Cervivor Ambassador

Erica is not physically here, but she is entirely present in the very fiber of what we do at Cervivor

Today marks what should have been Cervivor Ambassador Erica Frazier Stum’s 35th birthday. 

She died December 27th, 2018 from cervical cancer. Yet her passion, her fight, and her spirit live on in Cervivor. Her zest for life, and her never backing down when things get tough, live on in me and in so many of us in the Cervivor community. 

Erica told me many times that she did not believe in an afterlife. She believed in THIS life. Even when she was losing hers. Even when cancer was taking her away from us bit by bit, she was living her life and sharing her story. In fact, she created for herself a “living life list” – deliberately not calling it a “bucket list” but rather an active, living and breathing list of experiences she wanted to have and things she wanted to do in what she knew would be a final chapter in her young life.

She did not get to complete all of the items on her living life list. But in me, in you and in Cervivor, her work continues. Her story, her heart and her passion are in the very fiber of what we do at Cervivor each time we support each other, each time we educate, and each time we share our stories. For me, Erica is not physically here…but she is entirely present.

I wrote Erica a birthday letter today and decided to share it with our Cervivor community. Those of you who knew her may share in my thoughts and reflections. Those who are  dealing with cervical cancer or its aftermath can, I hope, take comfort in her story. Those of you who have lost a loved one can I hope share in the appreciation that our loved ones are still with us, even when they are gone. 

Erica would not like the use of terms like “battle” and “lost.” She would not tell you that she was a “fighter.” In her mind, she was simply a “life liver.” She lived with purpose and meaning and passion. ” I tried to do my best to honor her in that way. This is for you, Erica.

Dear Erica,

I remember meeting you. We were in touch via email at first. You were preparing to head to our Cervivor School in San Diego in September 2015. You were sick. I told you not to come, as I was concerned about you getting on a plane. You came anyway. You couldn’t stay away – despite or because of everything, you wanted to more directly engage in our work and our mission. You challenged me. You challenged yourself. You challenged the world. And you changed it. By the end of 2016, you’d attended four Cervivor Schools – to not only keep honing your own advocacy and story-sharing skills, but to serve as a mentor to other Cervivors. In the midst of  dealing with this disease, you became our Lead Cervivor Ambassador. You became one of our most dedicated patient advocates. 

While fighting to end cervical cancer, you were losing your life to it. Yet, even when your diagnosis was clear that the cancer was terminal, you shared, you educated and you advocated. You did this from home, from your hospital bed and then ultimately, from your hospice bed. In your life and in death, you are a testament to why our work matters.

Erica, you would be so proud of Cervivor and all of the work we are doing as a community. Despite this pandemic, we’ve creatively found new ways to connect, educate and support each other. (You would have been all over the virtual scavenger hunts!) You would be so proud of your family. Your husband JR has shared  your story and motivated so many to get the HPV vaccine for themselves and their children. Your parents and siblings remain actively engaged with us, hosting fundraisers and  donning teal and white on Tuesdays then sharing posts on social media to inspire and educate. Your closest friends have shown up in so many ways. Gretchen even got the HPV vaccine. And, yes, they are on message! Mallory makes sure of that. And Wylee. Your son. He’s so big now. You would be so proud. 

Erica, you would be devastated to know that cervical cancer still takes its toll. That women here in the U.S. and around the world are still losing their fertility – and their lives – to this entirely preventable cancer. I know you would be angry as hell. And I know that frustration would fuel you to action. I know you would remind all of us to keep going, and keep educating, sharing and advocating and never give up, no matter how sick and tired (literally and figuratively) we might be. 

You’d be proud of our recent Cervivor School graduates, our Cervivor Ambassadors, our story-sharers, and the members of our online communities who post and share and support in an ongoing conversation that serves as a lifeline for so many of us. There is so much of you in each of them. In all of us.

You are not physically here, but your story, your words, and your message is still comforting people, educating people, changing hearts and saving lives. We miss you.

I miss you. 

