I’m used to making lists:
To-do lists.
Grocery lists.
Books I want to read.
Gifts I need to buy.
Places I want to visit.
When I was 29 years old, fate gave me a new list I hadn’t planned on…ways to live with Multiple Sclerosis. I was diagnosed one week after I started dating my future-husband, Louie. The first few months were paralyzing, both emotionally and physically. Since I was hospital-bound for weeks, Louie stayed with me until and beyond the time my family arrived. His commitment, compassion and initiative impressed both me and my family. I couldn’t help but fall in love with him. We married in 2001.
While we were planning our wedding, Louie’s dad became ill with stage IV brain cancer (Glioblastoma), with a prognosis of six months to live. We immediately moved up our wedding and decided to get married in Los Angeles instead of Seattle. It was important to have Louie’s dad there to share our day. We lost him during our first year of marriage.
Cancer has always been a constant in both Louie’s and my life. Both of our mothers are cancer survivors; Louie’s mom had breast cancer and my mom has faced breast cancer several times, endometriosis and thyroid cancers. Seeing them survive time and again was encouraging even before my diagnosis. Because of our family history, and knowing we wanted to start a family, I decided to go for genetic testing. I learned that I was a BRAC1 carrier. While this news was devastating, we didn’t have a lot of time to let it sink in…I was 35 and my biological clock was ticking. Getting pregnant was easy, but I had to stop all MS medication for six months. This was a risky decision, but we were committed to starting a family. We actually got pregnant the first month we tried, miscarried and tried again a month later. Success! There was nothing I wanted more than to be a mother.
Because of the MS and as a BRAC1 gene carrier, mine was a “high risk” pregnancy. I was closely monitored throughout my pregnancy, and in my seventh month faced an Inflammatory Breast Cancer scare. They performed a punch biopsy. Once again, Louie was by my side. Four painful samples and one “woozy” husband later, we each had our own nurse and smelling salts! Fortunately, the results came back clear and my pregnancy continued smoothly. I gave birth to a healthy 7lb. 13oz. boy on February 27, 2007.
Now for the fun part…
Three months after the birth of my son, I went in for my bi-annual breast exam. I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The news made me numb and suddenly I was challenged to make new lists…this time, to battle a new illness. Despite our preparation with genetic counselors, we were braced for the possibility but not the reality. The hospital gave me the news by phone, without any plan of attack. As luck would have it, I met an oncologist at church the next Sunday. I briefly told her about my diagnosis for some informal advice, and she insisted that I visit her office the next morning. Somebody was watching out for me. Within three hours, she set me up with all the necessary tests, scans and doctors that I would need in the coming months. I finally had a plan…and a new list. A weight was lifted off of my shoulders that day, and I am still grateful to her.
From the time that I had been genetically tested, Louie and I decided that I would get both breasts removed if I was diagnosed with cancer, so that decision was a no-brainer. It was a little strange to go from a D-cup to a nothing-cup. Although, having no breasts had an upside—no more backaches!
It was almost a year ago that I had my bilateral mastectomy, followed by six rounds of chemotherapy. I am currently undergoing Herceptin. Chemotherapy and I have a hate-love relationship. I hated how it made me feel, but I loved its potential to kill the cancer.
I figured if I HAD to undergo chemo, I was determined to make the best of it. So, I decided to…make a list!1) Weight loss
2) No shaving or waxing3) New hairstyles
To make a long story short, I gained twenty pounds. I still have a hairy lip. But I do have a fabulous collection of new scarves.
During the weeks of my treatments, I won’t kid you…I was not a pleasant person. I was very scared and found myself doubting its effects and benefits. I hated the way it made me feel–tired, achy, bloated, nauseous and, most importantly, incapable of taking care of my own child.
Believe it or not, the toughest thing for me to deal with is that “it is not recommended” that we have any more children and I will have to make a decision about getting a hysterectomy soon. I was just born to be a mother and I’ve always dreamed of having a big family.
I was not Yianni’s primary caregiver during his first year…his grandparents and Louie were. I feared that the chemicals would be too toxic, so I kept my distance from the baby. I now make lists of all that I want to experience with him: taking him to parks, indoor “kiddie” gyms, storytime at the bookstore, sing-alongs, reading and doing puzzles. Recently, Yianni and I slow-danced for the first time in his music class. It was more than a dance; it was a minute-and-a-half that filled my heart with an overwhelming love. I’m tired of being the “sick mom” and I’m even more determined for him not to miss out on anything because of my illness.
I have learned to live in the Now. The laundry and dirty dishes can wait. Family cannot.
I also learned how uplifting the human spirit can be. People can surprise you. I know, because since my diagnosis, they have surprised me time and again. Their capacity to give (their time, talents and prayers) amazes me. As a very independent person, it was hard to accept all the help that was being offered by friends and family. From playing with my son and bringing us home-cooked meals to phone calls, cards scarves, and inspirational books– this generous list continues. I have a newfound compassion for others and I will strive to return the favor every single day. I am asked regularly to talk with others who have been diagnosed with cancer or MS. I always tell them to not let their illness change them or take over their lives. It’s just an obstacle; a bump in the road.My greatest hope…is to give them hope.
My future looks bright! My multiple sclerosis has been quiet. As for the cancer, I will finish Herceptin in September and have reconstruction surgery in October. I have begun psychiatric therapy to deal with the ever-present thoughts of illness and death which live in the back of my mind. I can’t imagine my son without a mother and I am determined to do everything in my power to make myself whole. I know one day I will hear the words cancer-free. And I can’t wait.
Getting to this point has been quite a journey. Since my diagnosis, I make more lists than ever. But one list remains top priority:
Courage…check.
Love…check.
Hope…check.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Eva's Story
“The greater difficulty, the more glory in surmounting.”
~ Epicurus, Greek philosopher, BC 341-270
When I was growing up as a young girl I never knew anyone having cancer. I did not know anything about the disease. I only knew that people died from cancer. Little did I know that one day I would also have to face this dreadful disease, Cancer. My doctors are baffled, bewildered, and incredulous from the many cancers that I have had and survived in my lifetime. I am a true cancer survivor.
When I was a twenty-three year old young woman I found a lump in my breast. Fearfully, I quickly went to my doctor and received my original breast cancer diagnosis and had the lump removed. The Dr. told me that everything was fine however, two weeks later I came back for my follow-up check-up and the Dr. explained different, ‘news,’ that all the reports were not in from the labs and indeed there was more cancer. Leaving the office, I was devastated and crying, I drove home in a state of shock and was fortunate enough even that I made it home in that frame of mind.
Telling my parents was heart-breaking: it was horrendous news to deliver and they were so paralyzed they could not speak. My parents were immigrants and did not speak English, immediately they called the priest of our church, who introduced me to Dr. Charles McMahon, a surgeon. After seeing the surgeon, he verified my lab reports and mysteriously could not locate any. Therefore, to make sure, he had new labs done revealing that I needed to have another surgery to remove a wedge from the same place as before, so back to the hospital for another surgery. He had good news though, no cancer. We were all elated; my mother had a delicious dinner prepared along with the loving company of her sister and her family. We were a very close-knit family: with my aunt and her family. Little did we know that my beloved aunt would perish from breast cancer later in life at the age of fifty-four years.
After my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer, my dearly loved mother had herself checked as a precaution and unfortunately she also had breast cancer. Luckily, it was removed very early and she did not need any treatments and lived to be almost eighty-one years old. Knowing the above, I was having yearly check-ups and mammograms.
In 1970, I was married to a wonderful man and we have been married for thirty-seven years. We had two great children and now are proud grandparents of four beautiful grandchildren, we were truly enjoying our normal family life.
In 1985 my husband had a heart attack at the age of forty-one. He underwent five bypass surgeries, and post surgeries, continued to have annual check-ups. In 1987, I went in for a mammogram and found that I had cancer in my other breast. A lumpectomy was necessary as it was cancer. After surgery, the Dr. recommended radiation and medications to treat cancer. I thought that was it and I continued working, raising our children, taking care of my husband, my usual activities, etc.
In 1994, during my annual mammogram another lump on my right breast was found: I was crushed, ‘Oh no, not again,’ I sobbed. Tests and procedures ensued and at this point it was standard operating procedure: I had an ultrasound, needle biopsy. I will never forget the specific Dr. who conducted that needle biopsy: he was the worst (quite possibly I was his first patient ever) and I was not encouraged just laying flat on a table with my breast hanging down the small hole: he poked and prodded so many times I screamed in agony. He got me up off the table and wrapped me in a robe and drove me a couple of blocks for another ultrasound and I was horrified yet again at the experience and the results. Trembling, sweating, tears streaming down my face: what heinous treatment and I never went to see that Dr. again. Looking back, I should have reported the Dr., but I was more concerned with my health and removing the cancerous lump. The treatments, radiation, etc. followed and after those I thought I was in the free and clear and continued my normal life.
In 2000, yet again on my annual mammogram I saw the Dr.’s face, by now the expression was a tragically familiar one, it was cancer. The Dr. sternly said, ‘I don’t like what I see,’ we need to do an ultrasound and a needle biopsy as it was certainly cancerous. This time I had to make a big decision: all of my Dr.’s sat me down and put in plain words, ‘You have no other option but to have a double mastectomy.’ The walls came crashing down and I was crying from fear of the cancer, the big surgery and was scared of the way my chest would look post surgery: my breasts, my womanhood. Questions arose: how was I going to face such a big surgery, such a life altering operation? The Dr.’s assured me that this was the best thing to do. I recognized that this was the right thing to do in order to save my life. I had so much to live for: my children, grandchildren and husband to nurture and as well as elderly parents. After consulting with many specialists, going in for second and third opinions, changing Dr.’s and medications, I finally made my decision. I have done it all yet not without the support of my family and friends. My parents supported me in their own way: as religious people, after my father’s stroke he would sit at the end of the couch listening to his favorite folk music and reading prayer books for me daily.
After my mastectomy, I had a very difficult time with the strapping around my chest, it was tedious for me dealing with the loss of my breasts and how this altered my role as a woman and as well as dealing with my numerous bouts of cancer. The Dr.’s found three cancers on one breast and one on the other, I gasped, ‘four, oh my God, was I going to make it? I had to have chemotherapy, radiation, heavy medications. After I had my extenders inserted I kept having problems in my right breast, i.e. staph infections and had to have my extenders removed three times. In addition, my treatment included antibiotics and I still need to go through reconstruction in my right breast.
Also, I just wasn’t doing well at all, this is when my oncologist Dr. Goodman recommended that I take a medication to make me feel better, and suggested Prozac. I had heard that Prozac can make you do many strange things and told Dr. Goodman this and that I may come down to his office and do crazy things which he laughed at and said, ‘I’ll take my chances.’ He assured me as always that it was going to be o.k. Going through chemo was the worst, the thorniest thing I had to do. More than my surgeries and radiation, the chemo annihilated me... I just needed to rest a lot.
In the meantime, I was off of work for quite while yet wanted to return, to which Dr. Goodman replied that I must be crazy. Evidently, crazy and stubborn, I returned to work with no breaks so that I could go home early and sleep. I had a flexible time schedule, which was helpful. I worked for a medical insurance company and did not wish to loose my benefits. Staying occupied was a priority in maintaining my sanity. I never wanted to feel sorry for myself and plenty of people including my coworkers were not aware of my, ‘situation,’ as I was very private. There was an intense amount of, ‘fear’ from the cancers: loosing my hair, constantly being sick, taking showers and witnessing my hair go down the drain, being so fragile and weak, I despised my condition and it was a dark time. I longed to be by myself with the door closed and the drapes drawn, no noises. Simply quiet.
After using all of my sick leave, my coworkers selflessly gifted me with theirs. One day at work, I was wearing a wig and was using the rest room and a coworker looked at me and said, ‘oh you look sick,’ I gazed at her and said, ‘I am very sick.’ The sympathy welled up in her eyes and she gave me a big hug, after that we became good friends and she would bring me flowers once a week placing them on my desk before I arrived at work. What a lovely gesture and a good person.
Despite the support, I continued to feel depressed; I was not responsive to any medications! I knew that my attitude had to change: by accentuating the positive and changing my perception of what my life had become: I began to feel my life turn around. Additionally, with the assistance of a counselor and many sessions with Leah de Roulet, MSW, I was helped with learning how to cope and we continue to be friends to this day.
After the surgery I developed lymphodema in my right arm which was perpetually swollen and continues to be which makes everything difficult and uncomfortable. After a year of physical therapy I am still wearing a, ‘sleeve,’ at all times, it is not convenient being that I am right-handed, yet I try to do my best.
Most of the time during my reoccurrences and recouping from them, I wore a wig, scarf and many hats. I remember after church one morning my little niece said, ‘Aunt Eva I saw your hair move. How did you do that? I replied, ‘I can only do that, it’s magic.’ I continue to do my daily activities and thought that I was done.
This time the Dr.’s found a lump in my throat: thyroid cancer. I had to be hospitalized to have the nuclear medicine treatment: surgery came first (leaving me unable to talk) and then I had to drink the nuclear liquid medication. I had to be isolated, no one could be in the room, everything was covered with plastic saran wrap, even the telephone, etc. After coming home, I had to continue in isolation for a week; not sharing anything with the rest of the family, again, the depression set in, the isolation, as I could not be close with anyone (no touching, no hugs). I was in pain and also felt that I had put my family through so much already: my entire medical issues all over again. They always put my mind at ease though, tenderly saying, ‘that it was o.k. with them and that they still loved me and nothing else mattered.’
In 2002, I was chronically exhausted; I saw my doctor and after lab tests, an ultra sound, cat scans, MRI’s, they said something looked, ‘suspicious,’ and required surgery. This time it was necessary that I have a complete hysterectomy due to my breast cancers. Again, like a broken record, the doctors performed another surgery, this time it was endometriosis cancer. When I awoke from surgery I knew that it was cancer again and I would have to endure strong chemo and radiation. When the girls saw me at the radiation oncology department, they could not believe it, that it was, ‘me again.’ Radiation I could handle but chemo was tough! Chemo was the big one…After eventually feeling better, Dr. Goodman suggested since I have kids to go to the University of Washington and get gene testing done. Thank God for that test as it saved my daughter’s life.
She became pregnant with her first child and soon after the Dr. found a lump in her breast (a mother’s worst nightmare) to see her daughter have cancer especially after just giving birth to a child. I said I would rather have it be me having cancer again than my daughter. This was a trying and painful time of my life. We were in California where they reside off and on for about one year taking care of her and her gorgeous baby boy, who we called, ‘The Miracle Baby.’
My many reoccurrences and experiences with different forms of cancer showed me that it is not easy to write about, to recall the many sad memories. I am a survivor after so many bouts with cancers and would like to help others with my story. I have learned from these experiences: I am a stronger Individual, Mother, Wife, Daughter and Friend and strongly believe that there is someone very special watching over all of us. I am a strong believer in God, I pray each morning and thank Him for all the blessings he has given me.
Currently, I keep myself busy and occupied with my family, favorite people, my children and grandchildren, with reading, going to coffee, lunch, shopping with my best friend, digging in my garden. Also, with my friend’s assistance, we research on the internet about cancer and the latest treatments. I would suggest doing your, ‘homework,’ if you are diagnosed as well as researching your Dr.’s to find someone you are comfortable with (a good fit) and who inspires confidence.
To the women and families facing the disease today, the lessons I have learned going through breast and other cancers and if I were a national spokesperson for surviving breast cancer: One of my catch phrases which brought me through difficult times during my many cancers is, ‘This too shall Pass.’ My hope is that you think positive, is kind to yourself, family & friends, do good things in life and good things will happen to you. Learn how to love, give, forgive, always keep yourself busy whatever that may be, be happy and enjoy life.
Will I have another reoccurrence? I will have to cross that bridge when I come to it. I feel lucky and blessed to be alive even to write and share my story to help others.
What is most significant and important in my life today are: I want my daughter to stay healthy and raise her, ‘Miracle Baby,’ and I want to stay healthy and be with my children and grandchildren to help them in any way that I possibly can. Life is beautiful so enjoy it.
“You don’t develop courage by being happy in your relationships everyday. You develop it by surviving difficult times and challenging adversity.”
~ Epicurus, Greek philosopher, BC 341-270
~ Epicurus, Greek philosopher, BC 341-270
When I was growing up as a young girl I never knew anyone having cancer. I did not know anything about the disease. I only knew that people died from cancer. Little did I know that one day I would also have to face this dreadful disease, Cancer. My doctors are baffled, bewildered, and incredulous from the many cancers that I have had and survived in my lifetime. I am a true cancer survivor.
When I was a twenty-three year old young woman I found a lump in my breast. Fearfully, I quickly went to my doctor and received my original breast cancer diagnosis and had the lump removed. The Dr. told me that everything was fine however, two weeks later I came back for my follow-up check-up and the Dr. explained different, ‘news,’ that all the reports were not in from the labs and indeed there was more cancer. Leaving the office, I was devastated and crying, I drove home in a state of shock and was fortunate enough even that I made it home in that frame of mind.
Telling my parents was heart-breaking: it was horrendous news to deliver and they were so paralyzed they could not speak. My parents were immigrants and did not speak English, immediately they called the priest of our church, who introduced me to Dr. Charles McMahon, a surgeon. After seeing the surgeon, he verified my lab reports and mysteriously could not locate any. Therefore, to make sure, he had new labs done revealing that I needed to have another surgery to remove a wedge from the same place as before, so back to the hospital for another surgery. He had good news though, no cancer. We were all elated; my mother had a delicious dinner prepared along with the loving company of her sister and her family. We were a very close-knit family: with my aunt and her family. Little did we know that my beloved aunt would perish from breast cancer later in life at the age of fifty-four years.
After my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer, my dearly loved mother had herself checked as a precaution and unfortunately she also had breast cancer. Luckily, it was removed very early and she did not need any treatments and lived to be almost eighty-one years old. Knowing the above, I was having yearly check-ups and mammograms.
In 1970, I was married to a wonderful man and we have been married for thirty-seven years. We had two great children and now are proud grandparents of four beautiful grandchildren, we were truly enjoying our normal family life.
In 1985 my husband had a heart attack at the age of forty-one. He underwent five bypass surgeries, and post surgeries, continued to have annual check-ups. In 1987, I went in for a mammogram and found that I had cancer in my other breast. A lumpectomy was necessary as it was cancer. After surgery, the Dr. recommended radiation and medications to treat cancer. I thought that was it and I continued working, raising our children, taking care of my husband, my usual activities, etc.
In 1994, during my annual mammogram another lump on my right breast was found: I was crushed, ‘Oh no, not again,’ I sobbed. Tests and procedures ensued and at this point it was standard operating procedure: I had an ultrasound, needle biopsy. I will never forget the specific Dr. who conducted that needle biopsy: he was the worst (quite possibly I was his first patient ever) and I was not encouraged just laying flat on a table with my breast hanging down the small hole: he poked and prodded so many times I screamed in agony. He got me up off the table and wrapped me in a robe and drove me a couple of blocks for another ultrasound and I was horrified yet again at the experience and the results. Trembling, sweating, tears streaming down my face: what heinous treatment and I never went to see that Dr. again. Looking back, I should have reported the Dr., but I was more concerned with my health and removing the cancerous lump. The treatments, radiation, etc. followed and after those I thought I was in the free and clear and continued my normal life.
In 2000, yet again on my annual mammogram I saw the Dr.’s face, by now the expression was a tragically familiar one, it was cancer. The Dr. sternly said, ‘I don’t like what I see,’ we need to do an ultrasound and a needle biopsy as it was certainly cancerous. This time I had to make a big decision: all of my Dr.’s sat me down and put in plain words, ‘You have no other option but to have a double mastectomy.’ The walls came crashing down and I was crying from fear of the cancer, the big surgery and was scared of the way my chest would look post surgery: my breasts, my womanhood. Questions arose: how was I going to face such a big surgery, such a life altering operation? The Dr.’s assured me that this was the best thing to do. I recognized that this was the right thing to do in order to save my life. I had so much to live for: my children, grandchildren and husband to nurture and as well as elderly parents. After consulting with many specialists, going in for second and third opinions, changing Dr.’s and medications, I finally made my decision. I have done it all yet not without the support of my family and friends. My parents supported me in their own way: as religious people, after my father’s stroke he would sit at the end of the couch listening to his favorite folk music and reading prayer books for me daily.
After my mastectomy, I had a very difficult time with the strapping around my chest, it was tedious for me dealing with the loss of my breasts and how this altered my role as a woman and as well as dealing with my numerous bouts of cancer. The Dr.’s found three cancers on one breast and one on the other, I gasped, ‘four, oh my God, was I going to make it? I had to have chemotherapy, radiation, heavy medications. After I had my extenders inserted I kept having problems in my right breast, i.e. staph infections and had to have my extenders removed three times. In addition, my treatment included antibiotics and I still need to go through reconstruction in my right breast.
Also, I just wasn’t doing well at all, this is when my oncologist Dr. Goodman recommended that I take a medication to make me feel better, and suggested Prozac. I had heard that Prozac can make you do many strange things and told Dr. Goodman this and that I may come down to his office and do crazy things which he laughed at and said, ‘I’ll take my chances.’ He assured me as always that it was going to be o.k. Going through chemo was the worst, the thorniest thing I had to do. More than my surgeries and radiation, the chemo annihilated me... I just needed to rest a lot.
In the meantime, I was off of work for quite while yet wanted to return, to which Dr. Goodman replied that I must be crazy. Evidently, crazy and stubborn, I returned to work with no breaks so that I could go home early and sleep. I had a flexible time schedule, which was helpful. I worked for a medical insurance company and did not wish to loose my benefits. Staying occupied was a priority in maintaining my sanity. I never wanted to feel sorry for myself and plenty of people including my coworkers were not aware of my, ‘situation,’ as I was very private. There was an intense amount of, ‘fear’ from the cancers: loosing my hair, constantly being sick, taking showers and witnessing my hair go down the drain, being so fragile and weak, I despised my condition and it was a dark time. I longed to be by myself with the door closed and the drapes drawn, no noises. Simply quiet.
After using all of my sick leave, my coworkers selflessly gifted me with theirs. One day at work, I was wearing a wig and was using the rest room and a coworker looked at me and said, ‘oh you look sick,’ I gazed at her and said, ‘I am very sick.’ The sympathy welled up in her eyes and she gave me a big hug, after that we became good friends and she would bring me flowers once a week placing them on my desk before I arrived at work. What a lovely gesture and a good person.
Despite the support, I continued to feel depressed; I was not responsive to any medications! I knew that my attitude had to change: by accentuating the positive and changing my perception of what my life had become: I began to feel my life turn around. Additionally, with the assistance of a counselor and many sessions with Leah de Roulet, MSW, I was helped with learning how to cope and we continue to be friends to this day.
After the surgery I developed lymphodema in my right arm which was perpetually swollen and continues to be which makes everything difficult and uncomfortable. After a year of physical therapy I am still wearing a, ‘sleeve,’ at all times, it is not convenient being that I am right-handed, yet I try to do my best.
Most of the time during my reoccurrences and recouping from them, I wore a wig, scarf and many hats. I remember after church one morning my little niece said, ‘Aunt Eva I saw your hair move. How did you do that? I replied, ‘I can only do that, it’s magic.’ I continue to do my daily activities and thought that I was done.
This time the Dr.’s found a lump in my throat: thyroid cancer. I had to be hospitalized to have the nuclear medicine treatment: surgery came first (leaving me unable to talk) and then I had to drink the nuclear liquid medication. I had to be isolated, no one could be in the room, everything was covered with plastic saran wrap, even the telephone, etc. After coming home, I had to continue in isolation for a week; not sharing anything with the rest of the family, again, the depression set in, the isolation, as I could not be close with anyone (no touching, no hugs). I was in pain and also felt that I had put my family through so much already: my entire medical issues all over again. They always put my mind at ease though, tenderly saying, ‘that it was o.k. with them and that they still loved me and nothing else mattered.’
In 2002, I was chronically exhausted; I saw my doctor and after lab tests, an ultra sound, cat scans, MRI’s, they said something looked, ‘suspicious,’ and required surgery. This time it was necessary that I have a complete hysterectomy due to my breast cancers. Again, like a broken record, the doctors performed another surgery, this time it was endometriosis cancer. When I awoke from surgery I knew that it was cancer again and I would have to endure strong chemo and radiation. When the girls saw me at the radiation oncology department, they could not believe it, that it was, ‘me again.’ Radiation I could handle but chemo was tough! Chemo was the big one…After eventually feeling better, Dr. Goodman suggested since I have kids to go to the University of Washington and get gene testing done. Thank God for that test as it saved my daughter’s life.
She became pregnant with her first child and soon after the Dr. found a lump in her breast (a mother’s worst nightmare) to see her daughter have cancer especially after just giving birth to a child. I said I would rather have it be me having cancer again than my daughter. This was a trying and painful time of my life. We were in California where they reside off and on for about one year taking care of her and her gorgeous baby boy, who we called, ‘The Miracle Baby.’
My many reoccurrences and experiences with different forms of cancer showed me that it is not easy to write about, to recall the many sad memories. I am a survivor after so many bouts with cancers and would like to help others with my story. I have learned from these experiences: I am a stronger Individual, Mother, Wife, Daughter and Friend and strongly believe that there is someone very special watching over all of us. I am a strong believer in God, I pray each morning and thank Him for all the blessings he has given me.
Currently, I keep myself busy and occupied with my family, favorite people, my children and grandchildren, with reading, going to coffee, lunch, shopping with my best friend, digging in my garden. Also, with my friend’s assistance, we research on the internet about cancer and the latest treatments. I would suggest doing your, ‘homework,’ if you are diagnosed as well as researching your Dr.’s to find someone you are comfortable with (a good fit) and who inspires confidence.
To the women and families facing the disease today, the lessons I have learned going through breast and other cancers and if I were a national spokesperson for surviving breast cancer: One of my catch phrases which brought me through difficult times during my many cancers is, ‘This too shall Pass.’ My hope is that you think positive, is kind to yourself, family & friends, do good things in life and good things will happen to you. Learn how to love, give, forgive, always keep yourself busy whatever that may be, be happy and enjoy life.
Will I have another reoccurrence? I will have to cross that bridge when I come to it. I feel lucky and blessed to be alive even to write and share my story to help others.
What is most significant and important in my life today are: I want my daughter to stay healthy and raise her, ‘Miracle Baby,’ and I want to stay healthy and be with my children and grandchildren to help them in any way that I possibly can. Life is beautiful so enjoy it.
“You don’t develop courage by being happy in your relationships everyday. You develop it by surviving difficult times and challenging adversity.”
~ Epicurus, Greek philosopher, BC 341-270
Carol's Story
Hi, my name is Carol and I was diagnosed with breast cancer in August 2006. I wish there was a quick way to tell my story, I really tried but it isn't possible. I will try to only put in the largest details of the hardest year of my life.
