My cousin will graduate from the nursing program at Ball State University today. Last night I went to the pinning ceremony and was the first to stand in ovation when the audience was invited to acknowledge the accomplishments of the 2008 baccalaureates. I stood because she is one of the dearest people in my life. I stood because she has overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, and despite all, she has achieved her dream. I stood because she is graduating with honors at the top of her class.

Other than those attending with me, applauding our particular graduate, I don’t know why everyone else stood up when I did. Granted, all of the graduates completed what I understand is a very difficult curriculum, but the program noted each individual graduate’s level of academic achievement — nine of 24 graduated with honors, three of those nine maintained the dean’s list, but only one was graduating at the top of her class.

I looked at each and every beaming face on the stage and wondered which one was graduating at the bottom of the class. How many barely completed the requirements? Who had been on academic probation? Which one was already submitting job applications and didn’t have the competence to care for a sick house plant?

Critical? Yes. Unfair? Maybe, but with valid reasons.

Since 2004 I’ve had innumerable EKGs, EEGs, ultrasounds, and MRIs. I’ve been diagnosed with bronchitis, bi-polar disorder, pleurisy, chronic fatigue, depression, fibromyalgia, panic attacks, acid reflux disease, tachycardia, and even nothing.

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

One day last July I went to see the doctor where I work because my most current diagnosis of acid reflux was bothering me more than usual. After just ten minutes of conversation he called my doctor, ordered an x-ray (the one diagnostic that had never been given even though my doctor had the equipment on site), and released me from work. Two hours later I had cancer and my life changed forever.

I’ve been told that I have had all the typical reactions to this diagnosis. It’s been an emotional roller-coaster ride. Denial, self-pity, anger, and back again. The denial played itself out after nine weeks of radiation and two cycles of chemotherapy. I still have bouts of self pity every now and then. The anger? Well, the anger doesn’t go away. I certainly don’t blame my doctor for my having cancer. I do however blame my doctor for my having a two-inch primary tumor that had metastasized and produced 5 more tumors in the lymph nodes entangled in my spinal cord. Stage 3. I think my anger is well deserved.

Obviously, that was the last time I was in that doctor’s office. I don’t know how many times I sat in that waiting room casually noting the diplomas and certificates on the wall. It never occurred to me to question the significance of those neatly framed 8×10 inch sheets of paper. I never thought to wonder if he graduated at the bottom of his class.

Someone did.

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