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A light amid cancer's shadow
By ABBIE VANSICKLE Some people spend their whole lives searching for a place like this. For Heath Robinson, it took only a few decades to find peace. Walking through the woods on a well-worn path toward a small wooden cabin on a recent Friday afternoon, she squinted her blue eyes in the sunlight. "There's energy all around us," she said, sweeping her hands above her head, fingertips spread toward the sky. "Can't you feel it? It's everywhere, and it's what gives me the strength to keep on fighting." Carrying a small black suitcase, the 46-year-old Largo woman unlocked the door to the tiny room that would be her home for the next few days. She noticed a pile of luggage on one of the beds. Her new roommate had arrived already. She picked up a black ball cap, traced with a finger the outline of a pink ribbon stitched onto it and then set it gingerly back on the bed. "We already have a bond," Robinson said. "We are distinguishable to each other by these small signs. We bring ourselves and all of our cancer baggage with us. Then, we get to unload." Here at Camp Living Springs, there's no sentimental pity, no dwelling on doom and gloom. The focus for the 76 men and women who come is to enjoy the time they share. But the camp is for cancer patients, and the disease lurks just below the surface. The camp, just outside Ellenton, provides an escape of sorts for these men and women, a diversion from radiation and chemotherapy. And no matter how hard they try to forget, small reminders of the disease are always there, in the containers of pills and the constant, dull pain. Still, cancer is not what's important, they say. It's the little things that matter. Eating chocolate cheesecake. Doling out relationship advice. Sipping red wine and munching on cheese. With no guarantee about how much time you've got left, they say, you might as well make it all count. Now in its fifth year, the camp, sponsored by the Morton Plant Hospital Auxiliary, is well known by Florida cancer patients. The waiting list is long, and spots are hard to come by. This year, more than 180 people applied. Married and a mother of two, Robinson heard about the camp from one of her doctors. Robinson, who battled alcoholism 18 years ago, had been fighting breast cancer for two years when she heard about the camp. Robinson's husband was supportive as she battled cancer and took on more responsibility around the house. Her sons, ages 13 and 10, understood that their mom was sick and did what they could, even helping her shave her hair before chemotherapy. Her co-workers at Cross Bayou Elementary, where she teaches fifth-grade math, bought her gift certificates for restaurants and cleaning services. Still, she felt something was missing. She needed to talk with people who were going through what she was, she said. She had questions about the things happening to her body from the radiation treatment. She wanted a way to free herself from cancer, a way to be saved. "Somehow, I started getting a break in my treatments last year," Robinson said. "Then I learned the cancer had returned, and I thought to myself, 'I'm not doing this alone again.' "
* * * Sitting in plastic chairs in a circle, many of the campers looked a little anxious and shy. After all, for many of them it was the first time they'd left their families since learning of their cancer diagnoses. There was Alisa Savoretti, a former Las Vegas showgirl who's fighting breast cancer. There was Molly Hoopes, who has breast cancer, leaking heart valves and a son with lymphoma. There was Carrie McClain, a Largo woman who's being treated for nasal cancer. As a second-year camper, Robinson looked calm, smiling radiantly. She knew what a healing experience the weekend would be, she said. She wiped away the tears trickling down her cheek. She wasn't crying, she quickly explained. The radiation treatments had scarred her tear ducts, and she had tubes installed on either side of her nose to keep them open. The tears flow constantly. Camp staff member and entertainer Tony Buchwalter passed out tiny, smooth stones to each person. Robinson picked out a white-and-blue speckled rock because it reminded her of the sky. A missionary, Buchwalter found the stones in a river on a recent trip to the Dominican Republic, he said. So smooth and beautiful, the stones had been tossed around by the current until they lost all of their imperfections, he said. The men and women seated around him were much like the stones. They'd been through a lot of hardships, but it had made them more compassionate and wise, he said. "Each of us has been through a lot in life and through this cancer treatment," Robinson said. "But look how smooth each stone is. They're all unique, like us, but have gone through some of the same things." Robinson said she's felt like a stone being tossed by the current in the past couple of years. She thought she'd fought her biggest battle 18 