I have had fibroid tumors removed three different times in the last twenty five years. Every time I got one I thought it was all over till the lumpectomy was done proving it wasn't. I always thought that if anyone ever told me I had cancer I wouln't need to worry about it because I would drop dead of a heart attack. That is not what happened. I had always been good at getting my mamograms on time every year. I had trouble with cysts also. I would allways worry. My doctor treated me like I was a hysteric and worry wort. He told me that cancer felt hard and imovable and did not hurt. A cyst hurt and wobbled when you pressed it with your fingers.
I eventually relaxed and went with this infor for the last 20 years.I took early retirement from Delta Airlines in 2002 to persue a career in art.I think the thing that made it really easy for me to get regular mamograms was that Delta had a bus come out every year and nurses did our mamograms for us on our lunch hour. When I retired this stopped and I got very busy painting.
The fall of 2004 my uncle got lung cancer. He was a heavy smoker and my mother and sister took turns taking care of him that winter.I think that is the first time I missed getting my mamo.He died that spring. The fall of 2005 my mother had to have open heart surgery so my sisters and I took turns taking care of her tell she was able to take care of herself. My father had passed away in 1998.This is the second time I forgot to get a mamogram. I found what I thought was a cyst in my left breast at this time. I didn't worry about it because I was sure it was a cyst. It wobbled, it hurt, and there was no history of breast cancer on either side of my family.My mother got well but that spring 2006 she was able to move into a better house. My sisters and our husbands spent everyday from The end of March to the end of May remodeling it to make it her little dream home.
During this time I was very tired but I chalked that up to working so hard on the house. I also didn't feel right. I couldn't put my finger on it but I had a feeling of not being well.The work finally done I had an Alaskan cruise with my husband planned for the end of June. I thought I would go to the doctor when I got back. I thought if this was another fibrous tumor I didn't want to have it removed before I left. I put it off till the middle of August.They did a mamogram then the radiologist wanted another look with an ultrasound.I laid there not worrying about anything and then he said I think this is cancer. I couln't believe my ears. I said how can you tell that.What are the chances it is versus it isn't. He said he was 95 pct sure it was. He did a needle biopsy. I just felt numb with disbelief. A single tear rolled down my cheek but I didn't cry.I had an odd sense that everything would be all right even if he was correct.
I called my mother and told her and she cried. Everyone I called cried. I'm the one who ended up consoling them.I decided right then that crying or feeling sorry for myself was not an option. I would only do and say things that were going to help me. After all what was the ulternative. I was going to need all my energy to fight this. Crying gave me a headache and sinus infection. I didn't need that on top of cancer. If something in no way helped especially if it in some way hurt it just put it away from me.
Orignally the tumour was thought to be the size of a very small pea and I would be in the early part of stage one. An MRI was done and the tumor was actually the size of a golf ball but it was thought that I was probably still technically in stage one. I had a great surgeon. He said we were going to do a new treatment that they have been having really good success in Italy.
First we would do chemo them surgery not the other way around as usual.He said that by doing chemo first they could tell if the chemo was actually working. If the chemo worked it would destroy the tumor or shrink it and then a lumpectomy could be done instead of a mastectomy. With a five year course of an estrogen blocker the chances of recurrance was only about 1 percent more with a lumpectomy over mastectomy.
His positive attitude was infectious ok I was feeling good. I went out and bought a wig that looked exactly like my hair. I knew it would be easier now than waiting till my hair was allready gone.My mother and I made plans on how she would stay with me and take care of me and go to all my appointments. My husband traveled for work at least once a week but was usually only gone one day.
Then two weeks after my diagnoses, the Saturday before Labor day my mother died of a brain hemorage. I was out to dinner with my husband when we got the call. We rushed to the hospital and were told that she was brain dead and no hope of recovery. Because it was the holiday weekend they were short staffed and had her put on a life flight helicopter to a bigger hospital. When we got there we were all told again that there was no possibility she would ever wake up. She was only living at the moment because of the life support machine. She had made a living will a couple of years before and put me down as executor. She told me under no circumstances was I to allow her to be kept on life support if it came to that. She said she gave the job to me because she thought I would be the strongest and she trusted me to do it. Was she crazy? What made her think I'm strong. I think I'm scared of everthing. A coulple of people in the family thought maybe we should give it a week or a month maybe the doctors are wrong. What if they are wrong. I signed the papers but I didn't allow them to turn off the machine till everyone had a chance to have a private goodby.She died about 20 minutes after they turned the machine off.
The following Saturday was the funeral. I was nervous because my sons fiance went into labor that morning. He was really a nervous wreck. He had to leave before the service started to go to the hospital. My friends organized a beautiful luncheon for after the funeral but my husband and I had to eat and run because we didn't want to miss our first grandbaby being born. That night Annie Leigh was born. Between grief and joy I don't think my body knew what to do. My mother wanted so bad to see that baby. She made quilts and blankets all summer. I think thats when I just went into auto pilot.
Two days later my port was put in my chest. It was outpatient surgery but the anesthisia made me very nauseous.I was sick all night. I thought how am I ever going to get through chemo. I'd rather have extreme pain than nausea. Its the one thing that really puts me away. I prayed for the strength to do what I had to do to get through this.One week later they started putting the red devil my veins.
My husband was wonderful. He insisted on going to all my treatments with me since my mother couldn't be with me.I could see it really bothered him to see the red poison going into me. A friend who went through this said it upset her really bad. She thought about how it was killing her blood cells and how poisonous it was. I decided to look at it as in this case poison was good. It was my friend it was killing the cancer. My blood cells could be delt with using Neulasta.It could all be delt with.I concentrated on doing everything they told me to do to keep the side effects down.
Ten days later I woke up in the morning and there was a clump of hair on my pillow. I touched my hair and it was coming out by the handful. My son said he wanted to shave my head when the time came so I called him to come over and do it. He suddenly chickened out. I thought I don't want to be picking up hair all over the house so I took the dog clippers and went out on the deck and buzzed it all off. I looked at the strange new me in the mirror and I surprisingly didn't think I looked that bad. I put my wig on and that was that. People who saw me that winter would say isn't it nice you didn't loose your hair.
My friends gave me soft, warm, comfy lounging pajamas and that is what I lived in. After the first treatement I could not feel the tumor any longer. The doctor couldn't believe it. A chip had to be put in so that when the surgery was done the doctor would know what area to take out.I got the sores in my mouth but managed them pretty well by doing what I was told. They never got unbearable. I didn't get the dereaded nausea either, however I got a really bad case of acid reflux which they said was a form of nausea. It really hurt and was very unpleasant but hey didn't I say I'd rather do anything even pain over nausea?
The Monday before Thanksgiving I was opening a jar and a horrible pain went up my arm. I looked down and it was purple. I went to the emergency room and they found I had a blood clot that went to my lung. I spent that week in the hospital. My luck was that I was put in a room that was right outside the life flight helicopter pad. I thought about my Mom and tried to stop the tears. I refused to die like this all alone listening to that thing land every half hour. I couldn't believe how often it was used.I didn't sleep all night so I slept all the next day.
Thanksgiving was postponed till I got home. The first one with Annie. Besides cancer another thing I'm terrified of is needles. Wouldn't you know that know because of the blood clot I have to give myself a shot in the stomach every day for two weeks. I can't stand anyone else to give me a shot I can't do this. For two days I drive 25 min each way to have a nurse give me the shot. This was a big inconvenience so I had them show me how.The funniest thing anyone has seen is the first time I had to stab myself in the stomach. I screamed, then looked up and said, oh that wasn't so bad.It was actually easier for me to do it than someone else. Needles no longer bother me.
Another lucky thing to come out of this. During this time on one of my good days I painted a pine china hutch in my kitchen white. No one could believe I had the strength to do that, but it made me happy. I felt like I bought a new piece of furniture. Just before Christmas I had my surgery. The tumor was only the size of a beebee.He got clean margines and my lymph nodes were clean. Hallelujah. The board decided that since the tumor wasn't completey gone, to be safe I need a round of a different chemo in case. My hair was about an inch long and it fell out again. This chemo wasn't quite as bad as the first but different. My finger nails and toe nails turned black, like I was recovering from them being hit with a hammer. They didn't actually fall off so no problem, nail polish and noone could tell.
I was very tired with all of this but all winter I listened everyday to beautiful music, and watched feel good movies. I couldn't do art or read because of the fuzzy brain chemo give you. Also my eyesight was effected and my glasses were no use. I was told not to get new ones for about six months after I was all through because they would get better and I didn't want to get new glasses twice.
May and I start six weeks of radiation. After all the chemo it seemed like a piece of cake. The tiredness was overwhelming and I did get blisters but I was finally done.My hair grew back. I don't think I'll ever grow it long again. I learned life if too short to be spending so much time doing my hair. There are much more important and fun things to do.
July 3 2008 was my one year mark.I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. I appreciate now all the things even the very small ones in my life so much more than I ever did. I realize what is important. My family and spending good quality time with them. The things that used to make me angry no longer do. They seem so unimportant.I look at everything differently.
One thing that happened when my radiation started that was worse to me than the whole cancer thing is, that my son and his fiancee split up. He was davastated. That was harder for me to watch than anything. But my new found positive way of looking at things has paid off there too. We have a good relationship with Annies mom. Custody was worked out to everyones satisfaction.
I'm painting again and have my old enthusiasm back. I've learned no matter how black something looks things will allways get better if you have the right attitude. I hated having cancer, it was really hard but I think it was worth the positive things I gained from it. Someone told me the other day that they thought I was the strongest person they know. They thought I could handle anything. I still don't feel like I'm strong but maybe that is what being strong is. Its not that you don't feel the pain as much as anyone else does you do. But you do what you need to do to get through it you don't buckle and cave.
Don't forget to get your mamograms. If I had gotten my mamograms when I should of it would have saved me lots and lots of agony. Getting detected early I would only have needed a lumpectomy and radiation.That would have been a piece of cake compared to all that chemo.I urge everyone who reads my story to really take this information to heart. Early detection can save your life and save you from being way sicker than you need to be. Also if you have a doctor that does not take any lump you have seriously, get another doctor. If they think it is a cyst it is an easy thing for them to aspirate it to make sure. I have a couple of friends who's doctors thought they had a cyst, tried to aspirate it and found it was not a cyst. When they did a needle biopsy which is also a relatively easy thing to do they found it was cancer. If they would have just assumed it was a cyst another year would have gone by. Another year of growth which could have meant the difference between life and death, or the difference between lumpectomy and mastectomy and radical treatment.You are just as important as everyone else. Take care of yourself so you can be around to take care of the ones you love.
I have had fibroid tumors removed three different times in the last twenty five years. Every time I got one I thought it was all over till the lumpectomy was done proving it wasn't. I always thought that if anyone ever told me I had cancer I wouln't need to worry about it because I would drop dead of a heart attack. That is not what happened. I had always been good at getting my mamograms on time every year. I had trouble with cysts also. I would allways worry. My doctor treated me like I was a hysteric and worry wort. He told me that cancer felt hard and imovable and did not hurt. A cyst hurt and wobbled when you pressed it with your fingers.
I eventually relaxed and went with this infor for the last 20 years.I took early retirement from Delta Airlines in 2002 to persue a career in art.I think the thing that made it really easy for me to get regular mamograms was that Delta had a bus come out every year and nurses did our mamograms for us on our lunch hour. When I retired this stopped and I got very busy painting.
The fall of 2004 my uncle got lung cancer. He was a heavy smoker and my mother and sister took turns taking care of him that winter.I think that is the first time I missed getting my mamo.He died that spring. The fall of 2005 my mother had to have open heart surgery so my sisters and I took turns taking care of her tell she was able to take care of herself. My father had passed away in 1998.This is the second time I forgot to get a mamogram. I found what I thought was a cyst in my left breast at this time. I didn't worry about it because I was sure it was a cyst. It wobbled, it hurt, and there was no history of breast cancer on either side of my family.My mother got well but that spring 2006 she was able to move into a better house. My sisters and our husbands spent everyday from The end of March to the end of May remodeling it to make it her little dream home.
During this time I was very tired but I chalked that up to working so hard on the house. I also didn't feel right. I couldn't put my finger on it but I had a feeling of not being well.The work finally done I had an Alaskan cruise with my husband planned for the end of June. I thought I would go to the doctor when I got back. I thought if this was another fibrous tumor I didn't want to have it removed before I left. I put it off till the middle of August.They did a mamogram then the radiologist wanted another look with an ultrasound.I laid there not worrying about anything and then he said I think this is cancer. I couln't believe my ears. I said how can you tell that.What are the chances it is versus it isn't. He said he was 95 pct sure it was. He did a needle biopsy. I just felt numb with disbelief. A single tear rolled down my cheek but I didn't cry.I had an odd sense that everything would be all right even if he was correct.
I called my mother and told her and she cried. Everyone I called cried. I'm the one who ended up consoling them.I decided right then that crying or feeling sorry for myself was not an option. I would only do and say things that were going to help me. After all what was the ulternative. I was going to need all my energy to fight this. Crying gave me a headache and sinus infection. I didn't need that on top of cancer. If something in no way helped especially if it in some way hurt it just put it away from me.
Orignally the tumour was thought to be the size of a very small pea and I would be in the early part of stage one. An MRI was done and the tumor was actually the size of a golf ball but it was thought that I was probably still technically in stage one. I had a great surgeon. He said we were going to do a new treatment that they have been having really good success in Italy.
First we would do chemo them surgery not the other way around as usual.He said that by doing chemo first they could tell if the chemo was actually working. If the chemo worked it would destroy the tumor or shrink it and then a lumpectomy could be done instead of a mastectomy. With a five year course of an estrogen blocker the chances of recurrance was only about 1 percent more with a lumpectomy over mastectomy.
His positive attitude was infectious ok I was feeling good. I went out and bought a wig that looked exactly like my hair. I knew it would be easier now than waiting till my hair was allready gone.My mother and I made plans on how she would stay with me and take care of me and go to all my appointments. My husband traveled for work at least once a week but was usually only gone one day.
Then two weeks after my diagnoses, the Saturday before Labor day my mother died of a brain hemorage. I was out to dinner with my husband when we got the call. We rushed to the hospital and were told that she was brain dead and no hope of recovery. Because it was the holiday weekend they were short staffed and had her put on a life flight helicopter to a bigger hospital. When we got there we were all told again that there was no possibility she would ever wake up. She was only living at the moment because of the life support machine. She had made a living will a couple of years before and put me down as executor. She told me under no circumstances was I to allow her to be kept on life support if it came to that. She said she gave the job to me because she thought I would be the strongest and she trusted me to do it. Was she crazy? What made her think I'm strong. I think I'm scared of everthing. A coulple of people in the family thought maybe we should give it a week or a month maybe the doctors are wrong. What if they are wrong. I signed the papers but I didn't allow them to turn off the machine till everyone had a chance to have a private goodby.She died about 20 minutes after they turned the machine off.
The following Saturday was the funeral. I was nervous because my sons fiance went into labor that morning. He was really a nervous wreck. He had to leave before the service started to go to the hospital. My friends organized a beautiful luncheon for after the funeral but my husband and I had to eat and run because we didn't want to miss our first grandbaby being born. That night Annie Leigh was born. Between grief and joy I don't think my body knew what to do. My mother wanted so bad to see that baby. She made quilts and blankets all summer. I think thats when I just went into auto pilot.
Two days later my port was put in my chest. It was outpatient surgery but the anesthisia made me very nauseous.I was sick all night. I thought how am I ever going to get through chemo. I'd rather have extreme pain than nausea. Its the one thing that really puts me away. I prayed for the strength to do what I had to do to get through this.One week later they started putting the red devil my veins.
My husband was wonderful. He insisted on going to all my treatments with me since my mother couldn't be with me.I could see it really bothered him to see the red poison going into me. A friend who went through this said it upset her really bad. She thought about how it was killing her blood cells and how poisonous it was. I decided to look at it as in this case poison was good. It was my friend it was killing the cancer. My blood cells could be delt with using Neulasta.It could all be delt with.I concentrated on doing everything they told me to do to keep the side effects down.
Ten days later I woke up in the morning and there was a clump of hair on my pillow. I touched my hair and it was coming out by the handful. My son said he wanted to shave my head when the time came so I called him to come over and do it. He suddenly chickened out. I thought I don't want to be picking up hair all over the house so I took the dog clippers and went out on the deck and buzzed it all off. I looked at the strange new me in the mirror and I surprisingly didn't think I looked that bad. I put my wig on and that was that. People who saw me that winter would say isn't it nice you didn't loose your hair.
My friends gave me soft, warm, comfy lounging pajamas and that is what I lived in. After the first treatement I could not feel the tumor any longer. The doctor couldn't believe it. A chip had to be put in so that when the surgery was done the doctor would know what area to take out.I got the sores in my mouth but managed them pretty well by doing what I was told. They never got unbearable. I didn't get the dereaded nausea either, however I got a really bad case of acid reflux which they said was a form of nausea. It really hurt and was very unpleasant but hey didn't I say I'd rather do anything even pain over nausea?
The Monday before Thanksgiving I was opening a jar and a horrible pain went up my arm. I looked down and it was purple. I went to the emergency room and they found I had a blood clot that went to my lung. I spent that week in the hospital. My luck was that I was put in a room that was right outside the life flight helicopter pad. I thought about my Mom and tried to stop the tears. I refused to die like this all alone listening to that thing land every half hour. I couldn't believe how often it was used.I didn't sleep all night so I slept all the next day.
Thanksgiving was postponed till I got home. The first one with Annie. Besides cancer another thing I'm terrified of is needles. Wouldn't you know that know because of the blood clot I have to give myself a shot in the stomach every day for two weeks. I can't stand anyone else to give me a shot I can't do this. For two days I drive 25 min each way to have a nurse give me the shot. This was a big inconvenience so I had them show me how.The funniest thing anyone has seen is the first time I had to stab myself in the stomach. I screamed, then looked up and said, oh that wasn't so bad.It was actually easier for me to do it than someone else. Needles no longer bother me.
Another lucky thing to come out of this. During this time on one of my good days I painted a pine china hutch in my kitchen white. No one could believe I had the strength to do that, but it made me happy. I felt like I bought a new piece of furniture. Just before Christmas I had my surgery. The tumor was only the size of a beebee.He got clean margines and my lymph nodes were clean. Hallelujah. The board decided that since the tumor wasn't completey gone, to be safe I need a round of a different chemo in case. My hair was about an inch long and it fell out again. This chemo wasn't quite as bad as the first but different. My finger nails and toe nails turned black, like I was recovering from them being hit with a hammer. They didn't actually fall off so no problem, nail polish and noone could tell.
I was very tired with all of this but all winter I listened everyday to beautiful music, and watched feel good movies. I couldn't do art or read because of the fuzzy brain chemo give you. Also my eyesight was effected and my glasses were no use. I was told not to get new ones for about six months after I was all through because they would get better and I didn't want to get new glasses twice.
May and I start six weeks of radiation. After all the chemo it seemed like a piece of cake. The tiredness was overwhelming and I did get blisters but I was finally done.My hair grew back. I don't think I'll ever grow it long again. I learned life if too short to be spending so much time doing my hair. There are much more important and fun things to do.
July 3 2008 was my one year mark.I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. I appreciate now all the things even the very small ones in my life so much more than I ever did. I realize what is important. My family and spending good quality time with them. The things that used to make me angry no longer do. They seem so unimportant.I look at everything differently.
One thing that happened when my radiation started that was worse to me than the whole cancer thing is, that my son and his fiancee split up. He was davastated. That was harder for me to watch than anything. But my new found positive way of looking at things has paid off there too. We have a good relationship with Annies mom. Custody was worked out to everyones satisfaction.
I'm painting again and have my old enthusiasm back. I've learned no matter how black something looks things will allways get better if you have the right attitude. I hated having cancer, it was really hard but I think it was worth the positive things I gained from it. Someone told me the other day that they thought I was the strongest person they know. They thought I could handle anything. I still don't feel like I'm strong but maybe that is what being strong is. Its not that you don't feel the pain as much as anyone else does you do. But you do what you need to do to get through it you don't buckle and cave.
Don't forget to get your mamograms. If I had gotten my mamograms when I should of it would have saved me lots and lots of agony. Getting detected early I would only have needed a lumpectomy and radiation.That would have been a piece of cake compared to all that chemo.I urge everyone who reads my story to really take this information to heart. Early detection can save your life and save you from being way sicker than you need to be. Also if you have a doctor that does not take any lump you have seriously, get another doctor. If they think it is a cyst it is an easy thing for them to aspirate it to make sure. I have a couple of friends who's doctors thought they had a cyst, tried to aspirate it and found it was not a cyst. When they did a needle biopsy which is also a relatively easy thing to do they found it was cancer. If they would have just assumed it was a cyst another year would have gone by. Another year of growth which could have meant the difference between life and death, or the difference between lumpectomy and mastectomy and radical treatment.You are just as important as everyone else. Take care of yourself so you can be around to take care of the ones you love.
Megan's Story
I was diagnosed on Tuesday February 14, 2006. I was 29 years old and a mother of two great kids. My children were 3 and half and almost one. I am a hairdresser and a nail technician. On the day that I was told I had breast cancer I had to go into work right after and do some clients. That was very hard but I have the best clients around. I got done with my clients and my husband and I went home and made a lot of phone calls and I had an appointment on Thursday with a Dr. at Huntsman Cancer Instatute. My husband and I went to the appointment and the following Friday I was having a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy.
I have no family history of breast cancer but because of my age I decided on having a bilateral mastectomy. I was told I had a 40 percent chance of having cancer on the other side in the next 20 years and I didn't want to have to go through it twice. I have not had a reaccurance. I had the mastectomy the following Friday and was told that I had postive lymph nodes so they wanted me to do Chemotherapy and Radiation. I started Chemo 4 weeks later, and 4 days after my daughter turned one. The hardest part so far was that I couldn't lift my daughter. There were times when I couldn't get her into her crib and she would take a nap on the floor. I did 8 treatments every two weeks. I ended up with a port in my chest because they had a hard time getting my veins. I was also going to get Herceptin for a year after chemo and that was going to be administered the same way. They say that I did great with the chemo and I would take my nausa medicine and it seemed to help. My last four treatments would knock me out for a day or two because my bones would hurt so bad that I could barely lay in bed.
I started radiation 3 weeks after I was done with chemo and did that five days a week for 5 and half weeks. I got very burned in my armpit area. One day I went in and the techs even felt bad because of how it looked. I completed that and was on to the next thing. Surgery to get the expanders out and put in my implants. I had surgery the end of April 2007 and had to go another 6 weeks of no heavy lifting. At least this time my daughter was walking. I got the port out the end of July and have just had follow up appointments since. This process has made my husband and I much closer and we learned to communicate at lot more. I also learned that it is very hard for the caregiver. My husband wanted to fix me and he couldn't. My kids were very supportive and my son was always my cheerleader telling me I will be ok.
When I was diagnosed I never thought that I would die from this but I do think that we will be affected by it again somewhere. I want my kids to be able to look back and say "My mom did it and it will be ok." I have worked off and on throughout this process and my clients have told me about how I have affected them. I have some that can't believe what I went through and that I am happy and healthy now and it makes them think their problems aren't so bad. I have friends that said they would have given up and they were amazed and how up beat and positive I was. I do think that having my family around me helped me want to beat it. I have to be there for my kids, and husband.
I am taking Tamoxifen for the next five years. It does have some side effects but it isn't as bad as cancer coming back. I'm sure that there is so much more that I could tell you about the process and what I went through. I can tell you that I am very lucky to live here in Salt Lake and to have the great doctors I have had. They have all been wonderfull and I think of them as a friend. Cancer has changed my life in many ways but I also have grown and learned how strong of a person I can be. I have experienced a lot of things in my life that has made me grow and I can chalk this up as another one.
I have no family history of breast cancer but because of my age I decided on having a bilateral mastectomy. I was told I had a 40 percent chance of having cancer on the other side in the next 20 years and I didn't want to have to go through it twice. I have not had a reaccurance. I had the mastectomy the following Friday and was told that I had postive lymph nodes so they wanted me to do Chemotherapy and Radiation. I started Chemo 4 weeks later, and 4 days after my daughter turned one. The hardest part so far was that I couldn't lift my daughter. There were times when I couldn't get her into her crib and she would take a nap on the floor. I did 8 treatments every two weeks. I ended up with a port in my chest because they had a hard time getting my veins. I was also going to get Herceptin for a year after chemo and that was going to be administered the same way. They say that I did great with the chemo and I would take my nausa medicine and it seemed to help. My last four treatments would knock me out for a day or two because my bones would hurt so bad that I could barely lay in bed.
I started radiation 3 weeks after I was done with chemo and did that five days a week for 5 and half weeks. I got very burned in my armpit area. One day I went in and the techs even felt bad because of how it looked. I completed that and was on to the next thing. Surgery to get the expanders out and put in my implants. I had surgery the end of April 2007 and had to go another 6 weeks of no heavy lifting. At least this time my daughter was walking. I got the port out the end of July and have just had follow up appointments since. This process has made my husband and I much closer and we learned to communicate at lot more. I also learned that it is very hard for the caregiver. My husband wanted to fix me and he couldn't. My kids were very supportive and my son was always my cheerleader telling me I will be ok.
When I was diagnosed I never thought that I would die from this but I do think that we will be affected by it again somewhere. I want my kids to be able to look back and say "My mom did it and it will be ok." I have worked off and on throughout this process and my clients have told me about how I have affected them. I have some that can't believe what I went through and that I am happy and healthy now and it makes them think their problems aren't so bad. I have friends that said they would have given up and they were amazed and how up beat and positive I was. I do think that having my family around me helped me want to beat it. I have to be there for my kids, and husband.
I am taking Tamoxifen for the next five years. It does have some side effects but it isn't as bad as cancer coming back. I'm sure that there is so much more that I could tell you about the process and what I went through. I can tell you that I am very lucky to live here in Salt Lake and to have the great doctors I have had. They have all been wonderfull and I think of them as a friend. Cancer has changed my life in many ways but I also have grown and learned how strong of a person I can be. I have experienced a lot of things in my life that has made me grow and I can chalk this up as another one.
