Of all the photographs I’ve taken in 2015, this picture sticks with me the most. I feel like I’m on both sides of the lens with this image. I have lived this moment.
In 2010, my wife, Amelia Lincoln, was a patient in the hematology and oncology unit at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center suffering from acute myelogenous leukemia (AML). After two stem cell transplants, she is in good health and back to work.
It was during that time that we heard of the “indoor Prouty,” a celebration for the patients, doctors and nursing staff of the Norris Cotton Cancer Center’s fundraising event held inside One West, the inpatient cancer ward.
This year, as the Prouty approached, I could think of no better way to cover this event than to go right to the people who confront cancer on a daily basis.
It was a difficult but uplifting day. I photographed patients in vulnerable circumstances enjoying a real party and escape from their daily trials. They danced to music played by doctors and cancer survivors. They were able to eat food that deviated from the standard hospital fare. They were able to interact with the staff and fellow patients on a more personal level. They challenged themselves to walk as many laps of the unit as they could muster, with 40 laps equalling a mile.
During the festivities that day in July, I saw a couple who were holding hands and taking slow, measured steps around the hall. A member of the staff took me aside and mentioned I might want to talk with them because the patient, Chris Brown, of Hollis, N.H., had recently completed his first round of chemotherapy for AML. The staffer thought I might be able to share some of my experience with Chris and his wife, Alicia.
Brown had also just had a biopsy to see if any cancerous cells remained in his bone marrow, but being the weekend, the results would not likely come in until Monday. It was a time of serious anxiety for them, waiting to hear whether the harsh treatment had worked.
I introduced myself and gave Alicia my business card. I tried to offer some useful words and offered to talk, if and when they felt like it.
I knew quite well what they were facing, and couldn’t find too much to say. Suddenly, Dr. Elizabeth Bengston broke into the conversation with news for the couple. I watched as they heard that the biopsy was free of cancer.
Usually reserved for a private moment between doctor and patient, it would be overwhelming news even in ordinary circumstances. But there were the Browns, surrounded by onlookers in the hall of One West, wearing colorful, plastic hats, with Alicia still holding my business card, learning the results. It was an emotional moment, for me too.
That first good news that comes after a diagnosis and grueling weeks of treatment is really just a small sign of hope in a long, complicated and agonizing process. I’ve thought of the Browns often, knowing that they could likely face even more trying times as Chris prepared for and received a marrow transplant.
We have exchanged occasional emails, and I’m happy to report that the transplant was successful and Chris is on the path to healing. Alicia says her husband has “returned to the Chris I know and love. Just last weekend, he went on a 9-mile bike ride (6 months to the day of his first chemo treatment and 2 months to the day of his transplant!) and has returned to working out at the gym. Such an important step for a former Ironman athlete!”
I hope to see Chris at next year’s Prouty, knocking down the miles without having to wear a mask.
Still, this image will not likely leave my mind. It crystallizes the point that a photograph is just an instant. It can hint at the suffering that came before and the hope for what will come after, but as time goes on and circumstances change, one picture cannot complete the story.
The Valley News’ three staff photographers and two interns are sharing the stories behind their favorite photographs of the year. More of their favorites can be seen in the Photo Galleries section of this website.
