The strongest person I’ve ever personally known was my sister. When she was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, it was in Stage 4 of 5, she fought it tooth and nail. Through chemotherapy, radiation and a a painful autologous bone marrow transplant (using stem cells from yourself), she kept up a diligence to fight it.
She never missed a day of teaching at the local high school, as she scheduled treatments on Friday afternoons and dealt with the aftereffects over the weekends. When her lovely hair started falling out, she had it all cut off. She bought a wig at Mom’s urging, but gave up wearing it because it was scratchy. Friends knew that she was battling cancer, and the stares of others didn’t bother her.
For five years after the diagnosis, she battled the disease. She lived long enough to attend her eldest daughter’s wedding and her middle daughter’s college graduation, despite the odds. When sis finally passed away, I watched a handful of her friends, as well as a few people she disliked (a fellow teacher, the ex-husband), crumble.
This woman was strong…the strongest person I have ever known.