Laurie's Story
My story starts out with the fear and drama that most of us start this journey with. I was pregnant with my second child when I first felt what is now called "the lump." I didn't get it checked out right away because I was pregnant and nearing the end of my pregnancy. I wasn't sure if it was a scary lump or just part of being pregnant and all the changes that come with it.I delivered a beautiful baby boy and decided to wait and see what happened. When he was about 2 months old I was pumping some milk after I had nursed and noticed that there was blood in my milk. I was frozen with terror. I knew this was no ordinary lump. It needed to be checked out. After meeting with my obstetrician and being referred to a surgeon the decision to remove the lump was made. I decided not to biopsy it and just wait until they had all the tissue from the lumpectomy to get the full story. On Monday November 21, 2005 the news came. It was cancer, I was 27 and completely shocked. Like everyone else who has been there the thought was what have I done wrong? Why is this happening to me? After driving home numb with the diagnosis, I allowed myself to be numb but only until the next morning. Then I was ready to fight! The mastectomy was two and a half weeks later. Chemo started a month after that. Time dragged and life was a blur of treatments, blood draws and many days counting down the moments until you knew you could make it through another treatment. Eight rounds of chemo were followed by twenty five days worth of radiation treatments. No matter what the trial there will always be setbacks. No matter what the trial there will always be blessings and miracles. I had my share of setbacks, blessings and miracles. The best being able to celebrate the birth of my third chil just eighteen months after finishing treatment. She wasn't in "the plan, " but she was worth the pain to experience the miracle. So far there has been no reoccurence. I cross my fingers and pray each day that it will stay that way. I know that if the cancer comes back I will give it all I've got to beat it again so I can raise my three children. My dreams were different before I joined the pink sorority. Now they are simple with much more substance. Cancer is a journey not a punishment. You think of who you were, who you are and FIGHT each day to become the person you've always dreamed about being.
Carletta's Story
In 1980, at age 24, after I had just had my third child, one day I noticed some leaking coming from my right breast. I subsequently went to the doctor, had a mammogram, and was told there was an over-secretion in one of the ducts in my breast. This continued on and off for about 10 years and at age 34, I went for another mammogram and was told I still had the over-secretion of that duct in my right breast. After turning 40, one morning I awoke to find blood secreting from my right breast. I went immediately to the doctor and after extensive workup, was told a polyp was found in my right breast; this was removed with no abnormal findings, but I began going every six months for a mammogram and ultrasound. Three years later, I was released only to return once a year for a checkup.
In August of 2000, one day I noticed a knot in my right upper breast. I immediately returned to my doctor, and this time I was told I did have breast cancer. The doctor said I had some important decisions to make. After much thought and prayer, and having a family history of breast cancer, I chose to have both breasts removed. Upon removal of the right breast, the cancer was found to have infiltrated out of the duct into the breast; removal of the left breast revealed abnormal cells had developed as well. I thank God for the wisdom of choosing to have both breasts removed.
This is where my true journey of faith began. I am a wife, mother of three, grandmother of eleven, and a Beautician, owning my own business. My battle with breast cancer was one that was not won alone but with my Savior, Jesus, who revealed to me that his timing is perfect, and when there are times I cannot trust his hand, I can always trust his heart. He would bring scripture to my mind to strengthen me such as his yoke is easy, and his burden is light. My husband always let me know he loved and even without breasts, made me feel beautiful. My Sister, Claudia, encouraged me to go ahead with chemotherapy instructing me that I was obligated to live until I die. My Sister, Claudette, said to me “The pain will last for a moment, but the glory will last through eternity.” A friend who had battled cancer simply stated “It is doable.” My children were there to change the dressings, empty draining tubes, and help out where needed. I know my mother spent countless hours in prayer for me. I thank God even through being exhausted, sometimes not being able to think clearly because of the chemotherapy, God gave me the strength to still work on the days I did not have treatments, I thank him that I never lost my hair, and I can say with complete honesty, I was not afraid. Just as Job said, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.”
At age 52, it has been eight years now since my diagnosis, and I have had no recurrence of cancer. As I sit here remembering that time, I am truly thankful for what God has done for me. I have shared my story with so many for it has become such a great part of my life and testimony. I have had the opportunity to encourage many through my story and would not change going through cancer for the world. I have truly learned through cancer that I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. As my good friend said to me, “It is doable,” and when you come through it, you have a great opportunity to encourage others, tell of your faith, and make a difference for someone else. I appreciate so much for the opportunity to share my story, and if anyone reading this now is battling breast cancer, just remember that you may have cancer, but you do not have to let cancer have you.
In August of 2000, one day I noticed a knot in my right upper breast. I immediately returned to my doctor, and this time I was told I did have breast cancer. The doctor said I had some important decisions to make. After much thought and prayer, and having a family history of breast cancer, I chose to have both breasts removed. Upon removal of the right breast, the cancer was found to have infiltrated out of the duct into the breast; removal of the left breast revealed abnormal cells had developed as well. I thank God for the wisdom of choosing to have both breasts removed.
This is where my true journey of faith began. I am a wife, mother of three, grandmother of eleven, and a Beautician, owning my own business. My battle with breast cancer was one that was not won alone but with my Savior, Jesus, who revealed to me that his timing is perfect, and when there are times I cannot trust his hand, I can always trust his heart. He would bring scripture to my mind to strengthen me such as his yoke is easy, and his burden is light. My husband always let me know he loved and even without breasts, made me feel beautiful. My Sister, Claudia, encouraged me to go ahead with chemotherapy instructing me that I was obligated to live until I die. My Sister, Claudette, said to me “The pain will last for a moment, but the glory will last through eternity.” A friend who had battled cancer simply stated “It is doable.” My children were there to change the dressings, empty draining tubes, and help out where needed. I know my mother spent countless hours in prayer for me. I thank God even through being exhausted, sometimes not being able to think clearly because of the chemotherapy, God gave me the strength to still work on the days I did not have treatments, I thank him that I never lost my hair, and I can say with complete honesty, I was not afraid. Just as Job said, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.”
At age 52, it has been eight years now since my diagnosis, and I have had no recurrence of cancer. As I sit here remembering that time, I am truly thankful for what God has done for me. I have shared my story with so many for it has become such a great part of my life and testimony. I have had the opportunity to encourage many through my story and would not change going through cancer for the world. I have truly learned through cancer that I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. As my good friend said to me, “It is doable,” and when you come through it, you have a great opportunity to encourage others, tell of your faith, and make a difference for someone else. I appreciate so much for the opportunity to share my story, and if anyone reading this now is battling breast cancer, just remember that you may have cancer, but you do not have to let cancer have you.
Cheryl's Story
One of my goals in life was to get married and have a family. After graduating from college, I met the man of my dreams and we were married less than a year later. We had been married for seven months and were just thinking of kids when the diagnosis came: I had a five cm tumor in my left breast. I was 28 years old.
After a mastectomy, I endured four rounds of chemo and eight weeks of radiation therapy. My sweet husband was there through the entire treatment. He traded sides of the bed so he wouldn't accidentally bump my surgical site. He held my hair back as I vomited into the toilet. He cut my hair short when it started to fall out, then took his razor and shaving cream and shaved it all off. (My long, naturally curley hair was one of the things that first attracted him to me.) He didn't tell me when the chemo made me smell funny. When it was over, I knew if we had survived cancer treatment, we would be together forever.
Life doesn't end with a cancer diagnosis. I have now been cancer free for five and a half years. I just gave birth to our third child, a boy who joined his 2 year old brother and 4 year old sister. I have nursed all three of my children with just one breast.
The most important thing I have learned: life goes on. After a diagnosis of cancer, the most important thing is to focus on treatment and making yourself well. Once you have been treated, move on. Don't let cancer ruin the rest of your life. There will always be reminders, but there shouldn't be limitations. A positive attitiude really is the best medicine.
After a mastectomy, I endured four rounds of chemo and eight weeks of radiation therapy. My sweet husband was there through the entire treatment. He traded sides of the bed so he wouldn't accidentally bump my surgical site. He held my hair back as I vomited into the toilet. He cut my hair short when it started to fall out, then took his razor and shaving cream and shaved it all off. (My long, naturally curley hair was one of the things that first attracted him to me.) He didn't tell me when the chemo made me smell funny. When it was over, I knew if we had survived cancer treatment, we would be together forever.
Life doesn't end with a cancer diagnosis. I have now been cancer free for five and a half years. I just gave birth to our third child, a boy who joined his 2 year old brother and 4 year old sister. I have nursed all three of my children with just one breast.
The most important thing I have learned: life goes on. After a diagnosis of cancer, the most important thing is to focus on treatment and making yourself well. Once you have been treated, move on. Don't let cancer ruin the rest of your life. There will always be reminders, but there shouldn't be limitations. A positive attitiude really is the best medicine.
Kristy's Story
I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer (triple-negative invasive ductal carcinoma, level 2) at the age of 27 and while I was 36 weeks PREGNANT with my second child.
At the time, my husband was unemployed and I was working full-time.
What's funny was that I found the lump 3 months earlier, and figured that because I was pregnant (and I had breast-fed my first child for 15 months) that I was lactating and had a clogged milk duct. I noticed it, but didn't worry about it until I realized it wasn't going away. My husband and I were having marital problems and were on the verge of divorce until I was diagnosed with cancer.
I was fortunate that I was far enough along in my pregnancy at the time of diagnosis that we decided to wait to have the baby before any surgeries or cancer treatments started. I was able to use that time to interview different surgeons and oncologists and get varied opinions on my condition and the best treatment.
In fact, the aspect that was the most unsettling for me was that I was not going to be able to breast feed my baby. I didn't worry about dying, because everyone I knew who had breast cancer (inside my family and out) were still alive.
I consulted lactation specialists and surgeons and finally found a tenured surgeon who agreed to cut into me while lactating, warning me that I might have infections from it, but he would do it.I scheduled a C section on August 4th, 2007 and my lumpectomy on August 10th, 2007.
I worked full time until I had the baby, and it was a blessing because it kept my mind off of all the "ifs" and let me focus on only the "what can I do about everything today?" question.
I had the baby and started nursing him. The first time he nursed, he had a very difficult time latching on. After a couple of days in the hospital, the pediatrician told me that he was slightly "tongue-tied" and couldn't nurse as well as other babies. It was a sign.
After 4 days of difficult nursing, I decided that I was emotionally ready to stop nursing. The hospital offered to give me free formula as long as I needed it. The hospital was such a rich experience because I would walk the halls at night, praying in my mind and thinking about the baby and the cancer and what I wanted out of life.. I also prayed to understand what I was supposed to learn from all of this.
I decided to dry up and then realized that I wanted to dry up before undergoing the lumpectomy, so I put off the lumpectomy until August 21st, 2007.
All went well, they also did an axillary dissection after finding one sentinel node with cancer.It was very difficult to pick up the newborn baby and my 2 year old son after that. I then began a dose-dense chemo regimen September 28th, 2007 for 16 weeks.
The free formula was a blessing - I was able to sleep while others fed the baby. I tried my hardest to feed him as much as I could in order to bond with him, but it was a relief to be able to let others feed him too.
There were times that I would jolt awake at night from the chemo drugs and I would go out in the living room and pray and ponder. I would feel so absolutely close to my Saviour and to my ancestors who probably had cancer too. It made me desire to research my family history and learn more about my predessors.
I went back to work on November 1st, 2007 and worked as many hours as my body would allow.In December 2007, I had to have a blood infusion because my blood counts were so low. It was interesting because I hadn't realized how much my energy dragged because I must have gotten used to it. Once I received the infusion, my energy returned and color in my cheeks returned. It was absolutely amazing.
After chemo ended on January 11, 2008, I began radiation for 5 weeks starting in March 2008.The previous problems with my marriage had been put on hold during the cancer and returned ferociously in March, and we split by April.
Cancer made me realize how much of a work ethic I had. No matter what happened to my body, I was more concerned with providing food and shelter to my children. Because I had a baby on top of cancer, I didn't have the opportunity to sit around a lot, even when I was exhausted. I chose to not use cancer (on top of pregnancy) as an excuse to be lazy. A lot of people served our family with monetary donations and meals and I was in awe as to how much support we received. I resolved that once we were on our feet that I would give more to others than I had before. Their service changed my heart and my attitude. I want to be the first one to respond when others need help, because it meant so much to me. Even the smallest gestures were absolutely appreciated. Even when people just asked me how I was doing or acknowledged that they noticed how hard I was trying.
I am so blessed to have received cancer. It has built my character and made me into so much more of a person than I was ever before. Although cancer changed me, it didn't change my husband for the best and we are undergoing a divorce. I realize that attitude during trials is so important because cancer doesn't define me, it enhanced my life and now I'm a better servant of God for it.
A few months ago, we discovered that Breast Cancer runs in my family, but never this young. It turns out that I have the BRCA1 genetic mutation and so does many of my family members. This knowledge empowers me to watch and prepare and prevent.Cancer is never the ending, it's the beginning of defining who you are as a person when times are tough.
At the time, my husband was unemployed and I was working full-time.
What's funny was that I found the lump 3 months earlier, and figured that because I was pregnant (and I had breast-fed my first child for 15 months) that I was lactating and had a clogged milk duct. I noticed it, but didn't worry about it until I realized it wasn't going away. My husband and I were having marital problems and were on the verge of divorce until I was diagnosed with cancer.
I was fortunate that I was far enough along in my pregnancy at the time of diagnosis that we decided to wait to have the baby before any surgeries or cancer treatments started. I was able to use that time to interview different surgeons and oncologists and get varied opinions on my condition and the best treatment.
In fact, the aspect that was the most unsettling for me was that I was not going to be able to breast feed my baby. I didn't worry about dying, because everyone I knew who had breast cancer (inside my family and out) were still alive.
I consulted lactation specialists and surgeons and finally found a tenured surgeon who agreed to cut into me while lactating, warning me that I might have infections from it, but he would do it.I scheduled a C section on August 4th, 2007 and my lumpectomy on August 10th, 2007.
I worked full time until I had the baby, and it was a blessing because it kept my mind off of all the "ifs" and let me focus on only the "what can I do about everything today?" question.
I had the baby and started nursing him. The first time he nursed, he had a very difficult time latching on. After a couple of days in the hospital, the pediatrician told me that he was slightly "tongue-tied" and couldn't nurse as well as other babies. It was a sign.
After 4 days of difficult nursing, I decided that I was emotionally ready to stop nursing. The hospital offered to give me free formula as long as I needed it. The hospital was such a rich experience because I would walk the halls at night, praying in my mind and thinking about the baby and the cancer and what I wanted out of life.. I also prayed to understand what I was supposed to learn from all of this.
I decided to dry up and then realized that I wanted to dry up before undergoing the lumpectomy, so I put off the lumpectomy until August 21st, 2007.
All went well, they also did an axillary dissection after finding one sentinel node with cancer.It was very difficult to pick up the newborn baby and my 2 year old son after that. I then began a dose-dense chemo regimen September 28th, 2007 for 16 weeks.
The free formula was a blessing - I was able to sleep while others fed the baby. I tried my hardest to feed him as much as I could in order to bond with him, but it was a relief to be able to let others feed him too.
There were times that I would jolt awake at night from the chemo drugs and I would go out in the living room and pray and ponder. I would feel so absolutely close to my Saviour and to my ancestors who probably had cancer too. It made me desire to research my family history and learn more about my predessors.
I went back to work on November 1st, 2007 and worked as many hours as my body would allow.In December 2007, I had to have a blood infusion because my blood counts were so low. It was interesting because I hadn't realized how much my energy dragged because I must have gotten used to it. Once I received the infusion, my energy returned and color in my cheeks returned. It was absolutely amazing.
After chemo ended on January 11, 2008, I began radiation for 5 weeks starting in March 2008.The previous problems with my marriage had been put on hold during the cancer and returned ferociously in March, and we split by April.
Cancer made me realize how much of a work ethic I had. No matter what happened to my body, I was more concerned with providing food and shelter to my children. Because I had a baby on top of cancer, I didn't have the opportunity to sit around a lot, even when I was exhausted. I chose to not use cancer (on top of pregnancy) as an excuse to be lazy. A lot of people served our family with monetary donations and meals and I was in awe as to how much support we received. I resolved that once we were on our feet that I would give more to others than I had before. Their service changed my heart and my attitude. I want to be the first one to respond when others need help, because it meant so much to me. Even the smallest gestures were absolutely appreciated. Even when people just asked me how I was doing or acknowledged that they noticed how hard I was trying.
I am so blessed to have received cancer. It has built my character and made me into so much more of a person than I was ever before. Although cancer changed me, it didn't change my husband for the best and we are undergoing a divorce. I realize that attitude during trials is so important because cancer doesn't define me, it enhanced my life and now I'm a better servant of God for it.
A few months ago, we discovered that Breast Cancer runs in my family, but never this young. It turns out that I have the BRCA1 genetic mutation and so does many of my family members. This knowledge empowers me to watch and prepare and prevent.Cancer is never the ending, it's the beginning of defining who you are as a person when times are tough.
Ginny's Story
I was sadly diagnosed with breast cancer just after I turned 24. My only child, Max had just turned 1 and the prognosis was not good. I found my lump 10 months before it was ever removed, and by then the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. My doctors were not concerned with the lump because at the time I was breast feeding and it was thought that I had a clogged milk duct. When the lump did not go away, and I started to find more I was sent to a surgeon to have them removed. Even the surgeon did not think it could be cancer. I was just too young for breast cancer and I had no family history. Well, here I am now 30 years old, 6 years cancer free, and 2 additional babies- both girls. I am blessed. Even though fighting cancer was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, I don't regret it. My life has been changed for the better. I see the world in a new light and I look for joy daily remembering how quickly it can be taken from me. I know I am stronger, happier, and healthier than I have ever been and for that I am thankful. Breast cancer is no longer a 40 and up disease and there needs to be more awareness. Women and men need to know they are at risk and how important it is to do self exams every month, and if they do find something irregular, to be pro active and get it looked at quickly. I did not know that men were at risk until I was diagnosed. I had never even heard that it was a possibility. We need more awareness! To those who are fighting the disease now, take life one day at a time to fight, and in that day look for the joy, see the beauty around you, be grateful for the things you do have, laugh as much as you can, and surround yourself with the people you love and who love you. Before you know it your treatments will be over, the incisions will be healed, and you too will be thankful for the experience to really know what it means to live life to the fullest.
Gail's Story
Let’s start with the good news. I am cancer free as of today!
It is a relief that is for sure, but (and there is always a but with cancer) I have forgotten how to celebrate thoroughly, as in down to my core. You see I have a terrorist that lies in wait, that is ready to pounce when I least expect it. I am an eight year survivor in this war on terror and I have the scars to prove it (two reocurrences). Living with cancer is a marvelous thing – the moments of simple clarity, the aweness of awareness, the breathe of life, the hope of tomorrow, the dreams of a future. But wait, there It is again, a feeling in my gut, a sickening tug that reminds me I have stage IV metastatic breast cancer, there is no cure. I want it to go away so desperately, and I do my best to do just that by eating organic, doing yoga and tai chi, meditating, long walks at the beach and keeping stress at bay. These are things I can control, and I feel good about doing them, but I do live cautiously not carelessly. I cannot be reckless I need the health insurance.
Let’s go back to the good news. I am cancer free as of today! I live today because of smart doctors, medicine that my cancer responds to, and a good attitude - what this means I cannot tell you exactly, except that I am by nature an eternal optimist. I am also very lucky, I have a wonderful supportive husband and two beautiful daughters who have grown to be wonderful adults. I am also blessed with a strong will and perseverance. I will not take no as an answer or leave a stone unturned when I am faced with an obstacle that my life may depend on. I have earned my badge of courage but I do not wear it outwardly, as the terrorist might snatch it away.
Let’s end with the good news. I am cancer free as of today!
It is a relief that is for sure, but (and there is always a but with cancer) I have forgotten how to celebrate thoroughly, as in down to my core. You see I have a terrorist that lies in wait, that is ready to pounce when I least expect it. I am an eight year survivor in this war on terror and I have the scars to prove it (two reocurrences). Living with cancer is a marvelous thing – the moments of simple clarity, the aweness of awareness, the breathe of life, the hope of tomorrow, the dreams of a future. But wait, there It is again, a feeling in my gut, a sickening tug that reminds me I have stage IV metastatic breast cancer, there is no cure. I want it to go away so desperately, and I do my best to do just that by eating organic, doing yoga and tai chi, meditating, long walks at the beach and keeping stress at bay. These are things I can control, and I feel good about doing them, but I do live cautiously not carelessly. I cannot be reckless I need the health insurance.
Let’s go back to the good news. I am cancer free as of today! I live today because of smart doctors, medicine that my cancer responds to, and a good attitude - what this means I cannot tell you exactly, except that I am by nature an eternal optimist. I am also very lucky, I have a wonderful supportive husband and two beautiful daughters who have grown to be wonderful adults. I am also blessed with a strong will and perseverance. I will not take no as an answer or leave a stone unturned when I am faced with an obstacle that my life may depend on. I have earned my badge of courage but I do not wear it outwardly, as the terrorist might snatch it away.
Let’s end with the good news. I am cancer free as of today!
Dee's Story
My name is Dee and this is My Journey of Faith, Courage and Love Shrouded by Fear.
As I reflect over this past year, I wonder how I ever managed to get through all of the trials and procedures facing me. My journey was filled with faith, courage and the loving support of my husband, friends, doctors, nurses and technicians. However, along this journey there was also fear. It all started in August of 2007 when a co-worker began telling me of a type of breast cancer I had never heard of before."
It is very hard to detect and the signs are not the same as normal breast cancer." Those words began the fear that followed me for quite some time. Inflammatory Breast Cancer - what is that? My two sisters had breast cancer years ago and both are survivors. But there are not normal lumps to feel with Inflammatory Breast Cancer. I wanted to rush home from work to check my breasts. The last mammogram I had was 2 1/2 years prior. Caring for my husband who became terminal with a serious liver disease 7 years before and working full time had become priorities in my life. My husband and I were married for 42 years. He had no idea of the year that was to come.
That evening I looked carefully. I was never very good with self-exams, although I did them from time to time. Tonight, this was different. There was a dent underneath the right breast. I can't remember seeing this before. I didn't notice the swollen redness that was there. Along with the dent, my nipple was wrinkled. Is that normal I thought. Without hesitation, an appointment was made for a mammogram.
Previously, about 4 or 5 years ago, I had 2 needle biopsies, one in each breast. It was benign. So when the technician took some time to come back into the exam room, I knew there was a problem. Trying not to worry a second mammogram was taken of the right breast. And again I waited, feeling the fear grow.
By the time I got to work, I had numerous telephone calls waiting for me from my physician to set up a needle biopsy appointment. And it was confirmed. I had Inflammatory Breast Cancer. An appointment with my oncologist was immediately set; my doctor explaing the detailed treatment that was to be done; i.e. the types of chemotherapy; the length of the treatments; and what to expect - fatigue, hair loss, depression, etc. The "BIG" guns of chemo was about to begin. I felt unusally at ease, feeling at "home" at the cancer cancer, feeling the loving concern for the entire person. This was half the battle.
My husband, daughter, and a very close girlfriend were all extremely helpful and encouraging as they took care of me. My daughter shaved my head as I did not want to face clumps of hair falling out. To show their support, my husband and son proceeded to shave their heads. Words cannot express the excellent treatment I received from my doctor and nurses as they carefully watched my blood count and provided the necessary medications. After I was given the first shot to build up my white blood count, I found myself in the emergency room from the excruciating pain in my chest. I thought I was having a heart attack. I soon learned what I needed to do to relieve the pain and continue with my treatments. Although I was extremely fatigued, the encouragement I received from the team at the oncologist center, my friends, cards full of kind words from those I served at my place of employment continued to strenghten me. But most of all, my husband who never missed a treatment, test, or doctor's visit.
About 2 months after my chemo treatments, I scheduled my surgery with mixed emotions. I thought - maybe I don't need the surgery. The signs of the cancer were gone due to the chemo treatments. As I waited during the 2 months for my blood to build up for the surgery, the skin on my breast began to look like the skin of an orange again. As the fear shrouded my life, one could see the horrendous strength of Inflammatory Breast Cancer as it began to strike back.
The mastectomy left me with two large drainage tubes where my breast used to be. Can this really be happening to me. My daughter, Lydia, and close friend, Carol helped me to relax and let the process of healing continue. The time soon came in March for the radiation treatments to start. Again, I found myself surrounded by doctors, technicians and personnel who cared for the entire person. As I went every day, I wondered why they continued to encourage me. They marveled at how well I was doing which made my smile grow wider. The last 5 treatments, which were the strongest and aimed at the incision site, made my skin begin to break down and develop large open burns. An assortment of creams were used 2 -3 times a day. My healing was slow but it DID heal.
I would like to say that the cancer center and radiation center gives extreme support to cancer patients and survivors. They have sponsored luncheons and programs like "Look Good, Feel Better" which builds confidence, esteem, and courage to all. My best advice is to seek out these programs and share your experience which will not only build you up but also encourage others.
I am currently having hormone therapy as preventive medicine to deter any new signs of cancer. The fear lingers in the back of my mind, but I am determined not to let it stop me from leading my life as I did before. My husband and I am active in our faith which has sustained me through this ordeal. I have always felt that when you are faced with a trial and/or tragedy, it is important in the healing process to find and use the positive side to help others. I encourage ALL women to regularly do self-exams, get the mammograms, and follow thru with whatever treatment you and your doctor decide on. Whatever I can do to help the cause of fighting this disease, I will do. I will continue to talk to anyone who will listen about the symptoms of Inflammatory Breast Cancer.
At the end of January, I resumed my secular work with anticipation hoping my strength would hold up. I am so fortunate to have an employer who allowed whatever was needed; rest periods, doctor visits, and emotional and spiritual encouragement.
My greatest challenge is yet ahead. That is to continue to be strong and support my husband in his fight against his newly diagnosed lung cancer.
As I reflect over this past year, I wonder how I ever managed to get through all of the trials and procedures facing me. My journey was filled with faith, courage and the loving support of my husband, friends, doctors, nurses and technicians. However, along this journey there was also fear. It all started in August of 2007 when a co-worker began telling me of a type of breast cancer I had never heard of before."
It is very hard to detect and the signs are not the same as normal breast cancer." Those words began the fear that followed me for quite some time. Inflammatory Breast Cancer - what is that? My two sisters had breast cancer years ago and both are survivors. But there are not normal lumps to feel with Inflammatory Breast Cancer. I wanted to rush home from work to check my breasts. The last mammogram I had was 2 1/2 years prior. Caring for my husband who became terminal with a serious liver disease 7 years before and working full time had become priorities in my life. My husband and I were married for 42 years. He had no idea of the year that was to come.
That evening I looked carefully. I was never very good with self-exams, although I did them from time to time. Tonight, this was different. There was a dent underneath the right breast. I can't remember seeing this before. I didn't notice the swollen redness that was there. Along with the dent, my nipple was wrinkled. Is that normal I thought. Without hesitation, an appointment was made for a mammogram.
Previously, about 4 or 5 years ago, I had 2 needle biopsies, one in each breast. It was benign. So when the technician took some time to come back into the exam room, I knew there was a problem. Trying not to worry a second mammogram was taken of the right breast. And again I waited, feeling the fear grow.
