The Dreaded “C” Word

A chill, an emotional nor'easter, blew out of Boston this week with the news that our senior senator, Ted Kennedy, had been diagnosed with brain cancer.

The sorrow and grief on both sides of the Capitol aisle was palpable, a testament to a remarkable transformation. Once upon a time in Camelot, the youngest Kennedy brother was regarded as perhaps unworthy of a seat at the Round Table. And when, tragically, he was required to take on the family legacy, his three older brothers all killed in service to their country, Teddy seemed too immature, too callow, too reckless to bear the weight.

At best, many thought, he would be a partisan hack, a living symbol that would remind the country of what might have been. Kennedy never relinquished his partisanship, but long ago left hackdom behind. He came to understand something that has eluded so many of our leaders from both parties: that progress can stem only from compromise and bipartisan cooperation. And he will one day, hopefully a distant one, leave behind an extraordinary legacy of legislation and leadership.

Kennedy now faces a grim prognosis, and his plight is a reminder of the collective shudder we still feel when confronted by that C word. But last week Boston also produced a thrilling and heartwarming response to that terror. On Monday night at Fenway Park, a little more than a mile from where Kennedy was hospitalized—I have no doubt that the senator, a Boston Red Sox lifer, was watching—24-year-old Jon Lester threw a no-hitter against the Kansas City Royals. Afterward the announcers were quick with the litany of achievement. It was the 18th no-hitter in franchise history, it was the first in Major League Baseball since another Boston youngster, Clay Buchholz, tossed one last September, and it was the first by a Red Sox lefty since Mel Parnell's in 1956. And then came the capper: it was the first no-hitter in Major League Baseball history thrown by a cancer survivor.

In September 2006, his rookie year, Lester was diagnosed with a form of lymphoma. He underwent six rounds of treatment—five months of chemotherapy and one of radiation—before, almost a year later, he worked his way back into the Red Sox' rotation. Two months later Lester was the winning pitcher in game four of the World Series, the clincher for Boston's 2007 championship. Then on Monday came his extraordinary performance.

While nobody beats the catcher, in this case Jason Varitek, to the mound on such momentous occasions—it's his job to embrace and lift up the pitcher—Mike Lowell wasn't far behind. The Red Sox third baseman, the Most Valuable Player of last year's Series, is a testicular cancer survivor and he has a moving new book, "Deep Drive," that details his battle and his triumphant return.