This document summarizes the essay of the anonymous second place winner of the Andre Sobel Award. The essay describes the loneliness and isolation the author felt while undergoing chemotherapy treatment for cancer. While the physical pain of treatment was difficult, the worst part was feeling forgotten by friends who continued with their lives as normal. The author recalls waiting alone in the hospital, watching friends socialize on social media without including them. They hoped for visits or kind words but received none. More than anything, the author wanted their pre-cancer life and identity back.

1. Y ou A re
S eco nd Place
Wi nner
A Survi vor
2011 el
b
re So
And ard
Aw

2. A bo ut
This
year’s
Second
Place
Winner
of
the
Andre
Sobel
Award
elected
to
remain
anonymous.
We
congratulate
this
winner
and
share
their
essay
within
this
packet.

3. Es say
ALL
PAINS
AREN'T
PHYSICAL
There
are
times
when
the
word
"cancer"
is
just
too
heavy
for
me
to
pronounce;
as
if
saying
it
is
harder
than
living
through
it.
It
seems
like
ages
ago,
and
yet
I
remember
like
it
was
yesterday.
I
don't
like
talking
about
it;
it
hurts
like
hell
to
remember,
even
for
a
moment,
but
I
remember:
I
remember
the
date.
I
remember
the
time.
I
remember
what
I
was
wearing.
I
remember
wanting
to
cry
-­‐
but
being
unable
to
cry
or
afraid
to.
I
remember
it
felt
like
a
dream
-­‐
waiting
and
hoping
I'd
wake
up
and
it
would
be
over.
I
remember
the
unbearable
ache
of
waiting
and
not-­‐knowing
the
evening
after
my
chest
x-­‐ray.
I'll
always
remember
every
moment
of
it.
Most
of
all,
I
remember
the
loneliness.
Maybe
you
might
assume
that
the
worst
part
of
cancer
is
the
pain
of
the
chemotherapy
and
its
many
side
effects.
But
for
me,
the
worst
part
was
the
painful
loneliness.
Because
the
chemotherapy
and
its
side
effects
kept
me
home
or
in
the
hospital
a
lot
of
the
time
I
needed
to
take
a
medical
leave
from
school,
and
that
only
added
to
my
feelings
of
loneliness.
I
not
only
felt
alone,
but
I
felt
isolated
and
forgotten.
Sitting
in
that
empty
hospital
room
I
found
myself
hoping
that
people
would
make
a
special
effort
to
include
me,
or
remind
me
that
I
was
forgotten.
I
even
imagined
that
friends
would
surprise
me
with
gifts,
cards,
or
even
an
impromptu
gathering
-­‐
just
for
me.
But
that
didn't
happen.
My
life
was
in
limbo.
Their
life
was
not.
I
had
all
the
time
in
the
world
to
talk,
they
did
not.