By the time I got to work, I had numerous telephone calls waiting for me from my physician to set up a needle biopsy appointment. And it was confirmed. I had Inflammatory Breast Cancer. An appointment with my oncologist was immediately set; my doctor explaing the detailed treatment that was to be done; i.e. the types of chemotherapy; the length of the treatments; and what to expect - fatigue, hair loss, depression, etc. The "BIG" guns of chemo was about to begin. I felt unusally at ease, feeling at "home" at the cancer cancer, feeling the loving concern for the entire person. This was half the battle.
My husband, daughter, and a very close girlfriend were all extremely helpful and encouraging as they took care of me. My daughter shaved my head as I did not want to face clumps of hair falling out. To show their support, my husband and son proceeded to shave their heads. Words cannot express the excellent treatment I received from my doctor and nurses as they carefully watched my blood count and provided the necessary medications. After I was given the first shot to build up my white blood count, I found myself in the emergency room from the excruciating pain in my chest. I thought I was having a heart attack. I soon learned what I needed to do to relieve the pain and continue with my treatments. Although I was extremely fatigued, the encouragement I received from the team at the oncologist center, my friends, cards full of kind words from those I served at my place of employment continued to strenghten me. But most of all, my husband who never missed a treatment, test, or doctor's visit.
About 2 months after my chemo treatments, I scheduled my surgery with mixed emotions. I thought - maybe I don't need the surgery. The signs of the cancer were gone due to the chemo treatments. As I waited during the 2 months for my blood to build up for the surgery, the skin on my breast began to look like the skin of an orange again. As the fear shrouded my life, one could see the horrendous strength of Inflammatory Breast Cancer as it began to strike back.
The mastectomy left me with two large drainage tubes where my breast used to be. Can this really be happening to me. My daughter, Lydia, and close friend, Carol helped me to relax and let the process of healing continue. The time soon came in March for the radiation treatments to start. Again, I found myself surrounded by doctors, technicians and personnel who cared for the entire person. As I went every day, I wondered why they continued to encourage me. They marveled at how well I was doing which made my smile grow wider. The last 5 treatments, which were the strongest and aimed at the incision site, made my skin begin to break down and develop large open burns. An assortment of creams were used 2 -3 times a day. My healing was slow but it DID heal.
I would like to say that the cancer center and radiation center gives extreme support to cancer patients and survivors. They have sponsored luncheons and programs like "Look Good, Feel Better" which builds confidence, esteem, and courage to all. My best advice is to seek out these programs and share your experience which will not only build you up but also encourage others.
I am currently having hormone therapy as preventive medicine to deter any new signs of cancer. The fear lingers in the back of my mind, but I am determined not to let it stop me from leading my life as I did before. My husband and I am active in our faith which has sustained me through this ordeal. I have always felt that when you are faced with a trial and/or tragedy, it is important in the healing process to find and use the positive side to help others. I encourage ALL women to regularly do self-exams, get the mammograms, and follow thru with whatever treatment you and your doctor decide on. Whatever I can do to help the cause of fighting this disease, I will do. I will continue to talk to anyone who will listen about the symptoms of Inflammatory Breast Cancer.
At the end of January, I resumed my secular work with anticipation hoping my strength would hold up. I am so fortunate to have an employer who allowed whatever was needed; rest periods, doctor visits, and emotional and spiritual encouragement.
My greatest challenge is yet ahead. That is to continue to be strong and support my husband in his fight against his newly diagnosed lung cancer.
Amber's Story
I will never forget that day when I heard the words, "We believe you have an aggressive form of breast cancer called Inflammatory Breast Cancer." The words themselves were not a surprise, but the feelings of dread and overwhelming grief were. You see, I had suspected for months that I had breast cancer. Because this form of cancer was so rare, many doctors don't recognize it because they haven't seen it. I had read about it on the internet and had many of the symptoms. I was worried that I had it, yet wasn't diagnosed until a year after my symptoms started. I was a 27 year old mother of 5 who was breast feeding her 4 month old baby. So in early June 2006 when my right breast turned red, hard, and swollen, I was told I had mastitis. I was put on antibiotics, but they didn't help. I ended up in the ER with IV antibiotics. My symptoms were relieved a little bit, but never went all the way away. I was unable to breastfeed with my right breast because it was too painful. Months went by and my right breast continued to grow larger. I returned to my OB-GYN, and was told that I was engorged with milk. I accepted his explanation, and more time passed.
Six months passed from the onset of my breast problems, and I began to have severe pain in my hip and back. From January-March 2007 I visited a chiropractor, an orthopedic surgeon, and a physical therapist. I did physical therapy, had a steroid injection, did a few weeks of spinal decompression and electrode therapy, and yet my pain continued to get worse. I could hardly walk, couldn't lift my one year old baby, couldn't bend.
At the same time I was having this pain in my back and hip, I was still concerned about my breast. I went back to my OB-GYN, and was once again told that my breast was just engorged with milk. This just didn't seem right to me, because I hadn't had any milk come out of my right breast in 6 months. I was still breastfeeding with my left breast, but my right breast was much larger than my left. Still, I trusted my doctor.
In March-April 2007 my breast began to change even more. It had a mottled purple look, and the skin became really thick and looked like the skin of an orange. My nipple turned yellow, and inverted. I was very concerned. One night I was searching the internet to see if I could figure out what was going on with my breast. I stumbled upon a website about inflammatory breast cancer, also called IBC. IBC is a rare, but very aggressive form of breast cancer. It accounts for between only 1-5% of breast cancer. It usually spreads in nests or sheets in the breast, rather than a lump. It is often misdiagnosed as mastitis. The more I read on this site, the more I felt this deep dread and fear inside. I was sure that this is exactly what I had!
The next morning I called my OB-GYN and requested that I be seen that same day. I brought with me a print out of the symptoms of IBC. I told my doctor that I was worried that I had IBC, and he said, "I have been practicing for 20 years, and I have only seen 1 case of inflammatory breast cancer, and you don't have it."Of course I was relieved that my doctor didn't think I had IBC, but I was still concerned about all of the changes in my breast. So, the doctor told me, "I am 99.9% sure it is nothing, but for your peace of mind I will refer you to a surgeon."The first surgeon I saw just glanced at my breast, but didn't think anything serious was going on. He sent me for an ultrasound. The ultrasound result came back as "normal breast tissue", even though by this time, there was a baseball size mass in my breast. I just couldn't understand how this could be!
Luckily, my sister-in-law is an OR nurse. She had heard about my breast issues, and she referred me to a different surgeon who has had a lot of experience with breast cancer. This second surgeon was very concerned when he saw my breast. He had me scheduled for a mammogram the following day.
Film after film after film was taken during my mammogram. I was beginning to get worried. Then I was taken for another ultrasound of my breast. That is when the radiologist came in to do the ultrasound herself. She was able to see enlarged lymph nodes. She showed me the films from my mammogram, which showed cancer sprinkled like sugar all over in the supposed "normal breast tissue". That is when I heard those words, "We believe you have an aggressive form of breast cancer called Inflammatory Breast Cancer."
For a moment, time stood still. And the next moment, my world had changed. The next week was a whirlwind of tests, doctors appointments, biopsies, port placement surgery, more tests, more appointments. The test results did indeed come back as inflammatory breast cancer that had metastasized to my bones and right lung. I had lesions on my skull, ribs, spine, femur, pelvis, and hip and shoulder joints. That was what was causing all of my pain. I felt relieved on one hand to know the cause of my pain, but so frustrated on the other hand. If my OB-GYN had been more proactive, more aware, we could have caught the cancer sooner.
Women need to be more aware of this form of breast cancer, and be aware that you don't have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Women need to know that breast cancer can occur in both younger and older women. Breast cancer can even occur in men! I was 28 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, 12 years younger than the age when mammograms are recommended.
Because the cancer had spread beyond the breast, it was considered stage 4. I will never be cured, will never be in remission, and will be in treatment the rest of my life. The five year survival rate for inflammatory breast cancer is less than 10%. I pray daily that I can beat the odds and be part of that 10% that survives 5 or more years. I did 5 months of weekly chemotherapy, I lost my hair, my eyelashes, my eyebrows. I lost my breast, my ovaries, and my uterus. I lost my sense of taste, and my sense of smell (which isn't always a bad thing when you have to change poopy diapers!) I had radiation 5 times a week for 6 weeks. I have continued with targeted therapies once every 3 weeks since February 2008. Even with good health insurance, our portion of my cancer treatments cost us more every month than our house payment!
The 14 months since my cancer diagnosis have been the hardest of my life. But they have also been the best of my life. Even though I have lost a lot because of cancer, I have gained even more. I have developed an even stronger, deeper, loving relationship with the love of my life, my husband Dan. I have seen him grow as he has taken care of me, and also taken a more active role with the care of our 5 children. I have learned to cherish every moment with my children and other family members. I don't take things for granted anymore. We have received so much service from our friends and neighbors. They brought meals in 3 times a week, took our children every afternoon so I could rest, planted flowers and pulled weeds, cleaned my house, brought cookies, and many more acts of service. I have learned not to waste time worrying about small things, or holding grudges. I have learned that no matter how hard things are for you, there is always someone who is worse off than you are. I have tried to always keep a smile on my face, and find something to laugh about. I am so grateful for every day that I am still here. I treasure each moment with my children. Even though I don't have the energy that I used to, I always have enough energy to snuggle with them, read them a story, help them with homework, and listen to them.
I was once asked that if I could go back in time and never get cancer, would I. My answer was no. I truly believe that hard things in life make us appreciate the good things more. If we never had trials or sickness, we can not fully appreciate the joys of life. If there wasn't a cold, long winter, we couldn't fully enjoy the beauty of spring. If we were never sad, how would we know what happiness is?
The message I would most like to share with others is this: There is always good all around you. All you have to do is look and you will see it. Even though I have a terminal illness, I am still happy. I found out just yesterday that my cancer has spread again. In a few weeks, I will begin aggressive weekly chemotherapy again. I will lose my hair again. I will have to suffer all of the painful side effects again. Yet I still greet the day with a smile. The birds are singing this morning, and the sun is shining, and I am still breathing. It is a beautiful day, and life is good.
Six months passed from the onset of my breast problems, and I began to have severe pain in my hip and back. From January-March 2007 I visited a chiropractor, an orthopedic surgeon, and a physical therapist. I did physical therapy, had a steroid injection, did a few weeks of spinal decompression and electrode therapy, and yet my pain continued to get worse. I could hardly walk, couldn't lift my one year old baby, couldn't bend.
At the same time I was having this pain in my back and hip, I was still concerned about my breast. I went back to my OB-GYN, and was once again told that my breast was just engorged with milk. This just didn't seem right to me, because I hadn't had any milk come out of my right breast in 6 months. I was still breastfeeding with my left breast, but my right breast was much larger than my left. Still, I trusted my doctor.
In March-April 2007 my breast began to change even more. It had a mottled purple look, and the skin became really thick and looked like the skin of an orange. My nipple turned yellow, and inverted. I was very concerned. One night I was searching the internet to see if I could figure out what was going on with my breast. I stumbled upon a website about inflammatory breast cancer, also called IBC. IBC is a rare, but very aggressive form of breast cancer. It accounts for between only 1-5% of breast cancer. It usually spreads in nests or sheets in the breast, rather than a lump. It is often misdiagnosed as mastitis. The more I read on this site, the more I felt this deep dread and fear inside. I was sure that this is exactly what I had!
The next morning I called my OB-GYN and requested that I be seen that same day. I brought with me a print out of the symptoms of IBC. I told my doctor that I was worried that I had IBC, and he said, "I have been practicing for 20 years, and I have only seen 1 case of inflammatory breast cancer, and you don't have it."Of course I was relieved that my doctor didn't think I had IBC, but I was still concerned about all of the changes in my breast. So, the doctor told me, "I am 99.9% sure it is nothing, but for your peace of mind I will refer you to a surgeon."The first surgeon I saw just glanced at my breast, but didn't think anything serious was going on. He sent me for an ultrasound. The ultrasound result came back as "normal breast tissue", even though by this time, there was a baseball size mass in my breast. I just couldn't understand how this could be!
Luckily, my sister-in-law is an OR nurse. She had heard about my breast issues, and she referred me to a different surgeon who has had a lot of experience with breast cancer. This second surgeon was very concerned when he saw my breast. He had me scheduled for a mammogram the following day.
Film after film after film was taken during my mammogram. I was beginning to get worried. Then I was taken for another ultrasound of my breast. That is when the radiologist came in to do the ultrasound herself. She was able to see enlarged lymph nodes. She showed me the films from my mammogram, which showed cancer sprinkled like sugar all over in the supposed "normal breast tissue". That is when I heard those words, "We believe you have an aggressive form of breast cancer called Inflammatory Breast Cancer."
For a moment, time stood still. And the next moment, my world had changed. The next week was a whirlwind of tests, doctors appointments, biopsies, port placement surgery, more tests, more appointments. The test results did indeed come back as inflammatory breast cancer that had metastasized to my bones and right lung. I had lesions on my skull, ribs, spine, femur, pelvis, and hip and shoulder joints. That was what was causing all of my pain. I felt relieved on one hand to know the cause of my pain, but so frustrated on the other hand. If my OB-GYN had been more proactive, more aware, we could have caught the cancer sooner.
Women need to be more aware of this form of breast cancer, and be aware that you don't have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Women need to know that breast cancer can occur in both younger and older women. Breast cancer can even occur in men! I was 28 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, 12 years younger than the age when mammograms are recommended.
Because the cancer had spread beyond the breast, it was considered stage 4. I will never be cured, will never be in remission, and will be in treatment the rest of my life. The five year survival rate for inflammatory breast cancer is less than 10%. I pray daily that I can beat the odds and be part of that 10% that survives 5 or more years. I did 5 months of weekly chemotherapy, I lost my hair, my eyelashes, my eyebrows. I lost my breast, my ovaries, and my uterus. I lost my sense of taste, and my sense of smell (which isn't always a bad thing when you have to change poopy diapers!) I had radiation 5 times a week for 6 weeks. I have continued with targeted therapies once every 3 weeks since February 2008. Even with good health insurance, our portion of my cancer treatments cost us more every month than our house payment!
The 14 months since my cancer diagnosis have been the hardest of my life. But they have also been the best of my life. Even though I have lost a lot because of cancer, I have gained even more. I have developed an even stronger, deeper, loving relationship with the love of my life, my husband Dan. I have seen him grow as he has taken care of me, and also taken a more active role with the care of our 5 children. I have learned to cherish every moment with my children and other family members. I don't take things for granted anymore. We have received so much service from our friends and neighbors. They brought meals in 3 times a week, took our children every afternoon so I could rest, planted flowers and pulled weeds, cleaned my house, brought cookies, and many more acts of service. I have learned not to waste time worrying about small things, or holding grudges. I have learned that no matter how hard things are for you, there is always someone who is worse off than you are. I have tried to always keep a smile on my face, and find something to laugh about. I am so grateful for every day that I am still here. I treasure each moment with my children. Even though I don't have the energy that I used to, I always have enough energy to snuggle with them, read them a story, help them with homework, and listen to them.
I was once asked that if I could go back in time and never get cancer, would I. My answer was no. I truly believe that hard things in life make us appreciate the good things more. If we never had trials or sickness, we can not fully appreciate the joys of life. If there wasn't a cold, long winter, we couldn't fully enjoy the beauty of spring. If we were never sad, how would we know what happiness is?
The message I would most like to share with others is this: There is always good all around you. All you have to do is look and you will see it. Even though I have a terminal illness, I am still happy. I found out just yesterday that my cancer has spread again. In a few weeks, I will begin aggressive weekly chemotherapy again. I will lose my hair again. I will have to suffer all of the painful side effects again. Yet I still greet the day with a smile. The birds are singing this morning, and the sun is shining, and I am still breathing. It is a beautiful day, and life is good.
Shannon's Story
After seeing the article in my local newspaper, I've thought deeply about what I would say. First of all, let me answer some of your questions and then show you my heart. I was diagnosed with breast cancer in June, 2007 after I found a lump in my breast. I am a believer in self examinations because my mammogram five months prior showed nothing. I had a mastectomy in July, 2007, and began chemo in August, 2007. Besides my cancer diagnosis, it was also discovered that I am estrogen positive, and HER2 positive. Although my chemo was completed in December, 2007, I am now undergoing Herceptin treatment just like I did with chemo (every 3 weeks, through my port for 1 year). I am also taking a medication called Tamoxifen for my estrogen positive diagnosis that will last for five years. I recently underwent my final reconstructive breast surgery two weeks ago, and I think I am actually done with surgery (five in one year is exhausting). I have learned many things over the past year and have faced many challenges however I would have to say that my Faith has played a big role. I never once considered the possibility of death for a number of reasons. I have two daughters, and I had to fight for them. Not only were they confused about my diagnosis, but their father and I had separated six weeks prior. I had to be strong. I had to continue to raise them in a healthy way, even though I was not healthy. I had to continue to wake up each morning and ask God to give me the strength to get through the day-not the week, the day. My 11 year old daughter and I were talking one night, and she asked me why God would give me cancer and take her daddy away all in one month. I had to answer her honestly and tell her that there was a plan for me....for us...and although I was not sure yet what it was, it was already predetermined. I now know that I am to get involved with raising awareness. I participated in the Susan G. Koman race in my area and loved it. I then helped raise money for our local Relay For Life and finally felt connected. I have been contacted by the commitee recently to join their team. My life changed on June 25th, 2007 FOREVER....but to me it's not been a bad thing. I have a purpose, a direction that was not there before. I am a women with Breast Cancer. I am a fighter. I am strong. I have a relationship with other cancer women that nobody else gets.....and that is powerful!!!
LaRena's Story
In January 2005, I was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer. I had a large tumor across my stomach under the skin layers. (I thought was fat and the diet wasn't working.) and another in the uterus. My Oncologist decided to give me Chemotherapy to try to shrink the size of the tumor before surgery. After 6 installments of chemo of 3 weeks apart, I underwent surgery on July 7 2005. It was a full hysterectomy and also the removal of the mass across my stomach. The surgeon was very confident that the removal was complete. At my last followup appointment on July 8,2008, I was cancer free for 3 years now. Then I had to ruin it, I mentioned that I thought I had a lump in my breast. My oncologist got me in for a Mammogram and biopsy. The biopsy showed cancerous cells. The good news is that it is unrelated to the previous cancer. I met with the surgeon and had a MRI so he could have a better look. He sent me for genetic testing, because my mother and grandmother also had cancer. The good news is that I have neither BRCA1 or BRCA2 genes. I was scheduled for surgery July 29 and I hope everything came out okay. (ha ha) In the future, I'm now facing the possibility of Radiation therapy or Chemotherapy or maybe both. At the age of 54, this was my first Mammogram. I have been thinking that I should get one for years and after all, It's not the worst thing that ever happened to me! It would have been good for them to compare and It may have led to earlier detection of Breast Cancer. Now. I would advise women to get a Mammogram early and often and if diagnosis is cancer, be strong, keep fighting, and the hard part, do what the doctors tell you to do.
Ginger's Story
The night was filled with excitement as we sat around the large oak table at my mom’s house. It was October 31st 2006 - Halloween - and the entire family had gathered to share in the festivities. The 'oohs' and 'aahs' over the creative costumes had already been given and candy had been passed around to appease the children. As I sat there, staring into the faces of my six sisters and my parents, I couldn't believe what I was going to have to tell them. "I have some good news and some bad news" I began. I could see the anticipation in their faces, not knowing what was coming. "I'm five months pregnant...and I was diagnosed with breast cancer this afternoon." Faces that were at first excited turned immediately to shock. And that's how my story began.
I was 31 years old with no history of breast cancer in my immediate family, 5 months pregnant with two other children, and with six sisters whose lives changed after one mere phrase. The words 'Breast Cancer' alone can strike fear into the heart of any woman. But add it to the word 'Pregnant' and it takes on a whole new meaning. I remember sitting in the surgeon’s office as he spoke the words of my diagnosis. What was thought to be nothing because of its appearance on my areola, turned out to be invasive cancer. Many questions should have run through my mind - What would this mean for me and for my unborn child? How will I get through this? - But they didn't. Instead I just smiled and said, "Ok what do we do first?" I was instantly in survival mode. I had been through tough times before and had found the means to be happy and to turn bad situations into good ones and this new diagnosis of breast cancer wasn't going to be any different. I would be happy and I would find a way to help others during my journey. At least by so doing I would find peace within myself and that would pull me through the rough times ahead. And so it began.
My first mastectomy was while I was 6 months pregnant. And although I joked with my surgeon and operating room nurses about how fashionable their blue hats and scrubs were I was nervous about the outcome. How would this all work out? What would it be like only have on breast? Could I still breast feed my newborn baby? After the surgery and the bandages were removed I mourned the loss of my breast as other survivors have. The difference for me was that I only have large breasts when I'm pregnant, so it was a double whammy to have one of my 'rewards' removed during its prime! Other cancer survivors who are not pregnant also don't understand the feeling you get as you look in the mirror and see a HUGE pregnant belly and only one breast. Many in my situation would have cried for days - but I just couldn't. For me it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen! Laughter became my medicine.
I waited to have my auxiliary node dissection until May of 2007 after the birth of my son and the cancer had spread. My final diagnosis was Stage 2B. Next stop - Chemotherapy. Let the fun begin.
Imagine being a student in first grade who has been assigned to take a college class for individuals in their 30s. Now add on another 30 to 40 years and that's what it felt like walking into the chemo room. First of all, I was way too young to be there, and second, no one in the room was smiling. I had never been around anyone with cancer before, or seen the affects it can take on a person. I was shocked to see that all the treatment chairs were full and everyone looked so solemn and sad. I soon learned why firsthand. They were being killed on a cellular level and I was next.
Chemotherapy is what should be given to criminals instead of jail time. I'm convinced that it would be the 'cure all' for those who choose to violate the law. One strong dose and they would NEVER want to be bad again. But no, instead it's given to the un-expecting people who just want to live good lives a little bit longer. If you've never experienced the effects of Chemotherapy, there's really no way to explain it properly. It's something you have to experience because of the intense, horrible, wrenching, disgusting, gross, foul, loathsome (and one more adjective for emphasis) yucky reactions you have to it. Everyone's experience with chemo is different but we all have one thing in common - the experience isn't good.
After my first treatment I understood why the other people in the Chemo room didn't smile and I was determined to do something about that. But what can you do for sick people who don't really want to be bothered during treatment? And what could I do being a mother of 3 with a newborn baby, working full time from home and being beat down by the effects of chemotherapy? Then after a sleepless night I figured it out. BINGO! Quite literally...Bingo. You can do it sitting down, I would be the caller and the patients would just have to mark a square on a piece of paper, then I could hand out prizes to whoever won - BUT my oncologist didn't think that was such a great idea. So on to idea number two...I'd just give out prizes...awards for just being alive, for being a fighter. For taking our chemo medicine and for living one more day. We should be rewarded just for being strong enough to be a survivor. And so that's what I did for the entire 6 months I had my chemo treatments. I contacted local businesses on my 'good' days and drove around with my kids to pick up the donated prizes. We had gift certificates from Target, Home Depot, Red Robin, Great Harvest, Wendy's and more. People opened their hearts to my 'Do Good, Feel Better' project and gave freely. You should have seen the faces of the chemo patients on the first day of my treatment when I told them there were going to win prizes for being in the chemo room. It was so memorable. Some were shocked, some didn't want to participate (at first) but most welcomed the change.
As the months rolled on, a younger person than me entered the chemo room. He was 18 and had testicular cancer. He was quiet and shy at first, but after winning the prizes and interacting with the others in the room during 'prize time, he soon opened up and we all enjoyed his contributions to the conversations. The chemo room on Thursdays was the place to be - I'd hand out prizes, sing the occasional upbeat song to the patients and even got my favorite nurse, Daryl, to dance a jig. Many patients even changed their appointment times to be able to be there for the giveaways. Now in telling all this I don't want to portray someone who is bragging about what I did - or oooh look at me - I'm so wonderful. It's not that at all. What I want to get across is that good things can come from bad experiences if we are willing to open our hearts to others and share the goodness inside. I received FAR more than I ever gave away. I gained happiness, peace and the opportunity to live a longer life with my dear husband and children. Other friends in the chemo room weren't as fortunate and I've mourned losing them.
During my chemo experience my slogan has been 'Just Keep Swimming' taken from the song sung by Dori on the movie Finding Nemo. In life we all have to 'Just Keep Swimming' no matter what kinds of currents we face. No one is exempt from the difficulties of life and if you think the grass is greener on the other side you might want to double check because it's most likely artificial turf. We all have challenges to overcome - but by reaching out to help others, we find that our hands are open to receive what they have to share with us in return.
My chemo experience ended in November of 2007 but the memories and the friendships I made remain. Since then I've had a second mastectomy in Feb. of 08 and an ovary removed in June. I jokingly tell everyone they can now call me 'Jim' since I look more like a man every day. :) My battle continues but so does my determination to stay positive through this journey. It's not always easy and I admit that I've had my moments of utter grief and self pity, but I also have memories of those in the chemo room who had it much worse that I did and I remember to be grateful that I 'just' have breast cancer. I've seen worse.
To top off my experience, after I completed chemotherapy, my father was diagnosed with Stage 4 esophageal cancer. I can not explain the great blessing it is to be able to look my dad in the eyes and honestly say 'I completely understand what you're going through. I know the pain you'll feel and the thoughts that will roll through your mind. Dad, I'm here.' The role of caregiver has been reversed and I find that because of my cancer experience I am, once again, able to offer love, support and understanding to someone dear who's going through the cancer battle field.
Although I never want to endure chemo again, I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. It has changed who I am. It made me a better person and forced me to choose what type of person I was going to be: Someone who helped, or someone who just hurt.
To those of you who have fought the fight and continue to win daily, look for others who need your love, support and understanding. You can offer so much because you know what it's really like and can offer true empathy. You can be a pillar of strength to those who are scared and down hearted. For those of you who have just been diagnosed - don't worry - there are those who have gone before who can help you and although the time ahead will be a challenge - you can do it. You have more strength inside of you than you know and more people who love and will support you than you can imagine. It will be alright. You can get through this. Just keep swimming.
I'm currently in the process of tracking down a plastic surgeon I can trust to complete my reconstruction. So my journey continues. Looking like a 3 year old is only fun for so long...scratch that - it's never fun. But it's one of the last things that need to be completed before I'll feel like this part of my journey is coming to a close.
You asked us to share our greatest challenge and the interesting thing I've found, is that for me, my battle through breast cancer hasn't been dealing with the pain, lack of strength, or self image issues. The hardest thing for me to overcome has been guilt. I feel guilt due to the fact that I've created more debt for my family. Even if it was unintentional - the bills keep coming in and I'm the reason for it. Chemo leaves your body, your hair eventually grows back, the memories of the aches and pains fade - but the bills still have to be paid. Somehow.
