Let me tell you about Diana.

She was warm and welcoming. She smiled endlessly. She laughed and joked constantly. I met her at her very first chemotherapy session. She never once complained about her disease or treatment. She was always with her teenage son. He would bring his PlayStation console to the hospital while she received her infusions, and they would play video games (when she was not sleeping) to pass the time.

We built up a rapport. I would see her on Fridays. She would always comment about how she felt bad for taking up my time, but I enjoyed spending time with her.

I brought her wigs to try on during her treatment. She found one she liked, and later gave me a beautiful thank you card which I still have.

Today I found out she has passed away.

I instantly felt my stomach tense up and a feeling build in my chest.

The tears come and I have no control over them.

I do not have to ask; I know instantly how she died – metastatic cancer.

In the two years I have been a hospital volunteer, I have lost three patients, two of whom I knew were metastatic, all of whom I had considered friends.

We would see each other weekly. We got to a point that we would discuss everything and anything unrelated to cancer.

Where do you buy makeup?

Have you ever been to Colorado?

What is your daughter studying in college?

Did you watch that new movie that came out?

What new restaurant did you try last weekend?

We discovered we were familiar with the same parts of town, we had friends that worked together, or we had grown up eating at the same restaurants.

It did not matter that we were not the same age or had different backgrounds. We would all experience life after a cancer diagnosis and it bonded us.

Anytime I found out Colleen had been admitted to the emergency room, I would find her family and visit. When I found out Billy would be having Thanksgiving dinner at a local restaurant without his daughter, I surprised him and shared a piece of pie with him. And when I found out Diana was unhappy with her wig and did not know what to do, I brought a big bag of them for her to try on and find one she liked.

I did not do these things to be recognized. I did not do them to be praised. I did them because I cared for these people. I hope that in the short time we knew each other, they enjoyed our friendship as much as I did.

I worry every day for my metastatic sisters.

I worry for my friend Ty whose brain Mets has made her vision difficult.

I worry when I do not hear from her.

I worry about my friend Dee and how she is doing from having to switch to a new protocol because of progression.

But what can I do?

I can cook a meal if they need it. I can talk on the phone and listen if they call. Other than that, I feel helpless in my actions.

There must be something better for them.

We must do better.

We need to knock and kick down every door possible to let politicians know this is unacceptable.

Money does not need to be spent on making people aware of cancer – we do not need sunglasses, pop sockets, hats, and pins. We need research that produces real results.

I know this is easier said than done.

August 28, the world found out Chadwick Boseman died from colon cancer. What the media does not say is that it was metastatic colon cancer, which all of us in the cancer community knew instantly.

This could have been a learning opportunity for the world — a way to open communication and create understanding about metastasis and the importance of funding more research.

Instead, it is up to all of us in the cancer community to lead the charge and educate the public.

We will celebrate his legacy and tell his story as we see it. And today, I will remember Diana and her sunbeam smile, and how I wish the medical community had been able to do more for her.