years ago when she admitted that she was an alcoholic. After joining Alcoholics Anonymous, she said, she met others struggling to stay sober and built a faith in God. One of the people she met, Richard Robinson, became her best friend. They married a few years later. But her cancer diagnosis four years ago shook her comfortable world. She was lost again. * * * In much the same way that AA helped her deal with alcoholism by enabling her to share experiences with others and build a circle of support, Living Springs has helped her cope with cancer. While roasting marshmallows that Friday night around a campfire that lit up the dark circle of benches, many of the campers relived their childhoods. Singing Bingo and Old MacDonald, they clapped their hands, giggling. The mood turned serious as they crooned Danny Boy and patriotic songs. A group of campers sat close to the fire, making s'mores and talking quietly about the chilly night air and meteor showers. Though cancer was never mentioned, it crept into even this peaceful moment. A woman had to be driven back to the main camp because her leg hurt too much to walk. Former Morton Plant Hospital Auxiliary president and Camp Living Springs chairwoman Atala Purdy said that providing an escape from the disease for a few days is one of the most important missions of the camp. Because of its unique approach -- the camp is free to participants and open only to adults -- Living Springs has won national service awards from the American Society for Directors of Volunteer Services and the President of the United States' Daily Point of Light program. "We see an amazing difference between people when they first come to camp and when they leave," Purdy said. "Here they're just uplifted. Here they get lots of hugs and some courage." Robinson said the people she met at the camp last year have become an important part of what she calls her circle of support. But the circle just got smaller. Karen Ferguson was in the camp last fall. She lost her fight with cancer on Sept. 11, 2002. Robinson and her friends decided the best way to remember Ferguson was at Living Springs. Making a wreath from Spanish moss and sticks at the camp, they attached pink flowers to the arrangement and tied on a pink balloon. "Karen Ferguson, 9/11/02, our friend," it read. After a quick party, the friends headed out to the boat dock with the wreath and a bottle of wine. Glasses raised, they gently tossed the wreath into the lake and shouted goodbyes to their friend. "We're in this together, aren't we guys?" Robinson asked and shouted, "One for all and all for one!" The light atmosphere had returned by Sunday's closing ceremonies. As each camper's name was called, he or she received a small brown teddy bear. After some singing, the campers began to rise and hug each other. "I've danced here more than I've danced in five years," said McClain. "This has made me believe I can get out of my house and do what I want." As lunch ended and family members began to arrive, Robinson and her friends linked arms outside, standing in a circle. She talked about the group's plans for reunions as the camp came to a close. She'd gained strength and courage from the weekend, she said. She knew she would need that courage the following Monday, when she received her latest test results from her doctor. As notes from a Kenny Rogers version of I Will Remember You drifted into the air, she turned back before heading out to the bus. "We all climbed our mountains this weekend," she said. "They may not be the hills of Africa or anything too exotic, but we had a relaxing, inspiring time." "Whoop!" she shouted, throwing her hands into the air and smiling as she walked to the bus that would take her home. * * * On Wednesday night, Heath Robinson and her husband hurriedly wrapped their son's birthday presents. "We need to finish this up soon," she said, trying to stretch the green gift paper over a package. "The boys will be done with karate practice in a few minutes." "Okay, baby," her husband said. He took away the boxes, grabbed the car keys and raced out the door. She let out a sigh, sinking into a worn recliner. Camp was over, and Robinson had been thrown back into her life. For the moment, all was quiet. Scented candles added a soft light to the ranch-style home. A framed quotation on the wall read, "Home is where you build your memories." Then, she spoke. "The cancer is back," she said. "It's in my back, my shoulders and my esophagus. My medication isn't working. I'm beginning a new round of treatments tomorrow." She said she's grateful to God and believes that he led her to the camp to help her prepare for the treatments. She said she's not sure what the future holds but is ready for whatever happens. "Now that camp is over, I'm on my own again, but I can do this," she said. "Each of us at that camp lives with cancer day in and day out. To forget about cancer for a while was such a blessing."
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