BUT, as always, we do what we can, a little at a time, everyday until we reach our goal. We keep swimming and moving forward and we help others along the way. Together we survive.
I was 31 years old with no history of breast cancer in my immediate family, 5 months pregnant with two other children, and with six sisters whose lives changed after one mere phrase. The words 'Breast Cancer' alone can strike fear into the heart of any woman. But add it to the word 'Pregnant' and it takes on a whole new meaning. I remember sitting in the surgeon’s office as he spoke the words of my diagnosis. What was thought to be nothing because of its appearance on my areola, turned out to be invasive cancer. Many questions should have run through my mind - What would this mean for me and for my unborn child? How will I get through this? - But they didn't. Instead I just smiled and said, "Ok what do we do first?" I was instantly in survival mode. I had been through tough times before and had found the means to be happy and to turn bad situations into good ones and this new diagnosis of breast cancer wasn't going to be any different. I would be happy and I would find a way to help others during my journey. At least by so doing I would find peace within myself and that would pull me through the rough times ahead. And so it began.
My first mastectomy was while I was 6 months pregnant. And although I joked with my surgeon and operating room nurses about how fashionable their blue hats and scrubs were I was nervous about the outcome. How would this all work out? What would it be like only have on breast? Could I still breast feed my newborn baby? After the surgery and the bandages were removed I mourned the loss of my breast as other survivors have. The difference for me was that I only have large breasts when I'm pregnant, so it was a double whammy to have one of my 'rewards' removed during its prime! Other cancer survivors who are not pregnant also don't understand the feeling you get as you look in the mirror and see a HUGE pregnant belly and only one breast. Many in my situation would have cried for days - but I just couldn't. For me it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen! Laughter became my medicine.
I waited to have my auxiliary node dissection until May of 2007 after the birth of my son and the cancer had spread. My final diagnosis was Stage 2B. Next stop - Chemotherapy. Let the fun begin.
Imagine being a student in first grade who has been assigned to take a college class for individuals in their 30s. Now add on another 30 to 40 years and that's what it felt like walking into the chemo room. First of all, I was way too young to be there, and second, no one in the room was smiling. I had never been around anyone with cancer before, or seen the affects it can take on a person. I was shocked to see that all the treatment chairs were full and everyone looked so solemn and sad. I soon learned why firsthand. They were being killed on a cellular level and I was next.
Chemotherapy is what should be given to criminals instead of jail time. I'm convinced that it would be the 'cure all' for those who choose to violate the law. One strong dose and they would NEVER want to be bad again. But no, instead it's given to the un-expecting people who just want to live good lives a little bit longer. If you've never experienced the effects of Chemotherapy, there's really no way to explain it properly. It's something you have to experience because of the intense, horrible, wrenching, disgusting, gross, foul, loathsome (and one more adjective for emphasis) yucky reactions you have to it. Everyone's experience with chemo is different but we all have one thing in common - the experience isn't good.
After my first treatment I understood why the other people in the Chemo room didn't smile and I was determined to do something about that. But what can you do for sick people who don't really want to be bothered during treatment? And what could I do being a mother of 3 with a newborn baby, working full time from home and being beat down by the effects of chemotherapy? Then after a sleepless night I figured it out. BINGO! Quite literally...Bingo. You can do it sitting down, I would be the caller and the patients would just have to mark a square on a piece of paper, then I could hand out prizes to whoever won - BUT my oncologist didn't think that was such a great idea. So on to idea number two...I'd just give out prizes...awards for just being alive, for being a fighter. For taking our chemo medicine and for living one more day. We should be rewarded just for being strong enough to be a survivor. And so that's what I did for the entire 6 months I had my chemo treatments. I contacted local businesses on my 'good' days and drove around with my kids to pick up the donated prizes. We had gift certificates from Target, Home Depot, Red Robin, Great Harvest, Wendy's and more. People opened their hearts to my 'Do Good, Feel Better' project and gave freely. You should have seen the faces of the chemo patients on the first day of my treatment when I told them there were going to win prizes for being in the chemo room. It was so memorable. Some were shocked, some didn't want to participate (at first) but most welcomed the change.
As the months rolled on, a younger person than me entered the chemo room. He was 18 and had testicular cancer. He was quiet and shy at first, but after winning the prizes and interacting with the others in the room during 'prize time, he soon opened up and we all enjoyed his contributions to the conversations. The chemo room on Thursdays was the place to be - I'd hand out prizes, sing the occasional upbeat song to the patients and even got my favorite nurse, Daryl, to dance a jig. Many patients even changed their appointment times to be able to be there for the giveaways. Now in telling all this I don't want to portray someone who is bragging about what I did - or oooh look at me - I'm so wonderful. It's not that at all. What I want to get across is that good things can come from bad experiences if we are willing to open our hearts to others and share the goodness inside. I received FAR more than I ever gave away. I gained happiness, peace and the opportunity to live a longer life with my dear husband and children. Other friends in the chemo room weren't as fortunate and I've mourned losing them.
During my chemo experience my slogan has been 'Just Keep Swimming' taken from the song sung by Dori on the movie Finding Nemo. In life we all have to 'Just Keep Swimming' no matter what kinds of currents we face. No one is exempt from the difficulties of life and if you think the grass is greener on the other side you might want to double check because it's most likely artificial turf. We all have challenges to overcome - but by reaching out to help others, we find that our hands are open to receive what they have to share with us in return.
My chemo experience ended in November of 2007 but the memories and the friendships I made remain. Since then I've had a second mastectomy in Feb. of 08 and an ovary removed in June. I jokingly tell everyone they can now call me 'Jim' since I look more like a man every day. :) My battle continues but so does my determination to stay positive through this journey. It's not always easy and I admit that I've had my moments of utter grief and self pity, but I also have memories of those in the chemo room who had it much worse that I did and I remember to be grateful that I 'just' have breast cancer. I've seen worse.
To top off my experience, after I completed chemotherapy, my father was diagnosed with Stage 4 esophageal cancer. I can not explain the great blessing it is to be able to look my dad in the eyes and honestly say 'I completely understand what you're going through. I know the pain you'll feel and the thoughts that will roll through your mind. Dad, I'm here.' The role of caregiver has been reversed and I find that because of my cancer experience I am, once again, able to offer love, support and understanding to someone dear who's going through the cancer battle field.
Although I never want to endure chemo again, I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. It has changed who I am. It made me a better person and forced me to choose what type of person I was going to be: Someone who helped, or someone who just hurt.
To those of you who have fought the fight and continue to win daily, look for others who need your love, support and understanding. You can offer so much because you know what it's really like and can offer true empathy. You can be a pillar of strength to those who are scared and down hearted. For those of you who have just been diagnosed - don't worry - there are those who have gone before who can help you and although the time ahead will be a challenge - you can do it. You have more strength inside of you than you know and more people who love and will support you than you can imagine. It will be alright. You can get through this. Just keep swimming.
I'm currently in the process of tracking down a plastic surgeon I can trust to complete my reconstruction. So my journey continues. Looking like a 3 year old is only fun for so long...scratch that - it's never fun. But it's one of the last things that need to be completed before I'll feel like this part of my journey is coming to a close.
You asked us to share our greatest challenge and the interesting thing I've found, is that for me, my battle through breast cancer hasn't been dealing with the pain, lack of strength, or self image issues. The hardest thing for me to overcome has been guilt. I feel guilt due to the fact that I've created more debt for my family. Even if it was unintentional - the bills keep coming in and I'm the reason for it. Chemo leaves your body, your hair eventually grows back, the memories of the aches and pains fade - but the bills still have to be paid. Somehow.
BUT, as always, we do what we can, a little at a time, everyday until we reach our goal. We keep swimming and moving forward and we help others along the way. Together we survive.
Elma's Story
I am sharing this story on behalf of my wife who is currently undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. My wife was diagnosed with stage I/II breast cancer in April of this year at the age of 37 after finding a very small lump in her breast. She was told that it was nothing to worry about but persisted in having it further evaluated and much to everyones surprise it was invasive ductal carcinoma. She had a very difficult time deciding what treatment options to choose but was told that she was a good candidate for a partial mastectomy due to the lump being just 1cm and having enough tissue available to make this a good cosmetic option. She had surgery in May and because of her young age she was advised to have chemotherapy rather than just taking temoxiphin. She is currently undergoing four cycles chemo. and will the have six weeks of radiation therapy followed by five years of temoxiphin. We still have a ways to go in this battle and it has been very difficult. We have two sons ages six and ten and they have taken all of this pretty hard. My wife worked part time before she became sick and is not currently working. I am the sole provider for our family but I have had to use much of my time off to take her to her doctor/hospital visits. We have health insurance but it has high deductables and out of pocket expenses and we have built up quite a few expenses. We seem to fall in the area of middle class when it comes to receiving any sort of assistance and we haven't been eligible for much. This has put a lot of stress on our home and not to mention our marriage. If there is anything positive to say about this is that her doctors have been great. We are very thankful that she pursued further testing when she did. We have also had alot of support from our family and friends. We have not had to cook a meal in several weeks thanks to them. We are taking things one day at a time and doing everything we can to ensure that our boys grow up with their mommy around. I'm sure that once my wife is feeling stronger she would be happy to share all of the details and she can probably do a much better job of it than I.
Starla's Story
Cancer. I never realized how dramatically cancer would affect my life up until the last year and a half. My mother died from ovarian cancer, my father-n-law was diagnosed with prostrate cancer, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and in the middle of it all Hurrican Rita ravaged our homes and lives.
I am a breast cancer patient. I have endured chemotherapy and radiation. I'll never forget my first chemo. treatment. I was feeling fine on the drive home (2 hours), calling family to tell them how great I felt. Little did I know, the drugs given before chemo. were working well. About the time we pulled in our driveway I first felt nauseated. My husband had prescriptions to fill for anti-nausea meds., but it was midnight. He waited until the next morning, but our small town pharmacy didn't have the prescribed medications. By that time my nausea was bad, I was dehydrated and still nauseated. We drove for two hours back to the ER.
The most difficult part of my treatment is not having the ultimate supporter and nurturer: my mother. There have been so many times I wanted to hug her and cry on her shoulder. Also, another very difficult situation is the genetic testing I recently received my results.(positive BRCA1 and BRCA11) Now my daughters can be affected. Of coarse, I don't know if they are genetically positive, but they both have a 50% chance.
Before, I thought cancer equaled death. I know many people die from cancer, like my mother. However, I have also seen another side of cancer. Cancer can reveal strength, love, caring , prayers, parties, research and many more good things. People have reached out and I have experienced their love and support. My family has enjoyed many cooked and delivered meals. I was given a supirse hat party; where everyone brought me a hat or scarf to cover my bare head. Also we had a "no more radiation celebration". I received these blessings in a time of need, and I want to give back. I'm a cancer patient, I've lost a love one, and I intend to survive this illness. Therefore, I can become more knowledgeable and watch for new research that will benefit so many women.
I am a breast cancer patient. I have endured chemotherapy and radiation. I'll never forget my first chemo. treatment. I was feeling fine on the drive home (2 hours), calling family to tell them how great I felt. Little did I know, the drugs given before chemo. were working well. About the time we pulled in our driveway I first felt nauseated. My husband had prescriptions to fill for anti-nausea meds., but it was midnight. He waited until the next morning, but our small town pharmacy didn't have the prescribed medications. By that time my nausea was bad, I was dehydrated and still nauseated. We drove for two hours back to the ER.
The most difficult part of my treatment is not having the ultimate supporter and nurturer: my mother. There have been so many times I wanted to hug her and cry on her shoulder. Also, another very difficult situation is the genetic testing I recently received my results.(positive BRCA1 and BRCA11) Now my daughters can be affected. Of coarse, I don't know if they are genetically positive, but they both have a 50% chance.
Before, I thought cancer equaled death. I know many people die from cancer, like my mother. However, I have also seen another side of cancer. Cancer can reveal strength, love, caring , prayers, parties, research and many more good things. People have reached out and I have experienced their love and support. My family has enjoyed many cooked and delivered meals. I was given a supirse hat party; where everyone brought me a hat or scarf to cover my bare head. Also we had a "no more radiation celebration". I received these blessings in a time of need, and I want to give back. I'm a cancer patient, I've lost a love one, and I intend to survive this illness. Therefore, I can become more knowledgeable and watch for new research that will benefit so many women.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Charlotte's Story
Hi, my name is Charlotte , and actually I'am both a Breast Cancer survivor & currently have Breast Cancer again. I was first diagnosed in 1999 in my right Breast, they did a mysectomy & I went through Chemo & reconstructive surgery and 5 years on tomixifan & was cured. now here I'am 9 yrs. later & while doing my self exams in Feb. 2008 I found another lump in my left Breast. I went to the Drs. & you guessed it, it was again Cancer, a little worse this time, So am now undergoing 8 rounds of chemo, on round 3 now. & then radiation. am also in process of reconstructive surgery again. I lost my hair about two weeks ago. This Chemo is hitting me pretty hard, But I'am a SURVIVOR & will be fine. I have my pitty party moments, but mostly am pretty positive! I don't believe in quitting! This Chemo is hitting me pretty hard, tired all the time, & this chemo makes my throat very sore, which makes it hard to eat or swallow. My greatest challenge now has been the tiredness, & sore throat & the burden I feel I'am putting my family. my significant lesson learned would be I should have insisted last time for the Dr. to take both Breasts, & you can get it again & how very important self exams are.!!! & I also believe I'am here to help other women with their diagnosis & to give them encouragement. With my wonderful husband support & my family support I will SURVIVE! I refuse to give up! You are not immune to this horrible disease after the 5 year period. My advise to other women is don't stop getting mammograms & more importantly always do self Breast exams, they are very important! I WILL MAKE IT THROUGH THIS & I WILL SURVIVE!
Leslie's Story
On President’s Day 2008, I thought my life was perfect. I had everything I had ever dreamed of and was the happiest I had ever been in my life. I spent the early holiday morning running on the beach, thanking my God for all the abundance and joy I had in my life. I allowed my heart to feel the moment and etch it into my memories as one of the greatest mornings of my life.
I held onto my fabulous President’s Day memory the next morning, as I entered my doctor’s office. I had an appointment, at the stern prompting of my husband, to have an unusual lump in my left breast examined. I discovered it by chance a few days before while my little girl slept in my arms. She made a quick movement and her head hit my breast. I felt an unusual throbbing pain. Why had I not felt this before? By chance, I was lying with both of my sleeping children in one bed, one on each side of me. By chance, I had both arms above my head, just like they tell you to do during your monthly self- breast exam. By chance or miracle, I felt the elusive lump that would hide if my arm was down to my side.
I could see in my doctor’s eyes as he examined the lump that he was deeply concerned and worried. I also knew at that moment that the lump was not “normal”. No matter how many people in the next 48 hours were to tell me “everything will be fine”, I knew in my heart that the elusive lump was cancerous. Though my life was perfect the day before, my life would be unrecognizable within days.
Exactly one week later, I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, a grade 3 tumor that is estrogen receptive. As my doctor slowly announced my diagnosis, all I could think of was how weird all the words sounded. They were of a vocabulary unknown to me that moment, but would be a language I would be well-versed in within days. My life changed instantaneously, with Dr.’s appointments, scans, tests and hours of research. I felt like I was studying for an exam in which I never attended the class, but had to get a perfect score on the final test. There were so many decisions to make; the first major one was whether to get a lumpectomy, a single mastectomy or a bilateral mastectomy with or without reconstruction. With family history and the statistics laid before me, I made the very emotional choice of a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction. Every woman with breast cancer has their own attachment and emotions regarding their breasts. Though mine were not the young firm breasts of my youth, they were mine and I would miss them for many reasons. But the decision was easy to make given the statistics of reoccurrence and the very young age of my children. I wanted their childhood to only be interrupted once. My chemotherapy would commence three weeks post- surgery. In the days and weeks that followed, I cried, screamed, and quietly said good-bye to my life as I had known it. I hugged, kissed and connected with my family and many friends in a way I had never had before.
The wonderful thing about the chaos of cancer is that is quickly puts a blur to your memories and rituals of yesterday. Your life and vocabulary changes and your priorities are quickly realigned. I am still in the midst of my chemotherapy. The therapy has not been kind to me. I am not “one of those” that goes through the series of treatments with mild reactions. My reactions have been severe, similar to being hit with a Mac Truck. I get relentless body aches, mouth sores, fatigue, and abdominal pains. I contracted a severe Staph infection from my port-a -cath surgery between rounds 1 and 2, adding yet another prescription to my pharmaceutical list. My treatments are 21 days apart. It takes just that long to recover before the next semi-tractor trailer of Chemotherapy roles over me. I have two more rounds of chemo to endure and conquer. I plan on decorating my chemo chair with festive balloons on August 6, 2008. It will be a celebration.
I am a 43 year old Personal Trainer, who was very fit and active with incredible endurance. Today, I am easily fatigued, unable to work and manage my family on a daily basis. I am dependent on family and friends to keep my home running somewhat smoothly. My workouts are not five mile runs but rather gentle walks around the neighborhood. Yet, the lessons I have learned keep getting better, clearer and more profound. Though I was a physically strong woman, as a cancer patient I am realizing my real strength as a human being.
Cancer has put me in the middle of a minefield, a mine of diamonds. The lessons have been gems that I have shared with all my friends and family through an update letter I send out regularly to keep everyone informed of the real experience of Breast Cancer. Cancer has made me see what a “perfect” life really looks like. It is one filled with authentic friendships, deep family connections and an honest relationship with self. It has made me see how I needed to take even better care of myself not just in a physical way but in a deeper spiritual way, in order to be a better mother and wife. It made me see how divine my friendships are and what an incredible man I married. Cancer has given me a view of my life from a new perspective that makes me cry with joy and embrace each of life’s moments with joy and love. Though I stand today bald and without my breasts, I would have to say my life is – perfect! My cancer journey continues to challenge me on all levels, yet it offers me gifts of life that are only offered to the beautiful women and men fighting cancer. We are all truly winning the Big Game of life!
I held onto my fabulous President’s Day memory the next morning, as I entered my doctor’s office. I had an appointment, at the stern prompting of my husband, to have an unusual lump in my left breast examined. I discovered it by chance a few days before while my little girl slept in my arms. She made a quick movement and her head hit my breast. I felt an unusual throbbing pain. Why had I not felt this before? By chance, I was lying with both of my sleeping children in one bed, one on each side of me. By chance, I had both arms above my head, just like they tell you to do during your monthly self- breast exam. By chance or miracle, I felt the elusive lump that would hide if my arm was down to my side.
I could see in my doctor’s eyes as he examined the lump that he was deeply concerned and worried. I also knew at that moment that the lump was not “normal”. No matter how many people in the next 48 hours were to tell me “everything will be fine”, I knew in my heart that the elusive lump was cancerous. Though my life was perfect the day before, my life would be unrecognizable within days.
Exactly one week later, I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, a grade 3 tumor that is estrogen receptive. As my doctor slowly announced my diagnosis, all I could think of was how weird all the words sounded. They were of a vocabulary unknown to me that moment, but would be a language I would be well-versed in within days. My life changed instantaneously, with Dr.’s appointments, scans, tests and hours of research. I felt like I was studying for an exam in which I never attended the class, but had to get a perfect score on the final test. There were so many decisions to make; the first major one was whether to get a lumpectomy, a single mastectomy or a bilateral mastectomy with or without reconstruction. With family history and the statistics laid before me, I made the very emotional choice of a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction. Every woman with breast cancer has their own attachment and emotions regarding their breasts. Though mine were not the young firm breasts of my youth, they were mine and I would miss them for many reasons. But the decision was easy to make given the statistics of reoccurrence and the very young age of my children. I wanted their childhood to only be interrupted once. My chemotherapy would commence three weeks post- surgery. In the days and weeks that followed, I cried, screamed, and quietly said good-bye to my life as I had known it. I hugged, kissed and connected with my family and many friends in a way I had never had before.
The wonderful thing about the chaos of cancer is that is quickly puts a blur to your memories and rituals of yesterday. Your life and vocabulary changes and your priorities are quickly realigned. I am still in the midst of my chemotherapy. The therapy has not been kind to me. I am not “one of those” that goes through the series of treatments with mild reactions. My reactions have been severe, similar to being hit with a Mac Truck. I get relentless body aches, mouth sores, fatigue, and abdominal pains. I contracted a severe Staph infection from my port-a -cath surgery between rounds 1 and 2, adding yet another prescription to my pharmaceutical list. My treatments are 21 days apart. It takes just that long to recover before the next semi-tractor trailer of Chemotherapy roles over me. I have two more rounds of chemo to endure and conquer. I plan on decorating my chemo chair with festive balloons on August 6, 2008. It will be a celebration.
I am a 43 year old Personal Trainer, who was very fit and active with incredible endurance. Today, I am easily fatigued, unable to work and manage my family on a daily basis. I am dependent on family and friends to keep my home running somewhat smoothly. My workouts are not five mile runs but rather gentle walks around the neighborhood. Yet, the lessons I have learned keep getting better, clearer and more profound. Though I was a physically strong woman, as a cancer patient I am realizing my real strength as a human being.
Cancer has put me in the middle of a minefield, a mine of diamonds. The lessons have been gems that I have shared with all my friends and family through an update letter I send out regularly to keep everyone informed of the real experience of Breast Cancer. Cancer has made me see what a “perfect” life really looks like. It is one filled with authentic friendships, deep family connections and an honest relationship with self. It has made me see how I needed to take even better care of myself not just in a physical way but in a deeper spiritual way, in order to be a better mother and wife. It made me see how divine my friendships are and what an incredible man I married. Cancer has given me a view of my life from a new perspective that makes me cry with joy and embrace each of life’s moments with joy and love. Though I stand today bald and without my breasts, I would have to say my life is – perfect! My cancer journey continues to challenge me on all levels, yet it offers me gifts of life that are only offered to the beautiful women and men fighting cancer. We are all truly winning the Big Game of life!
Denise's Story
In December 2007 I had planned to run the Las Vegas 1/2 marathon with several friends of mine and I wasn't going to let the recently noticed change in my left breast deter me from my goal and the promise to my friends. I had talked to my close friends about a small lump I had found and knew I needed to get checked and was reassured when 2 of them had also found lumps that turned out not to be cancerous. I finally made the doctor's appointment when I arrived home from Las Vegas a little dehydrated and my husband remarked about the change in my breast. My breast had become puckered in the area of the growth, a worrisome sign unbeknownst to me, and was much more noticeable when my body was dehydrated.
I went to see my doctor in January, who sent me for a mammogram. The mammogram didn't show anything definitive, so they sent me to ultrasound. The tech took pictures and measurements and then went to find the radiologist. The radiologist wanted to biopsy the growth immediately, so I felt some concern. I had a consult with a surgeon who gave me hope in the fact that it was highly unlikely that an active 35 year old woman with no family history of breast cancer was going to be diagnosed with breast cancer.
Two days later, January 25th, 2008, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.I was shocked and scared. Mostly scared that this was going to completely alter my life and my family's life and already mourning the fact that I was going to lose my hair. I knew enough about breast cancer to know that many women are diagnosed with breast cancer and many are cured, so I was not afraid of dying. I did, however, have to go through surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and hormone therapy.
My whirlwind began with an MRI, which showed three more growths in the same breast. I elected to have a masectomy right away. The surgery was performed the first week of February and went well. Next on the list was chemo and I began biweekly treatments in March and finished June 13th, 2008. I had very supportive family, friends and neighborhood who helped me with meals, cleaning, taking my kids, or anything else needed. My best girlfriends continued to walk/run and lift weights with me even when I could only run downhill or walk the whole way. I was able to go to all of my kids' basketball, soccer and baseball games by cutting out some of the cleaning and volunteering that I did during the day while my children were at school. I prioritized the things in my life and then stuck to what I could handle. Excercise helped me handle chemo in a more positive way and actually made the aches associated with one of the chemo drugs less painfull.
I began radiation at the beginning of July and have 5 1/2 weeks worth of every day (5 days a week) treatments. So far, this seems easy in comparison to chemotherapy, but I have not noticed any side effects yet. I am told these are yet to come. (Redness, tiredness, etc.)
This week, I elected to have an oopherectomy and a hysterectomy. I have spoke to several doctors and read up on the hormone therapy I will need to be on for the next five years and decided that I wanted to be on an aromatase inhibitor for post menopausal women.
My biggest fear when I found out I had cancer was that this was going to take all my time and energy. I didn't want cancer to change everything in my life. I have 3 beautiful children who need a mom who can help them with their homework, cheer for them at their games and kiss them before bed. I wanted to be able to run and lift weights like I have for the better part of my life. How was this all going to work?That is what I learned from cancer. Face cancer, head on, like any other challenge. After a good cry, get the information you need to make decisions. Make those decisions and get going. There's nothing like marking something off your list of things to do. Prioritize the things in your life and then do as many of those things as you can. As long as I was there for my kids and husband and was able to excercise, everything else was able to be put off. Think positive and take action. Being inactive gives you more time to worry and "what if" yourself.
We live in a time when great advances have been made in the breast cancer research and treatment. There is much hope to be felt in this fact!
I went to see my doctor in January, who sent me for a mammogram. The mammogram didn't show anything definitive, so they sent me to ultrasound. The tech took pictures and measurements and then went to find the radiologist. The radiologist wanted to biopsy the growth immediately, so I felt some concern. I had a consult with a surgeon who gave me hope in the fact that it was highly unlikely that an active 35 year old woman with no family history of breast cancer was going to be diagnosed with breast cancer.
Two days later, January 25th, 2008, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.I was shocked and scared. Mostly scared that this was going to completely alter my life and my family's life and already mourning the fact that I was going to lose my hair. I knew enough about breast cancer to know that many women are diagnosed with breast cancer and many are cured, so I was not afraid of dying. I did, however, have to go through surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and hormone therapy.
My whirlwind began with an MRI, which showed three more growths in the same breast. I elected to have a masectomy right away. The surgery was performed the first week of February and went well. Next on the list was chemo and I began biweekly treatments in March and finished June 13th, 2008. I had very supportive family, friends and neighborhood who helped me with meals, cleaning, taking my kids, or anything else needed. My best girlfriends continued to walk/run and lift weights with me even when I could only run downhill or walk the whole way. I was able to go to all of my kids' basketball, soccer and baseball games by cutting out some of the cleaning and volunteering that I did during the day while my children were at school. I prioritized the things in my life and then stuck to what I could handle. Excercise helped me handle chemo in a more positive way and actually made the aches associated with one of the chemo drugs less painfull.