4.
Life
went
on
for
my
friends.
They
still
has
parties
and
sleepovers.
Photos
were
taken
and
posted
on
Facebook.
They
were
still
making
plans,
but
not
with
me.
Because
of
my
absence,
they
assumed
that
I
wouldn't
know
what
they
were
doing,
but
what
they
didn't
know
was
that
I
filled
my
days
trying
to
remain
a
part
of
my
old
life
via
Facebook
and
Twitter,
living
vicariously
through
their
lives.
But
I
wasn't
a
part
of
anything.
The
days
went
by:
Where
is
my
face
in
those
photos?
Where
are
my
invitation
(s)?
Does
anyone
even
miss
me?
Can
you
at
least
pretend
to
include
me?
Can
you
please
not
make
it
so
easy
to
forget
me?
I'm
still
here
damn
it!
Please
don't
give
up
on
me!
Don't
you
know
that
you
are
my
lifeline,
my
lifeline
to
live?
Why
are
you
cutting
it?
All
I
wanted
was
for
someone
to
say
that
I
was
beautiful
and
that
nothing
was
wrong
with
me.
Day
after
day,
all
I
hoped
for
was
for
the
chemo
to
come
to
an
end,
but
when
it
ended,
I
hated
that
it
would
start
again.
And
I
just
did
not
want
to
start
again.
All
I
wanted
was
my
old
life
back;
I
wanted
to
pick
up
where
I
left
off.
But
I
couldn't
because
I
wasn't
the
same
girl.
I
was
a
slower,
weaker
version
of
myself
-­‐
more
exposed.
I
didn't
know
what
was
worse:
sitting
at
home
fearing
that
I
was
forgotten,
or
returning
to
school
and
fearing
that
I
would
be
the
topic
of
whispers
and
stares.
In
my
mind
I
thought
I
knew
what
they
were
thinking
-­‐
"Is
that
her
real
hair?"
"Boy,
that's
a
nice
wig
-­‐
I
wonder
how
much
that
cost?"
"Why
does
she
get
to
be
late?"
"And
I
thought
she
was
all
better
-­‐
why
is
she
still
getting
"special
attention?"
It
was
hard
to
stop
holding
on
to
what
I
no
longer
had.
And
even
harder
to
pick
up
the
pieces
of
my
"shattered
life"
and
start
to
rebuild,
one
piece
at
a
time,
starting
at
the
center
of
it
all
-­‐
starting
with
me.
Starting
with
my
perceptions.
It
wasn't
until
after
my
friend
Mariah
shared
a
paper
she
wrote
about
the
day
I
told
her
I
had
cancer,
that
I
realized
that
my
"cancer"
was
deeply
affecting
not
only
me,
but
those
who
love
me.
I
ask
why
you
weren't
in
school.
My
mom
is
in
the
seat
next
to
me,
waving
her
hands
into
little
waves,
mountains,
telling
me
to
hurry.
The
ice
cream
in
the
backseat
is
melting-­‐we
need
to
hurry,
so
you
need
to
hurry
too.
You
are
a
pain,
slowly
waning,
sucking
away
from
me.
The
song
on
the
radio
muffles
your
voice,
and
the
arms
waving,
and
the
ice
cream
melting
in
the
back
seat,
and
the
dogs
barking
are

5.
making
it
very
hard
for
me
to
hear
you.
I
want
you
to
spit
it
out,
because
I
am
shaking,
spinning
out
of
control.
I
ask
you
if
you
are
sick.
I
am
convinced,
because
you
skipped
the
math
test
on
Thursday.
Bitter
misery
of
jealously.
The
painful,
painful
irony.
You
whisper
my
name,
tell
me
to
stop
joking.
Why
are
you
talking
so
softly?
You
are
making
me
angry
because
I
can't
hear
you
above
the
barking
dog
and
the
song
on
the
radio.
I
tell
you
to
speak
up,
but
you
don't.
You
just
break
up
your
syllables-­‐
your
voice
is
broken.
And
my
voice
is
about
to
break
too.
You
breathe
in,
inhale
softly,
and
I
swear
you
have
stolen
my
air
too.
You
tell
me
you
have
cancer.
Mariah's
paper
was
the
jolt
to
my
emotional
recovery.
Before
then
it
was
impossible
for
me
to
see
past
myself
to
see
that
this
"cancer"
wasn't
just
about
me.
"My"
cancer
was
affecting
everyone.
I
can
tell
you
that
cancer
disrupts
a
lot
of
your
relationships.
Your
friends
won't
know
what
to
say
or
do,
but
you
should
not
take
that
personally
even
though
your
heart
is
broken.
You'll
cry
for
no
particular
reason,
and
it
will
make
people
uncomfortable.
Some
friends
will
rise
to
the
occasion,
others
will
fall.
You
will
fight
with
your
best
friend,
just
because.
And
the
one
person
that
you
imagined
would
never
let
you
down
probably
will.
You'll
learn
that
everyone
has
to
learn
how
to
recover
from
it.
There's
no
one-­‐size
fits
all
when
it
comes
to
recovering
from
cancer,
because
it's
not
just
recovering
from
the
disease.
There
are
the
things
that
I
will
remember,
and
those
that
I
want
to
forget.
There
are
the
piteous
feelings
I
harbored,
and
yes,
I
sometimes
still
succumb
to.
There
are
the
relationships
to
be
mended,
or
their
loss
accepted.
There's
no
right
or
wrong
when
it
comes
to
healing.
I
know
now
that
we
are
all
healing
and
helping
each
other
to
heal.
There
are
so
many,
many
aspects
to
cancer.
I
realize
that
it's
not
just
about
me.
I'm
not
sure
when
my
healing
-­‐
our
healing
-­‐
will
end.
It's
a
"work
in
process."
Truth
be
told
though,
today
I
am
less
fragmented
and
more
composed
that
I've
been
in
months.
I
am
growing
stronger
every
day.
We
are
all
growing
stronger
in
ways
that
I
didn't
even
know
was
possible.
We
are
all
healing.