Join me in honoring Erica today by creating – or adding to – your own living life list. She’d want us to live fully, embrace new experiences, tackle challenges, support each other, and plug into our skills and passions to end cervical cancer.

Happy Birthday, Erica. 

xo Tamika 

Deploying Cancer Coping Strategies During the COVID-19 Crisis

Everyone is experiencing the COVID-19 global health crisis in a different way. 

Healthcare professionals are experiencing the tragedy from the front lines. Working parents are experiencing the hardships of balancing a conference call with a screaming toddler. Women are experiencing childbirth without a partner present to support them. Engaged couples are experiencing the heartache of cancelling “the big day.” Children of elderly parents in nursing homes are experiencing the anxiety of getting the dreaded call their parent has become infected. People are experiencing death, and their loved ones are experiencing the inability to properly mourn them. The experiences go on and on, and they will be forever ingrained in our memories.  

What is not unique to anyone’s experience right now is that we are all feeling elevated levels of anxiety, sadness, and anger due to our inability to know what will happen to ourselves or our loved ones. We lack control. We lack autonomy over our own health as it’s in the hands of others. We lack real social connection and the ability to spend time with who we want, doing things we like to do. 

My husband Matt and I on a walk in the woods to distance ourselves from others and enjoy nature.

And this, is what it’s like to battle cancer.  

For some cancer survivors like myself, this unprecedented crisis has conjured up the same emotions we experienced during our treatment. Emotions that took a really long time to heal from. After finally feeling back in control of my own health, it’s gone. I am confronted once again with the notion that at any minute my health could take a drastic turn and I’m back to the all too familiar feeling of intense vulnerability. Of isolation. Of anxiety. Of sadness. And of anger. The foundation is being rocked again. The foundation I worked so damn hard to build back. 

These emotions extend to my experience as a caretaker. Throughout the ordeal of my husband’s kidney transplant in 2018, I dealt with the terrifying notion that he could be taken from me. And because the transplant medications suppress his immune system, Matt is in the “high risk” category for this virus. His chances of survival are less than most if he contracts it. This has caused us to be overly cautious about bringing the virus into our home. We closed up shop pretty immediately, and jumped into our all too familiar bubble at home; sidelined once again from the world due to health concerns. Soon after, (most of) the rest of the country joined. 

Wednesday night virtual hangouts with my best friends.

And yet, as it was when we were both sick and felt the world crashing down upon us, we are humbled by the fact that others are struggling far more than we are. We are safe. We are (currently) healthy. We have food and shelter. We have each other, and by phone call, text, or virtual hangout, we have an amazing support network. We know we can get through anything. And maybe even enjoy ourselves while doing it. 

You see, caretakers and patients are made of steel. We have already weathered these intense storms, and we continue standing. We know how important self-care is. We know how important it is keep our bodies strong ready to face whatever there is to come. This means eating well, meditating, exercising, whatever it takes. We also have the superpower of being truly vulnerable which allows us to deeply connect with others around us and call them to say “I’m not ok, I just need to cry.” And cry I have. 

My hope is that anyone reading this can also deploy these coping strategies. There is strength in self-care and vulnerability. Believe me.  

My virtual yoga class with my favorite yogi.

To my fellow cancer patients and survivors – I know how scary this is. How unfair is it that our already fragile physical and mental health is being put to the test again? Very. But, remember that we are insanely resilient. We can lead by example here. Don’t forget to breathe, and take care of yourselves. We’ve got this. 

And to all healthcare professionals out there – you continue to be my heroes. Thank you. 

Kate Weissman is an (almost) four year-year Stage 2B cervical cancer survivor and a Cervivor Ambassador serving as an advocate for the cervical cancer community. She also volunteers with the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network, lobbying for the implementation of cancer-related policies that will help patients and their families, and the Alliance for Proton Therapy Access. She lives in Boston, Massachusetts with her husband Matt and fur baby Giada, and is a proud aunt to five nephews and one niece. She is the Vice President of Integrated Project Management at a Public Relations agency, and an avid food enthusiast.