I began radiation at the beginning of July and have 5 1/2 weeks worth of every day (5 days a week) treatments. So far, this seems easy in comparison to chemotherapy, but I have not noticed any side effects yet. I am told these are yet to come. (Redness, tiredness, etc.)
This week, I elected to have an oopherectomy and a hysterectomy. I have spoke to several doctors and read up on the hormone therapy I will need to be on for the next five years and decided that I wanted to be on an aromatase inhibitor for post menopausal women.
My biggest fear when I found out I had cancer was that this was going to take all my time and energy. I didn't want cancer to change everything in my life. I have 3 beautiful children who need a mom who can help them with their homework, cheer for them at their games and kiss them before bed. I wanted to be able to run and lift weights like I have for the better part of my life. How was this all going to work?That is what I learned from cancer. Face cancer, head on, like any other challenge. After a good cry, get the information you need to make decisions. Make those decisions and get going. There's nothing like marking something off your list of things to do. Prioritize the things in your life and then do as many of those things as you can. As long as I was there for my kids and husband and was able to excercise, everything else was able to be put off. Think positive and take action. Being inactive gives you more time to worry and "what if" yourself.
We live in a time when great advances have been made in the breast cancer research and treatment. There is much hope to be felt in this fact!
Angela's Story
When I was young my nickname was Kansas, my chest never developed. I was always upset and seriously considered augmentation. April 7th 2008 changed that forever and I was finally glad I had small breasts. After religiously doing my monthly breast exams and just having my physical in January I couldn't believe what I accidentally found. Watching my Memphis Tigers in the NCAA championship (which they lost) I was quite emotional and moving all over the place because they make me a nervous wreck, I just happened to brush my chest right at the top of my left breast.....my heart stopped. I work in the medical field so I knew right then what it was, that horrible marble in my breast that wouldn't move and as hard as a pressed wouldn't hurt. Two days later I was having a needle biopsy and on April 10th I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. A week after that I had a lumpectomy removing two lumps and 15 lymphnodes, 4 being positive. Stage 2 cancer with a grade 3 tumor, such scary news. I am a single mom with two beautiful boys, they are my reason to fight this ugly disease and my youth allows me to participate in a clinical study in hopes of helping with the cure of this nasty C word. I still work full time, I have to. But the best is how my boys now kiss the top of my bald head before they kiss me on the cheek. They love my bald head and that makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. All funding for grants are gone so the cost of treatment is now more stressful than the treatment itself, why is that the case when you have health insurance? Is it logical to end up with a $13,000 bill in the end, is that how health insurance works, for them and not for you? I don't understand that but I can't let that stress show, I stay strong for my boys. I stay strong for all the women who have gone through this, are going through this and who lost the fight to this. We are a sisterhood, sisters of pink. Now I finally have a purpose for my favorite color being pink. I have a long haul yet in this battle but I will win, it doesn't have a chance against me. PINK POWER!!!!
Becky's Story
August 2005 - I, being a 40 year old single mother of a 3 year old son and three grown children, sat back on the balcony of the new apartment we'd just finished moving into - a grueling move - but this new "home" had kids galore - plenty of potential friends for my somewhat only child. I felt great, had successfully "saved" myself and my son from a horrible domestic violence situation, in which we'd spent 3 years in protective housing - and were finally out on our own. I had a great job, a great daycare for my son, and now this great apartment for us. Felt like home. I felt exhausted. And the exhaustion continued. Most people said it was all in my head. But lo and behold - a visit to the doctor for a cough - produced something very very scary. I had breast cancer - Stage IV ductal carcinoma at diagnosis. Surely a death sentence - I thought that - and everybody else denied thinking that - but I could see it in their expressions. I was terrified that if my little boy's father found out - he would try to take my son on the basis that I was sick - and my boy would be at risk of abuse. I believe it was that one fear that held me up through everything - he must never know. My elderly mother came right away from out of state, and bless her heart, she wore herself thin through it all, despite her needing care herself. I opted to keep working, for the appearance of normalacy, and while I was at work, she would clean the house from top to bottom, and then deny she did a thing. She cooked our dinners, and played with her grandson when I was too sick to get up off the couch. She held me when I bawled - the shock of the first big handful of my beautiful waist length hair in my hand instead of attached to my head. As my hair fell out, I would hide it in the garbage can under mounds of toilet paper so my little son wouldn't see it - then my mother would take it out after we left for work. Creative scarves, hats, and wig - and my little boy never noticed that I was totally bald. Following a horrendous round of aggressive chemo, I had a little break to regain my strength, and then it was time for a radical masectomy. I groveled with my oncologist - I'd just be going home right afterwards thank you - outpatient would be just fine. I so didn't want to be away from my son. However, my doctor thought otherwise, and we arranged for my absence for the night. I woke from my surgery, and watched the clock tick tock tick tock, until finally I could go home to my boy. Four days later, drainage tubes carefully concealed under a huge flannel button up shirt - my son, mother, and I sat at the movie theater watching the latest kiddie must see - Chicken Little. One week recovery from surgery, and it was back to work, back to normal, as normal could be. I healed and felt pretty good, so mom went on home. I began radiation shortly after - thinking I was superhero woman or something, that I was alright on my own. Well, after a couple of weeks of daily radiation, I was on the phone with my mother, crying, I was completely drained, and needed help. Bless her heart, she jumped right in her car and drove the 700 miles BACK to my house to help once again. We cried alot together, laughed alot together, laughed as my first husband told my grown kids "hey! go grab moms hair and RUN LIKE HECK!", we planned a future when it was uncertain if a future was in the future, we got paperwork in order to prepare for the worst, while fully denying to ourselves and each other that there would be NO "worst". My little son never knew what happened. It's been a while now, but the nightmare remains in my memory. Every time I shower, I see my horendously disfigured body - opted to forgo reconstruction in lieu of getting back to being a "mother" as soon as possible - no more "icky" stuff! - yes, mirrors are no longer my friend! Whenever I do catch a glimpse, I just try to tell myself how wonderful it is to have hair again! And to be alive! I am now on tamoxifen, and other medications to counter the affects of tamoxifen, and it really isn't easy - but somehow - having the gift of life - despite the odds I faced - makes it all worthwhile! Love life! Now I try to convince people who are feeling down - just LOVE LIFE - it may be shorter than you think - and every day should be appreciated for all the beauty it holds!
Kate's Story
I was about 24 weeks into my pregnancy with triplets when I discovered a lump in my left breast. Yes, triplets.
I felt the hard spot on my chest one morning when my husband, Chad, gave me a hug goodbye as I lay in my hospital bed at St. Luke's Regional Medical Center in Boise. I had landed in the hospital unexpectedly about a month earlier because of pre-term contractions, and I had at least two more months of strict bed rest to go.
I have a family history of breast and ovarian cancer. But I was only 34 years old. I was healthy and active — and blissfully unaware that the estrogen produced by my three placentas during my pregnancy was fueling a tumor.
At the hospital last summer, my world revolved around having healthy babies. I ate 4,000 calories per day to help the triplets gain fat early — not exactly the anti-cancer diet. Carrying the babies to a viable gestation was not only a physical feat but also a journey requiring mental stamina. I knew that I needed a calm and positive emotional outlook to get us through the many weeks ahead.Chad brought in objects that helped make my hospital room feel like home. I surrounded myself with visitors with upbeat attitudes. I hung a giant calendar to mark our daily progress.
So I was more than happy to believe one of my four high-risk obstetricians who dismissed the small lump in my breast as a normal part of pregnancy. But three weeks later, the lump seemed larger, so I asked a second obstetrician to check it. He ordered an ultrasound of my breast, which showed nothing of concern. But the cancer kept growing.
At 30 weeks pregnant, I saw a coin-sized spot of blood on my shirt. My first thought was that it had dripped on me from one of my regular needle pricks. But the blood was also inside my bra, and I realized it had come from my nipple. Concerned about being able to breastfeed my future preemies, I pleaded with a third obstetrician to figure out what was wrong. He, too, told me not to worry. He actually said the lump would resolve itself when I began to breastfeed! The next day, I pushed a fourth obstetrician, Dr. Stacy Seyb, who listened to me and sent a breast cancer surgeon to meet with me.
Dr. Mark Szentes measured the lump and said he would return in two weeks to re-measure. If the lump grew, then he would order a biopsy. When he came back, it had grown by 2 centimeters. I tried not to worry as I awaited my biopsy results over a weekend.
Finally, on Aug. 21 — two months after finding the lump and 33 weeks into my pregnancy — I learned I did have breast cancer. When Dr. Szentes told me the biopsy results, I thought it was the sickest, most wrong thing that could happen to me. I was about to have three tiny babies who need me. I already knew I may not be able to hold my babies for days or weeks after birth, depending on their medical needs. Though heart-wrenching, it was a possibility I had prepared for mentally. Now, cancer threatened to take away the nourishment I longed to provide. The thought that I would not be able to breastfeed was almost unbearable.
I also worried about my husband. He’d just seen me through 12 long weeks in the hospital. We had thought we were nearly to the finish line, only to find out we still had a mountain to climb. I wondered if he would crack.
I thought about Aunt Vicky, who left behind four children when breast cancer took her life. I wondered what she and my dear mother, who died of ovarian cancer seven years ago, were thinking from their heavenly perches, watching this unfold below. I asked, ‘What more could I learn from cancer that I have not learned already?’ I had watched my mother and aunt die because their fear of cancer was so crippling that they waited too long before catching it. They were afraid because they had watched my grandmother die. Growing up, I often heard my mother describe the appearance of my grandmother near her death as like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. I wondered if denial kept my mother from getting checked out sooner. By the time Mom’s ovarian cancer was diagnosed, one tumor was the size of a football and the other was the size of a grapefruit. I, too, had carried the fear and had vehemently refused genetic testing because I did not want to know.
What I’ve learned is that if you live with that kind of fear, it's almost worse than the cancer.I credit doctors Seyb and Szentes with saving my life, but I know my persistence did, too. I was able to survive breast cancer because I listened to my body, not to doctors who told me not to worry.
I shudder to think what would have happened if I had dropped the subject, had my babies and gone home. Like most women, I would have been too busy taking care of everyone else to notice what was happening inside my body.
In the days after the diagnosis, Chad and I began gathering information, interviewing surgeons and making battle plans. We shared the bad news with family and friends so that we would not have to announce the birth of our babies at the same time. We selected a surgeon who was both aggressive and supportive of my commitment to breast feed. I also finally agreed to have genetic testing.
The stress of the diagnosis brought on stronger contractions, and medications could no longer keep my pre-term labor under control. I had decided ahead of time that no matter what, the day my babies were born would be a joyous day. Four days after the diagnosis, on the morning of Aug. 25, I was 4 cm dilated and was rushed into an operating room for an emergency C-section. With Chad at my side, I cried with joy as each baby was delivered and announced his or her arrival with a soft cry.
Chad and I were blessed with three healthy children: Claret, 2 lbs. 9 oz., Treysen, 4 lbs. 3 oz., and Jumelle, 2 lbs. 7 ½ oz. Treysen needed to be on a ventilator for a few days. The girls were breathing fine. I was able to hold Claret in my arms the day after she was born. Soon, the triplets were regarded as the easiest nursing assignment in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit because they needed little medical care and just needed to gain weight before going home.
One day in the NICU, a genetic counselor brought the results of my genetic testing. I was positive for the BRCA2 mutation, making me prone to breast and ovarian cancer. This information made me feel sure of my decision to have a mastectomy, as opposed to just a lumpectomy.
We scheduled my mastectomy for Sept. 6. For about 10 days, I pumped milk from my healthy breast to help nourish the babies in the NICU. I had to pump and dump my milk for a few days to allow radioactive dye to identify my sentinel lymph nodes before surgery and to receive antibiotics after surgery. Luckily, my lymph nodes tested free of cancer, and the tumor was labeled stage 1.
We brought Claret, Treysen and Jumelle home on Sept. 22. We fed and diapered them eight times per day, around the clock, for the first month they were home. As they grew, we were able to feed them greater amounts, less often. Claret was colicky and could not be set down for her first two months at home. Those months, our lack of sleep was borderline dangerous. Chad would walk Claret around the house – the only way to soothe her – and he would fall asleep and crash into the furniture. Luckily, he never dropped Claret. We realized we needed more help and hired a nanny part time.
I was able to breast feed until Nov. 9, when I started 12 weeks of Taxotere and Taxol chemotherapy and Herceptin. My oncologist said I could wait a maximum of 2 months after my mastectomy to start chemo, so I took every day I could to breast feed.
The babies started sleeping through the night in December, about the time that the chemo fatigue really set in, on top of recovering from muscle weakness from bed rest. Chad decided to stay home for four months to take care of us.
Chemo ended Jan. 22, and I was told it would take 6-8 weeks to feel normal again. I eagerly awaited that feeling, but it didn’t come at that time. I still was very susceptible to infection, as were the babies, and we came down with a cold each month through June. Many times I would sit in my rocking chair and feel too weak to get up. Chad would bring me babies and bottles. I kept telling myself that my babies could not wait until I was feeling better to have their first year of life.
Because of the genetic test results, I had surgery on Feb. 26 to remove my healthy breast and my ovaries to prevent recurrence. Some days, I wondered if I would ever feel like I used to. I worried the fatigued feeling would be my new normal.
With a lot of help from friends in caring for the babies, I had my first reconstructive surgery in April. Chad, the babies and I participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure on May 10. As a former marathon runner, it felt strange to walk 1 mile, wearing the pink T-shirt and hat of a survivor.
I used to have so much more energy than my husband. Now, I watch him do laps around me in caring for the babies. I had to trust that it would get easier, and slowly it did. This summer, I have gained energy and feel more like myself, just in time for Treysen, Claret and Jumelle to start crawling.
I continue to get an infusion of Herceptin every three weeks, and I am taking Tamoxifen for five years. I may have lost my breasts and ovaries, but I have gained confidence in my gut, peace with my slower pace, and the indescribable feeling that came when I conquered my worst fear.
I am more alive now than I was before.
I felt the hard spot on my chest one morning when my husband, Chad, gave me a hug goodbye as I lay in my hospital bed at St. Luke's Regional Medical Center in Boise. I had landed in the hospital unexpectedly about a month earlier because of pre-term contractions, and I had at least two more months of strict bed rest to go.
I have a family history of breast and ovarian cancer. But I was only 34 years old. I was healthy and active — and blissfully unaware that the estrogen produced by my three placentas during my pregnancy was fueling a tumor.
At the hospital last summer, my world revolved around having healthy babies. I ate 4,000 calories per day to help the triplets gain fat early — not exactly the anti-cancer diet. Carrying the babies to a viable gestation was not only a physical feat but also a journey requiring mental stamina. I knew that I needed a calm and positive emotional outlook to get us through the many weeks ahead.Chad brought in objects that helped make my hospital room feel like home. I surrounded myself with visitors with upbeat attitudes. I hung a giant calendar to mark our daily progress.
So I was more than happy to believe one of my four high-risk obstetricians who dismissed the small lump in my breast as a normal part of pregnancy. But three weeks later, the lump seemed larger, so I asked a second obstetrician to check it. He ordered an ultrasound of my breast, which showed nothing of concern. But the cancer kept growing.
At 30 weeks pregnant, I saw a coin-sized spot of blood on my shirt. My first thought was that it had dripped on me from one of my regular needle pricks. But the blood was also inside my bra, and I realized it had come from my nipple. Concerned about being able to breastfeed my future preemies, I pleaded with a third obstetrician to figure out what was wrong. He, too, told me not to worry. He actually said the lump would resolve itself when I began to breastfeed! The next day, I pushed a fourth obstetrician, Dr. Stacy Seyb, who listened to me and sent a breast cancer surgeon to meet with me.
Dr. Mark Szentes measured the lump and said he would return in two weeks to re-measure. If the lump grew, then he would order a biopsy. When he came back, it had grown by 2 centimeters. I tried not to worry as I awaited my biopsy results over a weekend.
Finally, on Aug. 21 — two months after finding the lump and 33 weeks into my pregnancy — I learned I did have breast cancer. When Dr. Szentes told me the biopsy results, I thought it was the sickest, most wrong thing that could happen to me. I was about to have three tiny babies who need me. I already knew I may not be able to hold my babies for days or weeks after birth, depending on their medical needs. Though heart-wrenching, it was a possibility I had prepared for mentally. Now, cancer threatened to take away the nourishment I longed to provide. The thought that I would not be able to breastfeed was almost unbearable.
I also worried about my husband. He’d just seen me through 12 long weeks in the hospital. We had thought we were nearly to the finish line, only to find out we still had a mountain to climb. I wondered if he would crack.
I thought about Aunt Vicky, who left behind four children when breast cancer took her life. I wondered what she and my dear mother, who died of ovarian cancer seven years ago, were thinking from their heavenly perches, watching this unfold below. I asked, ‘What more could I learn from cancer that I have not learned already?’ I had watched my mother and aunt die because their fear of cancer was so crippling that they waited too long before catching it. They were afraid because they had watched my grandmother die. Growing up, I often heard my mother describe the appearance of my grandmother near her death as like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. I wondered if denial kept my mother from getting checked out sooner. By the time Mom’s ovarian cancer was diagnosed, one tumor was the size of a football and the other was the size of a grapefruit. I, too, had carried the fear and had vehemently refused genetic testing because I did not want to know.
What I’ve learned is that if you live with that kind of fear, it's almost worse than the cancer.I credit doctors Seyb and Szentes with saving my life, but I know my persistence did, too. I was able to survive breast cancer because I listened to my body, not to doctors who told me not to worry.
I shudder to think what would have happened if I had dropped the subject, had my babies and gone home. Like most women, I would have been too busy taking care of everyone else to notice what was happening inside my body.
In the days after the diagnosis, Chad and I began gathering information, interviewing surgeons and making battle plans. We shared the bad news with family and friends so that we would not have to announce the birth of our babies at the same time. We selected a surgeon who was both aggressive and supportive of my commitment to breast feed. I also finally agreed to have genetic testing.
The stress of the diagnosis brought on stronger contractions, and medications could no longer keep my pre-term labor under control. I had decided ahead of time that no matter what, the day my babies were born would be a joyous day. Four days after the diagnosis, on the morning of Aug. 25, I was 4 cm dilated and was rushed into an operating room for an emergency C-section. With Chad at my side, I cried with joy as each baby was delivered and announced his or her arrival with a soft cry.
Chad and I were blessed with three healthy children: Claret, 2 lbs. 9 oz., Treysen, 4 lbs. 3 oz., and Jumelle, 2 lbs. 7 ½ oz. Treysen needed to be on a ventilator for a few days. The girls were breathing fine. I was able to hold Claret in my arms the day after she was born. Soon, the triplets were regarded as the easiest nursing assignment in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit because they needed little medical care and just needed to gain weight before going home.
One day in the NICU, a genetic counselor brought the results of my genetic testing. I was positive for the BRCA2 mutation, making me prone to breast and ovarian cancer. This information made me feel sure of my decision to have a mastectomy, as opposed to just a lumpectomy.
We scheduled my mastectomy for Sept. 6. For about 10 days, I pumped milk from my healthy breast to help nourish the babies in the NICU. I had to pump and dump my milk for a few days to allow radioactive dye to identify my sentinel lymph nodes before surgery and to receive antibiotics after surgery. Luckily, my lymph nodes tested free of cancer, and the tumor was labeled stage 1.
We brought Claret, Treysen and Jumelle home on Sept. 22. We fed and diapered them eight times per day, around the clock, for the first month they were home. As they grew, we were able to feed them greater amounts, less often. Claret was colicky and could not be set down for her first two months at home. Those months, our lack of sleep was borderline dangerous. Chad would walk Claret around the house – the only way to soothe her – and he would fall asleep and crash into the furniture. Luckily, he never dropped Claret. We realized we needed more help and hired a nanny part time.
I was able to breast feed until Nov. 9, when I started 12 weeks of Taxotere and Taxol chemotherapy and Herceptin. My oncologist said I could wait a maximum of 2 months after my mastectomy to start chemo, so I took every day I could to breast feed.
The babies started sleeping through the night in December, about the time that the chemo fatigue really set in, on top of recovering from muscle weakness from bed rest. Chad decided to stay home for four months to take care of us.
Chemo ended Jan. 22, and I was told it would take 6-8 weeks to feel normal again. I eagerly awaited that feeling, but it didn’t come at that time. I still was very susceptible to infection, as were the babies, and we came down with a cold each month through June. Many times I would sit in my rocking chair and feel too weak to get up. Chad would bring me babies and bottles. I kept telling myself that my babies could not wait until I was feeling better to have their first year of life.
Because of the genetic test results, I had surgery on Feb. 26 to remove my healthy breast and my ovaries to prevent recurrence. Some days, I wondered if I would ever feel like I used to. I worried the fatigued feeling would be my new normal.
With a lot of help from friends in caring for the babies, I had my first reconstructive surgery in April. Chad, the babies and I participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure on May 10. As a former marathon runner, it felt strange to walk 1 mile, wearing the pink T-shirt and hat of a survivor.
I used to have so much more energy than my husband. Now, I watch him do laps around me in caring for the babies. I had to trust that it would get easier, and slowly it did. This summer, I have gained energy and feel more like myself, just in time for Treysen, Claret and Jumelle to start crawling.
I continue to get an infusion of Herceptin every three weeks, and I am taking Tamoxifen for five years. I may have lost my breasts and ovaries, but I have gained confidence in my gut, peace with my slower pace, and the indescribable feeling that came when I conquered my worst fear.
I am more alive now than I was before.
Theresa's Story
I have been a breast cancer survivor for 11 years. I was originally diagnosed shortly after the birth of my third child, my son Christopher. He was three months old at the time. I had a radical masectomy and thirty of my lymph nodes were removed, which five had cancer cells.
I went through a rigorous series of chemotherapy and radiation. It was Christopher's first birthday when I had finished my treatments. I called it a double celebration of life!! My husband was very supportive through everything. We had two other small children, Elizabeth and Sarah. Life was very scary for us but together and with our faith in God we got through it. I became very involved with the Susan G. Komen foundation. I volunteered on the race committee and in 2002 I was the race chair. I was so happy to be able to share my story with everyone showing them and my family and friends a positive attitude pays off.
Two years ago the cancer returned. At first I was angry and disappointed but knew I could become strong again and fight the beast!!! My cancer has spread to my liver but the chemo has kept it in check. I've had to be hospitalized a couple times this year. I actually got out of the hospital two days before Christmas. It was the best Christmas my family ever had....My children are now 17, 15 and 11. they understand what's going on and we along with my husband appreciate every day we're together. Life is a gift.
I have lost many friends to brest cancer through the years I've battled the beast. It has made me want to fight stronger until one day a cure is found and we will no longer have to deal with this nasty disease.
I honor all the women, men and children who have to live with this on a daily basis.Keep smiling, laughing, hugging and loving....
As I've told my children since they were little... Hugs are for free.
I went through a rigorous series of chemotherapy and radiation. It was Christopher's first birthday when I had finished my treatments. I called it a double celebration of life!! My husband was very supportive through everything. We had two other small children, Elizabeth and Sarah. Life was very scary for us but together and with our faith in God we got through it. I became very involved with the Susan G. Komen foundation. I volunteered on the race committee and in 2002 I was the race chair. I was so happy to be able to share my story with everyone showing them and my family and friends a positive attitude pays off.
Two years ago the cancer returned. At first I was angry and disappointed but knew I could become strong again and fight the beast!!! My cancer has spread to my liver but the chemo has kept it in check. I've had to be hospitalized a couple times this year. I actually got out of the hospital two days before Christmas. It was the best Christmas my family ever had....My children are now 17, 15 and 11. they understand what's going on and we along with my husband appreciate every day we're together. Life is a gift.
I have lost many friends to brest cancer through the years I've battled the beast. It has made me want to fight stronger until one day a cure is found and we will no longer have to deal with this nasty disease.
I honor all the women, men and children who have to live with this on a daily basis.Keep smiling, laughing, hugging and loving....
As I've told my children since they were little... Hugs are for free.
Linda's Story
I was diagnosed with stage 3+ breast cancer in the late summer of 2007, after watching what appeared to be and inflamed lymph node in my left armpit for about a month. I was hurriedly sent for mammograms, MRI's, ultrasounds and biopsies to ultimately confirm the worst of diagnoses--breast cancer in someone with no family history thereof.
I was assigned a surgeon who wanted a fairly quick decision on a surgery date; he abruptly left town and his partner was on vacation, so my oncologist and I decided to do chemotherapy first, before surgery, to see if it would reduce things to lumpectomy parameters.
For me, chemo was a breeze--other than the hair, eyelash and eyebrow loss, I had no significant adverse effects--I felt guilty going into the cancer center feeling so upbeat, as most of the others were so obviously miserable. A change in chemo drugs before Christmas had a brief reaction in fingertips and feet, but a change in dosage kept that from happening again--still no significant adverse effects.
I had surgery in March--bilateral mastectomy with a bunch of lymph-node sampling on both sides. I needed PT for movement and strength training and was progressing well until about halfway into the Radiology treatment--I went from loving life to FLAMING MAGENTA ARMPITS, and work was a chore. In the meantime, I've had to change insurance companies midstream--I had AETNA and had to change to United Healthcare--UHC is hidebound in their requests for proof-of-payment, and NOBODY who makes the decisions in that company is accessible to the rank-and-file.
Meanwhile, everything that was supposed to be "seamless" has not been, worst of which has been the insurance--nobody's been paid since May 1st--this is now mid-July and no one's been paid, I'm responsible and I'm not paying because my insurance company should be!!!
Please help me--these insurance people make my stomach turn and I need to pay my bills and cancer treatment is EXPENSIVE.....
I was assigned a surgeon who wanted a fairly quick decision on a surgery date; he abruptly left town and his partner was on vacation, so my oncologist and I decided to do chemotherapy first, before surgery, to see if it would reduce things to lumpectomy parameters.
For me, chemo was a breeze--other than the hair, eyelash and eyebrow loss, I had no significant adverse effects--I felt guilty going into the cancer center feeling so upbeat, as most of the others were so obviously miserable. A change in chemo drugs before Christmas had a brief reaction in fingertips and feet, but a change in dosage kept that from happening again--still no significant adverse effects.
I had surgery in March--bilateral mastectomy with a bunch of lymph-node sampling on both sides. I needed PT for movement and strength training and was progressing well until about halfway into the Radiology treatment--I went from loving life to FLAMING MAGENTA ARMPITS, and work was a chore. In the meantime, I've had to change insurance companies midstream--I had AETNA and had to change to United Healthcare--UHC is hidebound in their requests for proof-of-payment, and NOBODY who makes the decisions in that company is accessible to the rank-and-file.
Meanwhile, everything that was supposed to be "seamless" has not been, worst of which has been the insurance--nobody's been paid since May 1st--this is now mid-July and no one's been paid, I'm responsible and I'm not paying because my insurance company should be!!!
