Riding Into a New Future – A Volunteer’s Perspective
For the first time this year I volunteered for the Connecticut Challenge, a charity bicycle ride for cancer survivors. It was the first time I’d been involved in a philanthropic effort outside of a work or family connection. I’d never considered myself a “cause” person. I’d always maintained people made a difference every day in the way they treated their family, friends and most importantly, the world at large.
But as I’ve gradually become more financially settled, I’ve begun contemplating ways to better utilize my time and resources. Both my parents are cancer survivors. After being diagnosed with uterine cancer, my mother had a complete hysterectomy. Since finishing chemotherapy last summer to eradicate his colon cancer, my father has slowly returned to his robust self. Driving home from my parents’ house this past May I reflected on how far he’d come. I began thinking about doing something to help other people whose families have been afflicted by this unnervingly common disease.
Literally moments later I spotted a Connecticut Challenge sign. As soon as I got home I googled the name and discovered the Connecticut Challenge organization. While I’ve never been much of a runner, I’ve always enjoyed five-to-ten mile jaunts on my road bike. While raising a minimum of $750, (making up the difference if unable to meet the goal), exceeded my ability to participate, I still wanted to volunteer. I registered online and pledged to raise a modest $100. A few weeks later I received my assignment: operating one of several aid stations set up along the 12, 25, 50, 75 and 100 mile routes.
The Connecticut Challenge is unique in its dedication to survivorship, a relatively new medical specialty focusing on optimizing survivors’ post-treatment lives. Proceeds benefit survivorship programs at Yale New Haven Hospital, Stamford Hospital and Saint Vincent’s Medical Center in Bridgeport. In addition to enduring the potential for reoccurrence, many survivors develop ancillary health problems, from heart disease to sexual dysfunction to depression.
In the years since her hysterectomy, my mother has continued to face medical challenges. I remember how wrenching it was to see my father, once famously hearty, become so weak after his colorectal surgery he couldn’t lift a pail of water. My father had always enjoyed putting up our outdoor Christmas decorations, stringing colored lights and positioning our wicker reindeer so it looked like they were kissing noses. During Christmas 2007, however, shortly after his surgery, our outdoor (and many of our indoor) decorations stayed in boxes.
In the spring my father spent the time he’d once enjoyed meticulously landscaping receiving twice-weekly chemotherapy treatments. Despite working full-time, my mother and I tried to visit him as often as possible. I loved meeting his new friends, fellow fighters from varied backgrounds joined in a united front. Several of those people have since passed on. My father, who’s remained blessedly healthy, paid his respects to each one.
In response to my first fundraising email blast, one of my friends asked why they should give money to people who had actually survived. I began talking about some of the residual effects of treatment. “Why should they be depressed?” he said, laughing. “They made it!” It was a very honest reaction. I chuckled back. “Everyone’s experience is different,” I replied simply.
After registering at the Challenge’s headquarters at Greenfield Hill Congregational Church, I loitered briefly by the launch area. A record-breaking number of approximately 500 riders participated this year. It was quite a spectacle seeing the mass of cyclists together right before take-off. Emotion surged in my throat as I watched a young teenager take the podium. I was impressed by their ability to speak with such eloquence to an audience of adults, many of whom would rate public speaking a fear greater than dying. I smiled at the irony.
On the way to my aid station I noticed several signs bearing statistics: one in two men and one in three women will suffer cancer at some point during their lives. I also noticed a lot of inspirational signs (“Never Give Up!”). Handcrafted flags honored everyone from survivors to people battling the disease to those who had lost their fight. I sent a silent prayer to a relative currently battling the illness.
My aid station was on the sweeping grounds of one of the organization’s founding members: Jeff Keith, a survivor. We had plenty of supplies, from first aid kits to bags of ice; Poland Spring water; Gatorade; wheat bread; peanut butter; grape jelly; mixed nuts; M&Ms; pretzels; Fig Newtons; bananas and oranges. Several children joined in making PBJs; later they helped track the identification numbers of the 200 riders who stopped during their 25 and 50 mile treks. We kept busy the whole morning: slicing fruit, preparing fresh sandwiches, refilling snack bowls and beverage coolers. “Thank you for doing this,” we heard over and over. “Thank you for riding,” we responded, equally gracious. The morning was filled with this repetition: Thank you. No, thank you.
The riders remained amazing throughout. One cyclist arrived with a jersey matted with dirt and blood; he had wiped out on a sharp turn a few miles back. There were gashes on his shins and elbows. He refused any kind of treatment. “I only live a short distance from here,” he assured us. Another woman, however, got a deep cut on her calf she allowed me to provide ointment and bandages for. Another fatigued rider asked if we had salt pills (illegal to provide without medical authorization). He had to settle for pretzels and Gatorade. I laughed when another rider confessed he’d accidentally consumed a packet of “butt gel,” mistaking it for an electrolyte substance. I marveled when another man took off his helmet and sweat literally poured out like a flood.
I realized I enjoyed volunteering probably as much as I would riding. Next year’s rider costs are expected to be lower. Most of the reason the cost has been so high is logistical. Only a limited number of cyclists can safely enjoy Greenfield Hills’ narrow roads at one time. Additionally, large numbers couldn’t be properly accommodated on headquarters’ modest grounds. Finally, massive amounts of participants could make overhead costs perilously steep.
Nevertheless, I’m looking forward to Connecticut Challenge becoming more inclusive to survivors and supporters of more modest economic means. I plan to beat the $100 I raised this year. Volunteerism can be habit-forming, and I can’t wait to do it again.
- Larissa Lytwyn, CT Challenge Volunteer, 2009
