How do you eat an elephant? A question that is passed through my family. In fact, this question is our inspiration. Its importance isn’t actually the question itself, but more of the context, and it all starts with my mom. My mom is the strongest person I know. She is the inspiration to my life.

When I was about two years old my mom was diagnosed with stage III breast cancer. My mom had two young children and now had to deal with breast cancer, which can lead to death. At that time, I was too young to understand what was wrong and what was happening to her. Growing up, I never really thought about my mom's cancer because nobody talked about it. She didn’t act like she had cancer, she was just my mom. She went to work every day. She came home and took care of my brother and me. She acted just like everyone else. Five years passed by and she was declared cancer free. It was almost as if she never had cancer in the first place. If my parents never told me of her cancer, I would have never known. Nobody in my family talked about it and now that it was gone, we didn’t need to. Why bring up something from the past?

A few years of this blissful ignorance passed until I was about ten. That spring, we learned that my mom had a tumor in her hip; this newfound tumor was eating the ball of her hip from the inside out. Alarmed by the tumor, the doctors performed a bone marrow biopsy, which later revealed it was cancerous. My mom's cancer came back and was now characterized as stage IV. Stage IV cancer is when the cancer has spread throughout the body and into other organs. Once in other organs, the cancer cannot be cured. This time I understood what cancer was. I heard of all the ghastly stories and outcomes. I was scared; no, I was terrified. I was afraid that my family wouldn’t be the same. I was afraid that my life would be torn apart. But most importantly, I was afraid for my mom. Will she be okay? Will she fall apart? Will she lose herself? But, in spite of my fears, my mom continued on with life, unfaltering. She continued on every day just like she did before. She was my mom. Nothing changed. She was so strong. She was unbreakable.

In August of that year, I went with my mom to the hospital to get her radiation treatment along with Evan, my brother. I remember being stuck in a waiting room, not knowing where my mom was, only that they took her to one of the many treatment rooms. The pictures on the wall seemed to glare at me. The smell of the antiseptics insulted my nose, making it burn. I remember how it seemed as if the hospital was dead. The waiting room was silent as if holding its breath. Suddenly, the eerie silence was disturbed by doctors dashing past us in the direction that my mom was taken in. The intercom blared to life, asking for doctors to come down. I was terrified. I prayed that it was nothing. I prayed that my mom would walk out to us and that she was okay, but deep down I knew that was not the case. I could feel bile rising in my throat and tears stinging my eyes. I wanted to scream at the doctors and beg them to tell me what was going on. Instead, I stayed quiet and waited. The dread felt like it was going to suffocate me, but I waited. My brother sat next to me. He didn’t say anything either but I knew he was worried. I never saw my brother so silent in all my life. I was terrified. Soon after a doctor approached us and kneeled to our level. I could see the uncertainty and concern resting in his eyes.
   

 “Are you Mindy's kids,” he asked. My brother nodded, while I sat in silence. “I am afraid that I need you to come with me. During your mom's radiation treatment something happened and we are going to need to check it out.”
    

All that escaped my mouth was a measly okay as the doctor stood and waited for us to follow him. I felt like he was leading us through a labyrinth. Every hall looked the exact same, with their dull pictures and unnaturally bright lights. He took us into a room with my mom laying on a table and doctors practically lining the walls. My mom looked at us and told us she was going to be all right. She just had something wrong that the doctors were going to inspect. The doctors moved her to a gurney and rolled her out of the room asking us to follow them. We walked down the halls throughout the hospital until we arrived at another room. The room was the same as the halls. Boring, dull wallpaper with pictures sagging from it with two chairs nestled on one side. The place seemed barren and decaying. The doctor placed the gurney in the room and hooked my mom up to many machines. After the nurses alleviated my mother’s aches and pain, they left us. I finally settled in one of the chairs sitting against the wall closest to the door, my brother in the other. Nobody talked, we all just sat there. I think I was afraid that if I asked questions or even spoke it would make the situation too real. At the moment, I would have done anything to make this reality just a mere nightmare that I could wake up from.

 The doctors came back only a short while from when they left. This time they wheeled my mom out of the room and told us that they had to run some tests and scans. The only thing left in the room was the dull walls, two cheap hospital chairs, my brother and I. I remember how the hospital was an eternal winter. I thought that I would freeze right in the chair where I was sitting. My brother was silent. I was silent too. It felt like the whole world was silent. I don’t know how long it was, but it felt like days when my dad came to retrieve us. We didn’t even get to see my mom. On the way home, my dad was silent. Nobody uttered a word, it was like a silent contract. The world was silent and I was silent. My dad dropped my brother and I off at home and went back to the hospital to be with my mom. Though, by the time he got there they already took her into surgery. My brother and I were at home for about an hour before my aunt and grandparents arrived from Cleveland. Still, with my family here and word that my mom would be all right, it felt like the world was silent.

That day in the radiation room my mom’s hip had broken. They took her into surgery and gave her a partial hip replacement. Two days later my grandma took me to the hospital to visit my mom. When I got there, my mom was sitting in bed ranting to a nurse. She saw my grandma and I and called us into her room. Right away she was talking to my grandma and it finally felt like the world was loud again. I could hear everything. From the commotion of nurses and patients in the brightly lit halls to my own heartbeat. My mom asked us questions and talked to us like any other day. She talked about the nurses and the legendary chocolate ice cream they stash in the cafeteria fridges. It was like nothing happened. I could feel the dread escape from my body and leave only relief in its stead. It was like breathing for the first time after holding your breath.

By the next day when I went to visit my mom, she was already walking down the hall, with the escort of a nurse, of course. But when I saw her, I didn’t see the pain that she went through I only saw the strength. She continued with a different treatment and still is fighting cancer to this day. She continues on each day never faltering through all the pain and hardships she has to overcome. Throughout Stage III cancer, she was strong. Throughout the challenges with the tumor in her hip, she was strong. Even in her fight against Stage IV cancer to this very day, she is strong. My mom taught me that real strength is measured by how you overcome the hurdles in your life and has constantly reminded me of that strength throughout my life.

The origin of the infamous question, how do you eat an elephant, is answered through my mom. She was asked this question in a time of uncertainty and fear of what to do next. The answer is to eat one bite at a time. To eat an elephant you have to eat one bite at a time. When you have a challenge in your life, you take it one bite at a time. So when I feel overwhelmed, my mom is always there reminding me to work hard and take one bite at a time. My mom inspires me to try and be the best version of myself. What inspires you?