Please help me--these insurance people make my stomach turn and I need to pay my bills and cancer treatment is EXPENSIVE.....
Charlotte's Story
Hi, my name is Charlotte & I was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer in my right Breast in 1999 which I found myself doing self exams. I went to the Drs. & they confirmed it was Cancer, I underwent a Mysectomy & Chemo & 5yrs. of Tomixifin & was cured Yea.!!!!!!!!!!!!! & I had reconstructive surgery a year later. That Chemo was tiring & I lost my hair, but I was alive. I learned that nobody is immune to this horrible disease. I was on cloud nine because I was cured. Well, here it is 2008 & in Feb. while doing my self exam I found a lump in my left breast, I was devastated.!!!!!!!! & this was after just having a mammogram & ultra-sound in Jan. So Feb. or March not sure, I found the lump, anyway I immediately went to Dr. & yup it was Cancer, so had another Mysectomy on left Breast & started reconstructive surgery & am now on round 3 of 8 rounds of Chemo & then radiation, this was was a little wose then first one. I lost my hair about two weeks ago, am trying to be positive, but have my moments. But I'am a SURVIVOR.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kim's Story
I was diagnoised 3 years ago at the age 39. 11 months after my sister died of cancer at the age of 42. She battled the diease on and off since she was 32. I thought that I was doing everything right to protect myself from being another victim. I ate right, had regular mammograms, exercised regularly, I would not take birth control pills and I even nursed my babies.
I will never forget the day that I discovered my lump. I had just drop off my daughter and I realized that the seat belt was bothering me so I rubbed the area because I did not remember hitting myself and that's when I felt the lump. I can remember getting a sick feeling in my stomach because I just knew it was cancer. I
drove home and told my husband we both cried all weekend long. We did not tell anyone. We waited until Monday after having an ultra sound that showed it needed to be removed especially knowing my family history and after my sister had just died 11 months before of breast cancer. When I told my children the first words out of my 13 year daughter's mouth was "Mom you're going to die you like Aunt Lisa did". I told her that I was going to do things differently than she had and that I was going to fight it with every thing that I had in me. I knew that I was going to have to be the strong one in family because my husband was taking it very hard and my family was still dealing with the death of my sister.
I decided to have a bilateral masetomy and to have a strong dose of chemo. When summer was over I went back to school with half of my chemo behind me. When winter got here i was ready to think about reconstruction.I then under went 3 surgeries to reconstuct my breasts. I am happy to say that God guided me through this whole ordeal. My family and I have survived and now know more than ever how precious life really is.
I am fully recovered from the cancer now I just worry about my bones because the chemo and the medicine have weakened my bones a lot because I have cracked several ribs in the last couple of months. I have tried to become an advocate to help breast cancer patients in my town because I feel that God has gotten me here for a reason. I always tell women that they need to looked at all their options and decide what route is best for them and that they need to put their feet back on the ground and take off running and not look back or have any regrets. I also they them to look ahead and set their goal to the future mine was for the Christmas holiday that year. I also tell them that they need have faith that all will be well just go through the treatments and do what you have to do to get well. I also tell everone that I talk to to make sure they do their mammograms regularly and also to do their monthly self checks but we need to know when something changes in our bodies because it can make the differnce in what type of game we will play with our recovery. Had I not been on top of my health I might have fought a whole different ball game than I had to fight. Knowing is power. So keep the faith and move forward.
I will never forget the day that I discovered my lump. I had just drop off my daughter and I realized that the seat belt was bothering me so I rubbed the area because I did not remember hitting myself and that's when I felt the lump. I can remember getting a sick feeling in my stomach because I just knew it was cancer. I
drove home and told my husband we both cried all weekend long. We did not tell anyone. We waited until Monday after having an ultra sound that showed it needed to be removed especially knowing my family history and after my sister had just died 11 months before of breast cancer. When I told my children the first words out of my 13 year daughter's mouth was "Mom you're going to die you like Aunt Lisa did". I told her that I was going to do things differently than she had and that I was going to fight it with every thing that I had in me. I knew that I was going to have to be the strong one in family because my husband was taking it very hard and my family was still dealing with the death of my sister.
I decided to have a bilateral masetomy and to have a strong dose of chemo. When summer was over I went back to school with half of my chemo behind me. When winter got here i was ready to think about reconstruction.I then under went 3 surgeries to reconstuct my breasts. I am happy to say that God guided me through this whole ordeal. My family and I have survived and now know more than ever how precious life really is.
I am fully recovered from the cancer now I just worry about my bones because the chemo and the medicine have weakened my bones a lot because I have cracked several ribs in the last couple of months. I have tried to become an advocate to help breast cancer patients in my town because I feel that God has gotten me here for a reason. I always tell women that they need to looked at all their options and decide what route is best for them and that they need to put their feet back on the ground and take off running and not look back or have any regrets. I also they them to look ahead and set their goal to the future mine was for the Christmas holiday that year. I also tell them that they need have faith that all will be well just go through the treatments and do what you have to do to get well. I also tell everone that I talk to to make sure they do their mammograms regularly and also to do their monthly self checks but we need to know when something changes in our bodies because it can make the differnce in what type of game we will play with our recovery. Had I not been on top of my health I might have fought a whole different ball game than I had to fight. Knowing is power. So keep the faith and move forward.
Kathy's Story
One of the greatest lessons and gifts I have learned is, life is not to be taken for granted! Live each day with no regrets and enjoy the sunshine, because none of us know what our future brings.
Diagnosed with breast cancer on August 24, 2002. I under-went lumpectomy surgery on September 3rd, followed by six months of chemotherapy and three months of radiation treatments. This life changing series of events could have been devastating and often is; however, I chose not to let it!
I coach volleyball and softball at the high school level and after my diagnosis, my athletes chose to wear pink ribbons with my name to every practice and game. They were committed to wearing them until I beat the cancer. My sixth graders begged to wear my wig and watching their reaction to a bald head relieved me of ever wearing it again. Their support meant the world to me and partially because of the kids, I missed only thirteen days of school through my surgery, 6 months of chemotherapy, and seven weeks of radiation.
Instead, I vowed to do whatever I could to help in the battle against this number one cancer killer of women. In April of 2003, only eight months after my diagnosis and while still involved in chemotherapy and radiation treatments, I organized a “strike out cancer hit-a-thon” to raise money to donate to the Susan G. Komen Foundation Race for the Cure. The RHSM softball team rallied around me, as did three public schools in the state, and $12,000 was donated to the Foundation that first year. In the 2004 hit-a-thon, my efforts were to involve as many young people as possible in this endeavor, we involved students from seven public schools and were able to raise a total of $22,000 for breast cancer research. In 2005 & 2006, 20 more school softball teams joined the efforts and over $24,000 was again donated to the Komen Foundation.
My passion for this project led to the establishment of what in 2007 became known as “Swing for Life, Inc.”, a not for profit organization whose annual mission is to host fund-raising hit-a-thon events to raise money for breast cancer research, with 100% of the dollars raised donated to the Huntsman Cancer Foundation. Over 40 high school softball and baseball teams from public schools across Utah participated in 2007, raising $75,000, $10,000 of which went to the Wellness Center at the Huntsman Cancer Institute where cancer patients go to get their physical side back, the remainder donated to cancer research at Huntsman. This year’s event was just as successful, with hundreds of students from 45 public and private schools participating, all of them excited to be involved in this cause, proud to collect their pledges and submit their donations. Our grand total in the six years is $215,000 for breast cancer research!
As long as I can, I will keep building this foundation until we find a cure. Every year we enlists more and more teams and sponsors who make monetary donations directly to Swing for Life or donate merchandise or gift certificates that I then uses as door prizes to help make the hit-a-thon event even more fun for the participants. I organize student volunteers who take on a myriad of jobs that need to be completed in order for the hit-a-thon to succeed. Determined to make the opening ceremonies of the Swing for Life event special, I also involve the local media, and have even been able to enlist the help of the Jazz Bear, Bumble the Bee, and Utah Grizzlies, Grizzbee at the event!
In addition to the festivities on the day of the hit-a-thon, part of the weekend’s events includes a sleepover in our school’s gym for the softball teams, a question-answer discussion with the students regarding breast cancer and its detection and prevention, and a sharing of what the event means to each student via their shared comments. Two years ago, when I learned through these conversations that a softball player at a local high school had a mother who had recently passed away as a result of cancer, I returned the money that that team had raised during the hit-a-thon to the family of this student to help defray medical costs that had accrued as a result of her illness. It was a touching moment as the high school junior cried in my arms.
Through our efforts, this hit-a-thon concept continues to grow in strength state and nationwide, as it has spread to schools in Colorado, California and Arizona. I hooked up with Kristin Mort, current softball coach at Mesa State in Grand Junction, Colorado, this March and was the guest of honor when Mesa hosted a “Strike Out Cancer” game, all proceeds donated to the Swing for Life fund-raiser. In October, I dropped the puck at the Pink in the Rink at the Grizzlies hockey game as well as threw out the first pitch at the Salt Lake Bees 'Huntsman Breast Cancer Pink' baseball game in May 2008.
It’s been 6 years and I have been blessed with good health and have kept the cancer from coming back. No matter how big Swing for Life becomes, I will always make sure 100% of the money goes to breast cancer research, we have a board of trustees that will never take a salary. I enjoy every minute I put into this and truly believe that my life has been changed for the better because of it. I can’t say enough about the kids or Swing for Life's Co-Founder, Kendra Tomsic, they have become soul mates on a mission and learn first-hand what it means to be involved in service for the greater good of others. I compare it to the movie ‘Pay it Forward’. If everyone did something special to make it better for someone else, we would eliminate a lot of terrible things in this world! These teams compete on the field but have learned more important lessons off the field with Swing for Life; how to make a difference in the community by giving back their time and efforts in finding a cure that could effect a family member, friend, or even themselves.
My message to others that battle this ugly disease; don’t let the beast win! Most of us don’t have to, get in, detect early, and fight like a giant with the best of attitude. I think pink everyday! Nobody plans on getting this handed to them in their life but take these lemons and make “Pink Lemonade” www.swingforlife.org
Diagnosed with breast cancer on August 24, 2002. I under-went lumpectomy surgery on September 3rd, followed by six months of chemotherapy and three months of radiation treatments. This life changing series of events could have been devastating and often is; however, I chose not to let it!
I coach volleyball and softball at the high school level and after my diagnosis, my athletes chose to wear pink ribbons with my name to every practice and game. They were committed to wearing them until I beat the cancer. My sixth graders begged to wear my wig and watching their reaction to a bald head relieved me of ever wearing it again. Their support meant the world to me and partially because of the kids, I missed only thirteen days of school through my surgery, 6 months of chemotherapy, and seven weeks of radiation.
Instead, I vowed to do whatever I could to help in the battle against this number one cancer killer of women. In April of 2003, only eight months after my diagnosis and while still involved in chemotherapy and radiation treatments, I organized a “strike out cancer hit-a-thon” to raise money to donate to the Susan G. Komen Foundation Race for the Cure. The RHSM softball team rallied around me, as did three public schools in the state, and $12,000 was donated to the Foundation that first year. In the 2004 hit-a-thon, my efforts were to involve as many young people as possible in this endeavor, we involved students from seven public schools and were able to raise a total of $22,000 for breast cancer research. In 2005 & 2006, 20 more school softball teams joined the efforts and over $24,000 was again donated to the Komen Foundation.
My passion for this project led to the establishment of what in 2007 became known as “Swing for Life, Inc.”, a not for profit organization whose annual mission is to host fund-raising hit-a-thon events to raise money for breast cancer research, with 100% of the dollars raised donated to the Huntsman Cancer Foundation. Over 40 high school softball and baseball teams from public schools across Utah participated in 2007, raising $75,000, $10,000 of which went to the Wellness Center at the Huntsman Cancer Institute where cancer patients go to get their physical side back, the remainder donated to cancer research at Huntsman. This year’s event was just as successful, with hundreds of students from 45 public and private schools participating, all of them excited to be involved in this cause, proud to collect their pledges and submit their donations. Our grand total in the six years is $215,000 for breast cancer research!
As long as I can, I will keep building this foundation until we find a cure. Every year we enlists more and more teams and sponsors who make monetary donations directly to Swing for Life or donate merchandise or gift certificates that I then uses as door prizes to help make the hit-a-thon event even more fun for the participants. I organize student volunteers who take on a myriad of jobs that need to be completed in order for the hit-a-thon to succeed. Determined to make the opening ceremonies of the Swing for Life event special, I also involve the local media, and have even been able to enlist the help of the Jazz Bear, Bumble the Bee, and Utah Grizzlies, Grizzbee at the event!
In addition to the festivities on the day of the hit-a-thon, part of the weekend’s events includes a sleepover in our school’s gym for the softball teams, a question-answer discussion with the students regarding breast cancer and its detection and prevention, and a sharing of what the event means to each student via their shared comments. Two years ago, when I learned through these conversations that a softball player at a local high school had a mother who had recently passed away as a result of cancer, I returned the money that that team had raised during the hit-a-thon to the family of this student to help defray medical costs that had accrued as a result of her illness. It was a touching moment as the high school junior cried in my arms.
Through our efforts, this hit-a-thon concept continues to grow in strength state and nationwide, as it has spread to schools in Colorado, California and Arizona. I hooked up with Kristin Mort, current softball coach at Mesa State in Grand Junction, Colorado, this March and was the guest of honor when Mesa hosted a “Strike Out Cancer” game, all proceeds donated to the Swing for Life fund-raiser. In October, I dropped the puck at the Pink in the Rink at the Grizzlies hockey game as well as threw out the first pitch at the Salt Lake Bees 'Huntsman Breast Cancer Pink' baseball game in May 2008.
It’s been 6 years and I have been blessed with good health and have kept the cancer from coming back. No matter how big Swing for Life becomes, I will always make sure 100% of the money goes to breast cancer research, we have a board of trustees that will never take a salary. I enjoy every minute I put into this and truly believe that my life has been changed for the better because of it. I can’t say enough about the kids or Swing for Life's Co-Founder, Kendra Tomsic, they have become soul mates on a mission and learn first-hand what it means to be involved in service for the greater good of others. I compare it to the movie ‘Pay it Forward’. If everyone did something special to make it better for someone else, we would eliminate a lot of terrible things in this world! These teams compete on the field but have learned more important lessons off the field with Swing for Life; how to make a difference in the community by giving back their time and efforts in finding a cure that could effect a family member, friend, or even themselves.
My message to others that battle this ugly disease; don’t let the beast win! Most of us don’t have to, get in, detect early, and fight like a giant with the best of attitude. I think pink everyday! Nobody plans on getting this handed to them in their life but take these lemons and make “Pink Lemonade” www.swingforlife.org
Lois' Story
I am 44 years old, married with two daughters ages 8 and 10. I was diagnosed with Stage 3a Breast Cancer last September, 2007. I had just seen my OB-Gyn in July of 2007 and was given a clean bill of health. Exactly 2 months later I scratched under my right arm while lying in bed and felt a lump the size of a golf ball. My husband & I had been married for 17 years and were having some serious marital problems, so I did not tell him when I discovered the lump.
On Monday, Sept.17th I scheduled an appointment with my OB for the next day. I then scheduled a mammogram for Thursday, Sept.20th. The nurse practitioner who saw me in the OB's office thought it was inflammatory disease and not to worry. When I went in for the mammogram, an ultrasound was also scheduled. After two sets of mammogram films and the ultrasound, I was immediately sent across the street to a highly regarded breast surgeon. The surgeon did a Fine Needle Aspiration on the lump under my arm and he also found the lump in my breast. His exact words were "I'm very concerned about that" - indicating the lump under my arm.
I was immediately scheduled for a breast MRI that night. I was then scheduled for biopsies for the following Monday, Sept.24th. I finally told my husband on Sept.23rd. I spent the entire day having both types of breast biopsies, which included at least 12 samples. After the biopsies, I saw the surgeon again and scheduled the necessary bone scans, CT's and the surgery. I was able to get everything scheduled in one week and I had my surgery the following Monday, Oct.1st. I underwent a modified radical mastectomy with removal of 19 lymph nodes, 8 of which were positive.
I was scheduled to start chemo on November 8th. On November 6th I underwent a second surgery to insert a Power Port. I am highly allergic to Tegaderm and told the surgeon this. The surgeon turned it around thinking I was allergic to the adhesive, but it caused severe localized allergic reaction in which the port could not be accessed for my first chemo session.
I was scheduled to receive 4 doses of A/C, and four doses of Taxol. My hair fell out as predicted two weeks later. I was working 30 hours a week and I continued to work throughout my treatments. I drove myself to and from every chemo treatment and I finished chemo on February 28th, 2008. I started radiation treatments on March 17th, 2008. I was about half-way through when the radiation burns set in. I had to take about 2 weeks off before I could continue the remaining treatments. I finally finished my radiation treatments on May 15th, 2008.
My life is dramatically different since this whole journey began. The one major change that I see is in my two daughters. We have always had a very loving relationship, but now it seems that we are much closer. I tried to keep my sense of humor throughout the treatments. One of the first things my younger daughter asked me was whether my hair would fall out. I told her it probably would but when it did she could draw on my bald head. True to my word, on a Friday night in January I let her draw pictures on my head. She drew a black cloud with a smiley face inside it and labeled it "Chemo Monster". We took pictures and she made it into a book.
The most challenging aspect of this journey has been watching my daughters deal with their sadness and fear. Both of them just wanted to hold me at night when tucking them into bed. I could tell them that I was going to be all right until I was blue in the face, but I could tell that deep down they were still very scared. The most important lesson that I learned was that we need to keep moving forward in our lives and to take nothing for granted. We as humans tend to get so caught up in the daily grind of just living that we forget what's really important. We also tend to forget to be grateful for everything we have and all those wonderful people who touch our lives.
If I were a national spokesperson for surviving breast cancer, my message to all would be not to lose hope and to ask for help. I truly believe that there are angels here on earth and they all showed up when my family needed them most. God does not let us go through this alone, we just need to swallow our pride and let his grace shine through others.
On Monday, Sept.17th I scheduled an appointment with my OB for the next day. I then scheduled a mammogram for Thursday, Sept.20th. The nurse practitioner who saw me in the OB's office thought it was inflammatory disease and not to worry. When I went in for the mammogram, an ultrasound was also scheduled. After two sets of mammogram films and the ultrasound, I was immediately sent across the street to a highly regarded breast surgeon. The surgeon did a Fine Needle Aspiration on the lump under my arm and he also found the lump in my breast. His exact words were "I'm very concerned about that" - indicating the lump under my arm.
I was immediately scheduled for a breast MRI that night. I was then scheduled for biopsies for the following Monday, Sept.24th. I finally told my husband on Sept.23rd. I spent the entire day having both types of breast biopsies, which included at least 12 samples. After the biopsies, I saw the surgeon again and scheduled the necessary bone scans, CT's and the surgery. I was able to get everything scheduled in one week and I had my surgery the following Monday, Oct.1st. I underwent a modified radical mastectomy with removal of 19 lymph nodes, 8 of which were positive.
I was scheduled to start chemo on November 8th. On November 6th I underwent a second surgery to insert a Power Port. I am highly allergic to Tegaderm and told the surgeon this. The surgeon turned it around thinking I was allergic to the adhesive, but it caused severe localized allergic reaction in which the port could not be accessed for my first chemo session.
I was scheduled to receive 4 doses of A/C, and four doses of Taxol. My hair fell out as predicted two weeks later. I was working 30 hours a week and I continued to work throughout my treatments. I drove myself to and from every chemo treatment and I finished chemo on February 28th, 2008. I started radiation treatments on March 17th, 2008. I was about half-way through when the radiation burns set in. I had to take about 2 weeks off before I could continue the remaining treatments. I finally finished my radiation treatments on May 15th, 2008.
My life is dramatically different since this whole journey began. The one major change that I see is in my two daughters. We have always had a very loving relationship, but now it seems that we are much closer. I tried to keep my sense of humor throughout the treatments. One of the first things my younger daughter asked me was whether my hair would fall out. I told her it probably would but when it did she could draw on my bald head. True to my word, on a Friday night in January I let her draw pictures on my head. She drew a black cloud with a smiley face inside it and labeled it "Chemo Monster". We took pictures and she made it into a book.
The most challenging aspect of this journey has been watching my daughters deal with their sadness and fear. Both of them just wanted to hold me at night when tucking them into bed. I could tell them that I was going to be all right until I was blue in the face, but I could tell that deep down they were still very scared. The most important lesson that I learned was that we need to keep moving forward in our lives and to take nothing for granted. We as humans tend to get so caught up in the daily grind of just living that we forget what's really important. We also tend to forget to be grateful for everything we have and all those wonderful people who touch our lives.
If I were a national spokesperson for surviving breast cancer, my message to all would be not to lose hope and to ask for help. I truly believe that there are angels here on earth and they all showed up when my family needed them most. God does not let us go through this alone, we just need to swallow our pride and let his grace shine through others.
Jane's Story
Hello my name is Jane and I was diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer on July 31 2007. I am 51 years old. My husband died of lung cancer on September 15 2006 and for months after, I experienced head aches and heart pangs. I went to the doctor for a brain mri and heart tests and everything was fine. I felt rather stupid thinking everything was stress related. I was now suddenly a single mother of a 12 year old alone in a country with no relatives (I am from Canada and my husband from Morocco). In May 2007, my right breast felt heavy but I was too ashamed to go to the doctor AGAIN, thinking it was all in my head! Finally, I went to my primary care doctor mid July and discovered that indeed, it was cancer! I have endured a collapsed lung from the chemo port surgery, radiation, 6 rounds of chemo and a mastacomy-the entire time working full time only taking two weeks off for the surgery. My advice to all woman is DON"T IGNORE YOUR BODY!!!!! Only you know when something is not right......I was too embarassed to go to the doctor and keep thinking what would be happening now if I was diagnosed earlier....could I have had a lumpatcomy.....would the tumor be smaller??? Never be too ashamed to speak to your doctor!!!!!
My daughter has been thru so much-loosing her father to cancer at 12 and now having her mother diagnosed with breast cancer. No child should have to endure this!
My daughter has been thru so much-loosing her father to cancer at 12 and now having her mother diagnosed with breast cancer. No child should have to endure this!
Jodi's Story
How can such great gifts come from such tragedy?T
he tragedy of that phone call on your oldest daughter's eighth birthday saying, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your biopsy tested for cancer." You immediately fear that your three children will grow up without a mother. Your loving husband takes you in his arms and shares your tears, tries to calm your fears while battling his own. The gift of performing self-breast exams and having your doctor really listen to you - ordering a mammogram even though she doesn't feel anything suspicious. The tragedy of having a mastectomy at age thirty-four. Your surgeon tells you that you are not a candidate for reconstruction. You are too thin and he had to remove so much tissue that he was barely able to staple your incision closed. The gift of your cancer being confined to your breast with clean lymph nodes. The tragedy of the cancer being "high grade" and so widespread throughout your breast that it is within 2mm of your chest wall. You are told that you will now need radiation every day for six weeks complete with fatigue and severe burn and blistering. The gift that you don't need chemotherapy. Everyone keeps telling you how "lucky" you are. It isn't luck. It is the tender mercies of a loving Heavenly Father. The gift of life you feel when your oncologist says, "If you hadn't caught this when you did, it would have been widespread throughout your body within six months." The tragedy when she tells you that you are high risk for a recurrence. You pray every night that your cancer won't return. The ugly eight inch battle scar running across your chest reminds you every day of just how far you have come.
The tragedy of receiving another phone call telling you that your husband has been in a rollover car accident - only five days after your mastectomy. The tragedy of him being taken to the ER in an ambulance and spending a month recovering from head and internal injuries. The gift that his injuries aren't more severe. The gift that he is alive!
The tragedy of being told that your five pound newborn has a rare, life-threatening congenital heart defect and needs emergency surgery. You feel your heart breaking into a million pieces as the OR tech says, "You had better kiss your little girl goodbye, because you may never see her again." The agonizing, uncontrollable sobs that erupt as you hand your baby over to the doctors at the operating room doors. The gift that she not only survives surgery, but thrives. You realize how blessed you are when the nurse caring for your daughter says, "I have never seen a baby recover from this type of surgery this quickly in my 25 years of being a nurse." The gift of being able to take your baby girl home, oxygen and all, but the tragedy of not knowing what the future holds for her. The tragedy of a sweet little girl living in the shadow of doctors and hospitals - of hearing her heart-wrenching cries, "Mommy, Mommy, I'm scared, I'm scared! What are they going to do to me?!" - realizing this is neither the first nor the last time you will hear such cries; realizing you can do nothing to stop the pain. The gift of three happy years before learning that your daughter needs another major heart surgery. This devastating news comes on the heels of your final radiation treatment. You're overwhelmed with gratitude as your daughter again makes a remarkably recovery. Humbly, her heart surgeon tells you, "You have been given a gift. Only four other times in seventeen years have I seen this type of surgery go this well." The gift of once again taking your daughter home, oxygen, medications, and all. The tragedy of her doctors telling you that she will never be "cured", that she will likely need additional heart surgery in the future. The tragedy of daily wondering what kind of life she will be able to live, of worrying that she will get pneumonia - again. The gift of being able to kiss, hold, feel, and breathe your daughter. The gift of a beautiful little girl who is incredibly happy, compassionate, insightful.
The tragedy of your husband suffering a debilitating knee injury only five weeks after your daughter's heart surgery. The tragedy of his needing to miss six weeks of work to have reconstructive knee surgery. The gift that although he is unable to work you can still keep your health insurance. You are left speechless when your nine-year-old daughter asks, "Why do these things keep happening to our family? When will something bad happen to me?"
The gift of being able to give back - helping to organize a support group for families affected by congenital heart defects. You feel great joy as you organize the first ever "heart camp" in the Intermountain West area for heart children and their families.
The gift of life. Having encountered the fragility of life firsthand, you understand just how precious a gift life is. The gift of joy - of refusing to let the uncertainties of tomorrow dim your joy for today. Because, life is all about the journey and the joy you can find along the way.
he tragedy of that phone call on your oldest daughter's eighth birthday saying, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your biopsy tested for cancer." You immediately fear that your three children will grow up without a mother. Your loving husband takes you in his arms and shares your tears, tries to calm your fears while battling his own. The gift of performing self-breast exams and having your doctor really listen to you - ordering a mammogram even though she doesn't feel anything suspicious. The tragedy of having a mastectomy at age thirty-four. Your surgeon tells you that you are not a candidate for reconstruction. You are too thin and he had to remove so much tissue that he was barely able to staple your incision closed. The gift of your cancer being confined to your breast with clean lymph nodes. The tragedy of the cancer being "high grade" and so widespread throughout your breast that it is within 2mm of your chest wall. You are told that you will now need radiation every day for six weeks complete with fatigue and severe burn and blistering. The gift that you don't need chemotherapy. Everyone keeps telling you how "lucky" you are. It isn't luck. It is the tender mercies of a loving Heavenly Father. The gift of life you feel when your oncologist says, "If you hadn't caught this when you did, it would have been widespread throughout your body within six months." The tragedy when she tells you that you are high risk for a recurrence. You pray every night that your cancer won't return. The ugly eight inch battle scar running across your chest reminds you every day of just how far you have come.
