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Paddling to the beat of a different drummer
Originally published in the November 11, 2004 issue of The Post and Courier
By Bryce Donovan Of The Post and Courier Staff

Hitting the drum every second or so, I sit at the front of "Jancin," a 48-foot wooden boat that glides effortlessly along the Ashley River.

My job is simple: to keep the rhythm. So I beat the drum.

Sitting in front of me are 20 people, 10 rows of two, paddling their hearts out. Some are men. Some are women. Some are old. Some are young. Different people from different worlds with one thing in common: cancer.

For the past year and a half, Dragon Boat Charleston, a program sponsored by the Medical University of South Carolina's Hollings Cancer Center, has brought cancer survivors from across the Lowcountry together. Here on the Ashley River they learn firsthand that with the help and strength of one another, nothing is impossible.

"You can't move that boat by yourself," program coordinator Sterling Hannah says. "But you, sitting with 19 other paddlers can. Just like cancer, you can't do it alone."

The survivors' goal is to compete in the U.S. Nationals in June 2005.

For me, just being invited on their boat is an honor and I'm not about to mess it up. So I focus on beating the drum.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

It all started with a phone call from Janice Fetter. Though she doesn't have cancer, she's heavily involved with the team. She suggested I come on board as a coxswain. A coxswain, aside from being a word that makes me and every other fourth-grader giggle, is the person responsible for keeping the rowers in time. The drum beat not only helps the paddlers work in unison, but it's the symbolic heartbeat of the dragon. In a sense, it's the collective heartbeat of the paddlers.

"But if your rhythm is off, it will affect everybody," Fetter explained (no pressure). So while simple, the job is very important. But I have to admit it's kind of tough to just sit there, enjoying the crisp air, taking in the view, while a bunch of cancer survivors do all the work.

Michelle Bateman, who is sitting on the third row to my right, doesn't make eye contact. She just listens for my beat and strokes with her paddle. I thump. She strokes. The last thing she's thinking about is her cancer.

Later she'll describe the moment when doctors told her she had a brain tumor.

"Time stops. I was in shock. I didn't know what to ask. I did not have my wits about me. I couldn't drive I was so shaken up. It's surreal ... you're like, 'I'm watching a movie. This is not happening to me,' " she says.

At 36, this Lowcountry lawyer thought her life was over.

"I thought it was a death sentence. I was like, let me see who's going to be at my funeral," she says.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

In all likelihood, the man on the second row, has asked himself similar questions.

Two years ago, Mark Scarborough was diagnosed with colon cancer. At 43, he was much younger than the typical candidate for that type of illness. When the doctors went in to remove his tumor, they found that the cancer had spread throughout his body. Scarborough was given no more than a couple of months to live.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Four months after she contemplated her own funeral, Bateman's cancer is in complete remission. Scarborough has endured two years of treatment, and now that he's almost finished with them, he no longer thinks about the end.

Both joined the Dragon Boat team to get out of the house, but there's a bigger reason why they put their bodies through all this physical exertion day after day.

"There are all kinds of folks who are incredibly helpful and sympathetic and encouraging, but being able to sit next to somebody who has gone through a similar thing, you get that vibe that you're not alone. And that's the kind of camaraderie even your closest friends can't 100 percent understand. Because they just haven't been there," Scarborough says. "I wouldn't wish cancer on anyone. But I have met some of the nicest people doing the Dragon Boat. It's a real family."

"You have this instant bond with these people," Bateman says. "I have a core group here that I consider my family. I can count on them to support me through anything."

There's an old expression that goes: If the cancer doesn't kill you, the cure surely will. Don't tell these people that. They won't buy it for a second.

They'll just laugh and keep following the beat of the drum.

Boom. Boom. Boom.