, it is always waiting in the wings, whispering with every sniffle, bump or pain; it lurks incessantly.
You are allowed to feel sorry for yourself now and again it relives some stress; and when it comes time to get back up, realize that no matter how bad it is you are still lucky because it could be worse, so much worse…even in death. Spend time in an oncology ward (especially a pediatric one) and you will find this to all too true. This is your “snap out of it tool”, use it.
Oh and the rest of you take some time to smell the roses, this thing and many others, come out of the blue and flicks on like a light switch. Life is a beer commercial you only get to go around once and you have no idea how far that is or how long it takes; pause now and again, for some of you will be your last chance. To Al, put one foot in front of the other, keep moving and as always, Semper Fi.
— HilaryI feel for the struggles of cancer patients, but is this blog an appropriate place for this? This kind of thing belongs in support groups and therapy sessions. A health blog should present new cancer research and explore bogus cures and myths about cancer. At the very least give people information about appropriate places to go for cancer support.
— NicoleFrankly I had enough with Dana. Move on.
One of The Surgeon General’s primary purposes is to verbalize the President’s policies. Why wouldn’t you choose a good-looking, telegenic personality? I think he’s a great choice.
— Leslie, Berkeley, CAI’ve had three malignant tumors, treated by surgery, chemo, and radiation. I would advise you to accept your daughter’s feelings, even if she down and defeated, or angry and resentful, as I sometimes did. Don’t expect unwavering bravery and a soldierly demeanor; in fact, forget the military imagery.
Another piece of advice: don’t bring up the subject when she doesn’t. Let her forget about it sometimes.
Was it E.B. White who watched comedies during his treatments? That seems like a good idea.
— carolineI was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer almost 2 years ago. I was also a first time new mom at the time… What was supposed to be the happiest time of my life became one of the scariest time of my life. However, I had the best support you could imagine. My husband did not skip a beat in taking care of our newborn son. My parents came to help me after my surgery and my sister baby sat at any moments notice.
— SheriMy friends made sure I was entertained as well as giving my husband a break. But my doctors made sure I had the best chance of survival. My surgeon told me that he was here to preserve my life so that I can see my son grow up. I had hope in my heart and I have been cancer free for almost 2 years.
Dear Mr. Martinez,
My husband was diagnosed with stage 4 throat cancer. He was 50 years old, overweight and in bad health. He was also very stubborn person and a dreamer. Jon participated in a clinical trial at Beth Israel Hospital, NYC. He had chemo and radiation once a day, every week day for 6 weeks. This was followed by chemo and radiation twice a day for two weeks. The tumors shrank. Then he had a neck dissection and more chemo. He lost his hair and 70 pounds (and this was with a tummy tube for food). My mom and I took care of him. My mom who was 75 at the time went to every doctor visit and treatment. Jon’s brother and sister came out once each for a week.
Jon lived for another 7 years. The first 5 were pretty good. He had a decent quality of life. But he did end up in hospital several times for pneumonia (a consequence of his throat problems). Although he gave up being a chef he came to work at my school and became a school aide. He was very happy to work at school and be part of the community.
The last 2 years, all the bad affects of the cancer treatments caught up. He was in the hospital frequently. He was also diagnosed with Parkinson’s and then had a stroke. After the stroke things got bad. Jon passed away this last September at 57 years old.
The cancer treatment was successful and I know we were both grateful for that. I did not know at the time but the docs did not think he would survive the treatments. I think the important things to know and do when your family member is sick with cancer are
Be diligent and follow all docs directions
Ask lots of questions and be there at the hospital
Infection is your enemy be vigilant (cleanliness and thermometer)
Have a positive attitude
Take one step at a time
Laughter is important (watch funny movies)
Surround yourself with Family and friends
Don’t be afraid to ask for help
My sister in law died from pancreatic cancer two years ago. I hate how cancer has changed my family’s life. I wish yours all the best. I hope your daughter gets better.
— CarolYour daughter is very fortunate to have her strong and loving family behind her as she fights this battle. That kind of support is one more bit of artillery she can bring to the fight!
Like a few others who have posted above, I was not quite so lucky and to be honest, I wish my Dad had been able to offer me that kind of love and support when I got my cancer diagnosis a couple of years ago. He chose not to be involved, which hurt. But I *was* lucky to have a lot of other support - from friends as well as from my husband and my brother - and they helped me get through the rough patches. I am now cancer free and grateful for the lessons I learned through my experience, as trite as they may sound… I don’t take things for granted anymore, savor every day, and treasure the people I love. Yes, even my Dad.
Best of luck to Cindy. There are a lot of us survivors out here - it is a battle that can be won.
— slcMy daughter was 12 years old when doctors told me they had “done everything possible” and that we were out of treatment options. They told me she had only months to live. Today she is 25 and the mother of two children. Never give up–Miracles happen. I’ll keep your daughter and family in my prayers.
— SharonBuy her flowers. Watch TV with her. Take a walk with her. Take some time off from work just to be with her. Do her favorite things with her. Thank God for her. Encourage her. Tell her you are proud of her. Laugh with her. Of course, tell her you love her and hug her. Buy her flowers.
— Linda Carden18 years ago, my 27 year old husband was diagnosed with testicular cancer. We had only been married 2 years at the time. We did not have children and were agonized that we would never be able to have children. Here we are, 18 years later, with 3 teenagers!! My husband is healthy, happy, successful and cancer free. I like to think of cancer, even cancer that returns, as a chronic illness. Cancer is not a death sentence. I read that in a book 18 years ago and I still believe it today–heck, I have the evidence to prove it!! Big hugs to your daughter and to the rest of your family.
— FeliceDear Mr. Martinez,
— Suzanne DavisMy thoughts and prayers are with you and your daughter Cindy.
We too have just received a cancer diagnosis. My boyfriend who is 45 and otherwise in good health was diagnosed with stomach cancer on Jan. 5. We have pledged to each other that we will fight this with everything we have and that we will also have as much fun as possible. We have been watching funny movies and talking to friends a lot. His treatment won’t begin until after he sees the oncologist on Jan. 23, and we are maintaining a positive outlook. The tumor has not yet invaded the wall of the stomach, and there are only 2 lymph nodes involved. He still has a good appetite even though he has stomach pain.
Here in the Boston area where we live, there is some of the best medical care in the world, so we are lucky, although we would travel anywhere else if necessary.
Hang in there and remember (as I keep reminding myself) that new cancer treatments are constantly being discovered. Do not lose hope. God bless you and your daughter.