The tragedy of receiving another phone call telling you that your husband has been in a rollover car accident - only five days after your mastectomy. The tragedy of him being taken to the ER in an ambulance and spending a month recovering from head and internal injuries. The gift that his injuries aren't more severe. The gift that he is alive!
The tragedy of being told that your five pound newborn has a rare, life-threatening congenital heart defect and needs emergency surgery. You feel your heart breaking into a million pieces as the OR tech says, "You had better kiss your little girl goodbye, because you may never see her again." The agonizing, uncontrollable sobs that erupt as you hand your baby over to the doctors at the operating room doors. The gift that she not only survives surgery, but thrives. You realize how blessed you are when the nurse caring for your daughter says, "I have never seen a baby recover from this type of surgery this quickly in my 25 years of being a nurse." The gift of being able to take your baby girl home, oxygen and all, but the tragedy of not knowing what the future holds for her. The tragedy of a sweet little girl living in the shadow of doctors and hospitals - of hearing her heart-wrenching cries, "Mommy, Mommy, I'm scared, I'm scared! What are they going to do to me?!" - realizing this is neither the first nor the last time you will hear such cries; realizing you can do nothing to stop the pain. The gift of three happy years before learning that your daughter needs another major heart surgery. This devastating news comes on the heels of your final radiation treatment. You're overwhelmed with gratitude as your daughter again makes a remarkably recovery. Humbly, her heart surgeon tells you, "You have been given a gift. Only four other times in seventeen years have I seen this type of surgery go this well." The gift of once again taking your daughter home, oxygen, medications, and all. The tragedy of her doctors telling you that she will never be "cured", that she will likely need additional heart surgery in the future. The tragedy of daily wondering what kind of life she will be able to live, of worrying that she will get pneumonia - again. The gift of being able to kiss, hold, feel, and breathe your daughter. The gift of a beautiful little girl who is incredibly happy, compassionate, insightful.
The tragedy of your husband suffering a debilitating knee injury only five weeks after your daughter's heart surgery. The tragedy of his needing to miss six weeks of work to have reconstructive knee surgery. The gift that although he is unable to work you can still keep your health insurance. You are left speechless when your nine-year-old daughter asks, "Why do these things keep happening to our family? When will something bad happen to me?"
The gift of being able to give back - helping to organize a support group for families affected by congenital heart defects. You feel great joy as you organize the first ever "heart camp" in the Intermountain West area for heart children and their families.
The gift of life. Having encountered the fragility of life firsthand, you understand just how precious a gift life is. The gift of joy - of refusing to let the uncertainties of tomorrow dim your joy for today. Because, life is all about the journey and the joy you can find along the way.
Mary Ann's Story
My name is Mary Ann and I am a Breast Cancer Survivor/Warrior, Health Activist & Co-Founder and President of the brand new non-profit organization, the Get In Touch Foundation. Here is a mini-version of my story and a little more about why we are who we are…no “nutshell” is big enough, but here goes!
In 2004, when I was 39 years old, I found a lump on my left breast. I had a negative mammogram, an ultrasound and a surgical biopsy to remove it, and was told it was malignant. I had a lumpectomy and a sentinel node biopsy and was diagnosed with Stage 2 invasive ductal carcinoma. I started chemotherapy on May 5, “Chemo de Mayo”, shaved my head on May 7 – my 40th birthday – had a stroke during my 4th treatment, had a trans-catheter-closure to repair the hole in my heart, resumed chemo, had a bi-lateral mastectomy on October 13 and had reconstructive surgery via tissue expanders. “Yeah, yeah, yeah”, many of you are saying…me, too. Well, Sister, you’re the reason “why we are”.
My girlfriend Susan (one of the coolest and smartest chicks I know) and I gave birth to the Get In Touch Foundation one morning while scarfing down donuts at Krispy Kreme. We are “women of strength” and were determined to kick this cancer thing right in the teeth and turn lemons into lemonade. We have five daughters between us and dream of a day when breast cancer is a vaccinatable thing of the past, (I’m not sure that vaccinatable is actually a word – but it is now!), but until then, we wanted to at least arm these girls with all of the information and tools they need to be as strong and smart as their moms! (We can teach strong and smart, however, we’ve told them that when it comes to cool, they’re on their own!)
So, we rally the troops, aka, all of the other strong, smart and cool chicks we know, and we share our dream. (We do have a few men on the Board of Directors, too, you should know, and yes, they are also very strong, smart and cool!)
We put our dreams on paper and made a “Wish List”. Our “Wish List” evolved into a Mission Statement that truly is a living document for the Get In Touch Foundation.
The Mission of the Get In Touch Foundation is to encourage gals of all ages to “Get In Touch” with their bodies, information, and each other in our crusade against breast cancer.”
How?
Well…five daughters, remember? We didn’t think we should wait until our daughters were women before teaching them the importance of “getting in touch” with their bodies, to know their bodies well enough that they would be able to recognize any subtle change and be comfortable enough to let someone (mom, aunt, school nurse) know when they did.“
BSE Like BYT” – Breast Self Exam Like Brushing Your Teeth – that’s how we want girls to approach this simple way of getting in touch with their bodies. You don’t think about it, you just do it because you know how to and you have to.
We’re going to teach them “how to” with the Get In Touch Girls Program.This program teaches girls to “get in touch” with their bodies through self-examination and will be developed by board members and members of the medical community. Materials, including a fun ‘Daisy Wheel’, will explain the importance of breast self-examination and facts about breast cancer will be packaged and sent to health educators nationwide. The information, and the ‘Daisy Wheel’, is then given out to 5th grade girls when health educators discuss hygiene and the girls’ changing bodies. We’re going to “change the world one girl at a time” with this super-cool global initiative, ready for implementation in October 2008!
Pretty cool, huh?!
Okay, how about all of the Cancer Survivor Barbie’s out there who are in desperate need of connecting with another gal smack in the middle of her Survivor Internship? The Get In Touch Gals Forum is just the place to go; a secure, password protected online network for gals in various stages of survivorship to be “in touch” with each other.
We even have a Get In Touch Guys Forum, for the guys with gals in their lives who are in various stages of survivorship – we want to provide the same safe space for men to support each other, too. Imagine the fear – whether husband, partner, friend, father, brother – and the questions that they might never ask for fear of being thought insensitive. Getting in touch with other guys with the same questions, the same fears, and to be able to do this anonymously – well, we’re certainly going to try to lead that horse to water!
Remember this…you don’t have to write a book or start a foundation to change the world. All you have to do is encourage the women in your life to get in touch with their bodies, information, and each other…in our crusade against breast cancer.
In 2004, when I was 39 years old, I found a lump on my left breast. I had a negative mammogram, an ultrasound and a surgical biopsy to remove it, and was told it was malignant. I had a lumpectomy and a sentinel node biopsy and was diagnosed with Stage 2 invasive ductal carcinoma. I started chemotherapy on May 5, “Chemo de Mayo”, shaved my head on May 7 – my 40th birthday – had a stroke during my 4th treatment, had a trans-catheter-closure to repair the hole in my heart, resumed chemo, had a bi-lateral mastectomy on October 13 and had reconstructive surgery via tissue expanders. “Yeah, yeah, yeah”, many of you are saying…me, too. Well, Sister, you’re the reason “why we are”.
My girlfriend Susan (one of the coolest and smartest chicks I know) and I gave birth to the Get In Touch Foundation one morning while scarfing down donuts at Krispy Kreme. We are “women of strength” and were determined to kick this cancer thing right in the teeth and turn lemons into lemonade. We have five daughters between us and dream of a day when breast cancer is a vaccinatable thing of the past, (I’m not sure that vaccinatable is actually a word – but it is now!), but until then, we wanted to at least arm these girls with all of the information and tools they need to be as strong and smart as their moms! (We can teach strong and smart, however, we’ve told them that when it comes to cool, they’re on their own!)
So, we rally the troops, aka, all of the other strong, smart and cool chicks we know, and we share our dream. (We do have a few men on the Board of Directors, too, you should know, and yes, they are also very strong, smart and cool!)
We put our dreams on paper and made a “Wish List”. Our “Wish List” evolved into a Mission Statement that truly is a living document for the Get In Touch Foundation.
The Mission of the Get In Touch Foundation is to encourage gals of all ages to “Get In Touch” with their bodies, information, and each other in our crusade against breast cancer.”
How?
Well…five daughters, remember? We didn’t think we should wait until our daughters were women before teaching them the importance of “getting in touch” with their bodies, to know their bodies well enough that they would be able to recognize any subtle change and be comfortable enough to let someone (mom, aunt, school nurse) know when they did.“
BSE Like BYT” – Breast Self Exam Like Brushing Your Teeth – that’s how we want girls to approach this simple way of getting in touch with their bodies. You don’t think about it, you just do it because you know how to and you have to.
We’re going to teach them “how to” with the Get In Touch Girls Program.This program teaches girls to “get in touch” with their bodies through self-examination and will be developed by board members and members of the medical community. Materials, including a fun ‘Daisy Wheel’, will explain the importance of breast self-examination and facts about breast cancer will be packaged and sent to health educators nationwide. The information, and the ‘Daisy Wheel’, is then given out to 5th grade girls when health educators discuss hygiene and the girls’ changing bodies. We’re going to “change the world one girl at a time” with this super-cool global initiative, ready for implementation in October 2008!
Pretty cool, huh?!
Okay, how about all of the Cancer Survivor Barbie’s out there who are in desperate need of connecting with another gal smack in the middle of her Survivor Internship? The Get In Touch Gals Forum is just the place to go; a secure, password protected online network for gals in various stages of survivorship to be “in touch” with each other.
We even have a Get In Touch Guys Forum, for the guys with gals in their lives who are in various stages of survivorship – we want to provide the same safe space for men to support each other, too. Imagine the fear – whether husband, partner, friend, father, brother – and the questions that they might never ask for fear of being thought insensitive. Getting in touch with other guys with the same questions, the same fears, and to be able to do this anonymously – well, we’re certainly going to try to lead that horse to water!
Remember this…you don’t have to write a book or start a foundation to change the world. All you have to do is encourage the women in your life to get in touch with their bodies, information, and each other…in our crusade against breast cancer.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Kellie May in Salt Lake Tribune
The Salt Lake Tribune wrote a great article about Kellie being selected as the first Think Pink Honoree and the support she's received from her neighborhood. You can read it by following this link:
http://www.sltrib.com/midvalley/ci_9839386
Remember, we’re only accepting stories for 3 more weeks, so if you know anyone who has breast cancer, please encourage them to share their story with us at www.ithinkpink.org.
http://www.sltrib.com/midvalley/ci_9839386
Remember, we’re only accepting stories for 3 more weeks, so if you know anyone who has breast cancer, please encourage them to share their story with us at www.ithinkpink.org.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Cindy's Story
On October 24, 2005, the results of my biopsy came back. It was positive; I had breast cancer. By April, 2006, I had undergone two surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation. I am a survivor and have been cancer-free, with no reoccurrences, for two years and three months.
My family, friends, and students supported me throughout my battle. My husband helped me to believe, and never lose hope. My oldest son, fifteen at the time, believed in me. My youngest son, eleven years old, realized that life isn’t perfect, but with love, faith and strength, all is possible.
My circle of friends sent love, strength, and “good vibes” my way every single day. We learned together that cancer isn’t a death sentence. We believed that I could win the fight.
Finally, my sixth grade students helped me keep a sense of humor. We made fun of my wig, and we laughed until we cried when I melted my fake hair while pulling cinnamon buns out of the oven.
Life has been different for all of us and we have learned some valuable lessons. We are better equipped to deal with what life throws out at us. We know that with love, faith and strength, anything is possible. We recognize the power of laughter and cannot let a day go by without at least a few chuckles. Most importantly, we have learned to believe. Believe in yourself, believe in others, believe in hope, and believe in a cure!
My family, friends, and students supported me throughout my battle. My husband helped me to believe, and never lose hope. My oldest son, fifteen at the time, believed in me. My youngest son, eleven years old, realized that life isn’t perfect, but with love, faith and strength, all is possible.
My circle of friends sent love, strength, and “good vibes” my way every single day. We learned together that cancer isn’t a death sentence. We believed that I could win the fight.
Finally, my sixth grade students helped me keep a sense of humor. We made fun of my wig, and we laughed until we cried when I melted my fake hair while pulling cinnamon buns out of the oven.
Life has been different for all of us and we have learned some valuable lessons. We are better equipped to deal with what life throws out at us. We know that with love, faith and strength, anything is possible. We recognize the power of laughter and cannot let a day go by without at least a few chuckles. Most importantly, we have learned to believe. Believe in yourself, believe in others, believe in hope, and believe in a cure!
MJ's Story
I was diagnosed in June of 2007, My husband has been dealing with cancer and had been quit ill so i had put off getting my mammograms. Then one day, while cleaning out some papers i found the script for the mammogram and thought i think it is time to get one done (it had been a few years) and that is when they found my lump. I was told even by the surgeon that it was so deep that no one could have felt it so it was a good thing that i finally took the time to get a mamogram. I went thru a lumpectomy, mammosite radiation and then was told because I was 3 HR negative that I would need to go thru chemo. For me chemo was the worst thing- not just loosing my hair- i realized that if you didn't like me bald then you really didn't like me. But i had every side effect that a person could get from chemo. I was so sick.
My husband sees a doctor in Kentucky for his cancer a 500 mile trip. I went with him during my chemo treatments and it was the longest trip I ever took, i ended up being dehydrated and so very sick. I tried to go to work but that did not work either.It was so difficult to watch my youngest son go thru another parent with cancer. It seems he has seen enough sickness in our family for awhile. He was such a help to both of us.
It was difficult when I would see someone that i knew in the store and they would try to avoid me, i felt like i had some awful disease- i understand they didn't know what to say to me or what if i was having a bad day and they would make me cry. But it hurt to be treated that way.
Without me working, it became difficult to pay bills and we are still trying to catch up, and that was a big stress factor in my treatment.
I have to go next month to get my 1 year check up and and hoping and praying for the best. I have learned that you have to face reality and deal with the problem one day at a time. Remember when you are having a pity party for yourself that there is some one out there that is worse off than you.
I have learned that family is the most precious thing and you should treasure every moment of them. I would tell anyone that is going thru breast cancer that You can beat it, be tough (easier said than done) and for the family members to support them, help her but don't smother her, let her cry but be there for her when she wants to talk or just have someone to hold her hand and say its gonna be ok or to just take a walk with her.
I have learned that NO matter what is going on in your life, it is very important that you take the time (make the time) to take care of your self. Have a regular mamogram and yearly check ups. You are a very important and special person to someone and it is important that you do these tests on a regular basis.
Life has been tough physical, mental and financial since being diagnosed with cancer but I have learned that I need to take one day at a time and take a moment to smell the roses. Life is precious.
My husband sees a doctor in Kentucky for his cancer a 500 mile trip. I went with him during my chemo treatments and it was the longest trip I ever took, i ended up being dehydrated and so very sick. I tried to go to work but that did not work either.It was so difficult to watch my youngest son go thru another parent with cancer. It seems he has seen enough sickness in our family for awhile. He was such a help to both of us.
It was difficult when I would see someone that i knew in the store and they would try to avoid me, i felt like i had some awful disease- i understand they didn't know what to say to me or what if i was having a bad day and they would make me cry. But it hurt to be treated that way.
Without me working, it became difficult to pay bills and we are still trying to catch up, and that was a big stress factor in my treatment.
I have to go next month to get my 1 year check up and and hoping and praying for the best. I have learned that you have to face reality and deal with the problem one day at a time. Remember when you are having a pity party for yourself that there is some one out there that is worse off than you.
I have learned that family is the most precious thing and you should treasure every moment of them. I would tell anyone that is going thru breast cancer that You can beat it, be tough (easier said than done) and for the family members to support them, help her but don't smother her, let her cry but be there for her when she wants to talk or just have someone to hold her hand and say its gonna be ok or to just take a walk with her.
I have learned that NO matter what is going on in your life, it is very important that you take the time (make the time) to take care of your self. Have a regular mamogram and yearly check ups. You are a very important and special person to someone and it is important that you do these tests on a regular basis.
Life has been tough physical, mental and financial since being diagnosed with cancer but I have learned that I need to take one day at a time and take a moment to smell the roses. Life is precious.
Myra's Story
My life took a tailspin on November 13, 2006. I had an appointment with a plastic surgeon to see about taking out implants. It only took her a few seconds before she could see that I had a problem that I had not even thought about. She discovered that I had inflammatory breast cancer. It took a couple of days for the biopsy to come back and then I was immediately scheduled with other doctors for opinions and surgery.
I was working at the time as a high school counselor and loved my career and working with teenagers. My plans were to have the chemo and keep working. The doctor said there should be no reason not to be able to keep up the lifestyle I had. She said I would probably be a little tired and would need to rest, but that all else should be fine. Wow, was I in for a change.
During the next six months I was totally unable to work or even go out of the house because of hospitalization, transfusions, mouth sores, pneumonia, oxygen tanks, and totally not able to walk from room to room without being exhausted. After 4 treatments of chemo, I had to stop because my body was too weak to continue the next two rounds. Because of this reaction, my surgery was scheduled to give my body a chance to rest from the chemo.
I had a double masectomy in April 2007 and because of complications the day after the surgery, I had to go back into surgery and remove a blood clot in my chest. I spent the next week in the hospital recovering from what they told me would be an overnight procedure. I elected to do reconstruction, and so I had expanders in me, and no ever tells you how painful that is and never goes away until months after they are removed.
The worst thing was yet to come. I had been home two weeks from surgery and still not well, when our youngest son called, in tears, to tell us that our 2-1/2 month old granddaughter, Dru, had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor and was in Primary Children's Hospital and scheduled for surgery the next morning. The doctor's didn't give a lot of hope in such a tiny baby, but wanted to try all they could.
The following months, through September 2007 were filled with chemo and radiation for both Dru and I. She had to have a stem cell replacement and I was on herceptin until April 2008. We both had beautiful bald heads and have about the same haircuts now.
Little Dru is now 18 months old and the doctors are totally amazed at how terrific she is doing. She is a "miracle" with all she went through. She is walking around and trying to talk and no one would know all she has been through except for the tube in her stomach that feeds her because her little stomach still has a few problems which will get better with time.
I am doing great also, and I am grateful for each day and each sunrise and sunset, and I truly see things a little more clearly and appreciate things a little more and love all the beauty around me and feel great compassion for someone I see who is struggling with health problems. I think life gives us a little poke to remind us how wonderful life really is. Dru and I will always have a little bond because I can tell her sometime how sick she really was. And then we will laugh at our bald heads.
No matter what the long term outcome is, I am glad to have an understanding of the horrible thing that cancer is and to have a chance now to help others get through struggles. Cancer is ugly, but it cannot take away a fighting attitude if you don't want it to. I am not grateful for the cancer I had, but I am grateful for the things I learned through all the trials. LIFE IS GOOD!!!!
I was working at the time as a high school counselor and loved my career and working with teenagers. My plans were to have the chemo and keep working. The doctor said there should be no reason not to be able to keep up the lifestyle I had. She said I would probably be a little tired and would need to rest, but that all else should be fine. Wow, was I in for a change.
During the next six months I was totally unable to work or even go out of the house because of hospitalization, transfusions, mouth sores, pneumonia, oxygen tanks, and totally not able to walk from room to room without being exhausted. After 4 treatments of chemo, I had to stop because my body was too weak to continue the next two rounds. Because of this reaction, my surgery was scheduled to give my body a chance to rest from the chemo.
I had a double masectomy in April 2007 and because of complications the day after the surgery, I had to go back into surgery and remove a blood clot in my chest. I spent the next week in the hospital recovering from what they told me would be an overnight procedure. I elected to do reconstruction, and so I had expanders in me, and no ever tells you how painful that is and never goes away until months after they are removed.
The worst thing was yet to come. I had been home two weeks from surgery and still not well, when our youngest son called, in tears, to tell us that our 2-1/2 month old granddaughter, Dru, had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor and was in Primary Children's Hospital and scheduled for surgery the next morning. The doctor's didn't give a lot of hope in such a tiny baby, but wanted to try all they could.
The following months, through September 2007 were filled with chemo and radiation for both Dru and I. She had to have a stem cell replacement and I was on herceptin until April 2008. We both had beautiful bald heads and have about the same haircuts now.
Little Dru is now 18 months old and the doctors are totally amazed at how terrific she is doing. She is a "miracle" with all she went through. She is walking around and trying to talk and no one would know all she has been through except for the tube in her stomach that feeds her because her little stomach still has a few problems which will get better with time.
I am doing great also, and I am grateful for each day and each sunrise and sunset, and I truly see things a little more clearly and appreciate things a little more and love all the beauty around me and feel great compassion for someone I see who is struggling with health problems. I think life gives us a little poke to remind us how wonderful life really is. Dru and I will always have a little bond because I can tell her sometime how sick she really was. And then we will laugh at our bald heads.
No matter what the long term outcome is, I am glad to have an understanding of the horrible thing that cancer is and to have a chance now to help others get through struggles. Cancer is ugly, but it cannot take away a fighting attitude if you don't want it to. I am not grateful for the cancer I had, but I am grateful for the things I learned through all the trials. LIFE IS GOOD!!!!
Diana's Story
I was a single mother for 15 years. My 2 sons were finally out on their own and at 43 I started my life with my new husband Lance on 8/20/2005. We built a new home together and closed on the house 1/13/2006. We worked all the next day painting the interior of the garage. Exhausted I went home and took a hot bath to relax. While bathing I discovered a lump in my right breast. I called my doctor and they scheduled a sonogram which came back inconslusive so they sent me for a mamogram. They had me wait while a doctor could review the mamogram. The doctor came in and said it looked worrysome and wanted to do a biopsy immediately.
Laying there during the biopsy I kept telling myself this couldn't be breast cancer as we do not have a family history. I did not go to work the next day as I knew if I got a phone call with bad news I would not want to be at the office so instead I called a girlfriend and we went to lunch. We had no more than ordered our food when my cell phone rang and the doctor tells me the bad news, I do have breast cancer. I can still remember that moment like it was yesterday. We got our food to go and went back to my house. My husband came home at lunch and I told him the news and we both sat down and cried.
I saw an oncologist who referred me to a surgeon who highly recommended a mastectomy due to the size of the lump. I just kept thinking this couldn't be happening, we were still newlyweds. My husband was very supportive and told me I had to make this decision and he would be there for me no matter what I chose to do. I saw a plastic surgeon about reconstruction and had to make some hard decisions. I chose to have the mastectomy on the right breast and they put an expanded in place at the same time. I was told the lymph nodes taken during surgery were not cancerous. I was healing pretty well when I got a phone call about 2 weeks after my surgery telling me that when they looked at the lymph modes again they did find cancer. I then had to go back for surgery for them to remove additional nodes which did come back normal.
I started my 8 chemo treatments on 5/28/06 and finished 8/28/06. I was so blessed to have had so much support from my husband, family and friends. I'm not sure I could have gotten through it without all of their love and support. I can honestly say that having cancer has changed my life in many ways but mostly that I thank God every morning for another day and for keeping me cancer free.
Laying there during the biopsy I kept telling myself this couldn't be breast cancer as we do not have a family history. I did not go to work the next day as I knew if I got a phone call with bad news I would not want to be at the office so instead I called a girlfriend and we went to lunch. We had no more than ordered our food when my cell phone rang and the doctor tells me the bad news, I do have breast cancer. I can still remember that moment like it was yesterday. We got our food to go and went back to my house. My husband came home at lunch and I told him the news and we both sat down and cried.
I saw an oncologist who referred me to a surgeon who highly recommended a mastectomy due to the size of the lump. I just kept thinking this couldn't be happening, we were still newlyweds. My husband was very supportive and told me I had to make this decision and he would be there for me no matter what I chose to do. I saw a plastic surgeon about reconstruction and had to make some hard decisions. I chose to have the mastectomy on the right breast and they put an expanded in place at the same time. I was told the lymph nodes taken during surgery were not cancerous. I was healing pretty well when I got a phone call about 2 weeks after my surgery telling me that when they looked at the lymph modes again they did find cancer. I then had to go back for surgery for them to remove additional nodes which did come back normal.
I started my 8 chemo treatments on 5/28/06 and finished 8/28/06. I was so blessed to have had so much support from my husband, family and friends. I'm not sure I could have gotten through it without all of their love and support. I can honestly say that having cancer has changed my life in many ways but mostly that I thank God every morning for another day and for keeping me cancer free.
Virginia's Story
My oldest sister passed away with breast cancer. I took care of her for 3 months this was in 1991 or 1992, I can't remember. My husband and I moved to UT in 1994 in 1998 I found a lump in my left breast. I have always had my my check ups. I went to the doctor and he found that I had cancer, so he did surgery. At that time he did a partial mastectomy and I had to have radiology. Here I am in UT and no family and I had to drive about 40 miles one way, but you know what, I made it! I had the most wonderful therapist, so good to all that seen them. Then in 2005 a lump came back so the doctor removed my left breast. Well, I was lucky my oldest daughter came and helped me.
I am thankful every day that I had a wonderful doctor here in UT. It also helps to have wonderful husband. We just found out last year that my sister-in-law has breast cancer. I have one thing to say to all women: Please check your breast and have your doctor check them also. If my sister would have gone to the doctor when she first found the lump she my still be with us. If there is anyone in my area that needs a ride to their doctor or any kind of help, I will help them in any way that I can. As of the first of 2008, my doctor said I am cancer free. God Bless everyone.
I am thankful every day that I had a wonderful doctor here in UT. It also helps to have wonderful husband. We just found out last year that my sister-in-law has breast cancer. I have one thing to say to all women: Please check your breast and have your doctor check them also. If my sister would have gone to the doctor when she first found the lump she my still be with us. If there is anyone in my area that needs a ride to their doctor or any kind of help, I will help them in any way that I can. As of the first of 2008, my doctor said I am cancer free. God Bless everyone.
Sue's Story
My name is Cathy. I am actually writing this for my mom, Sue Hankins, who is not technically capable of submitting this letter, with her permission.
Around Christmas time 2007, I noticed a lump in my breast. I have had lumps before but this one felt different. I knew that we did not have any money for a doctor visit and that Medicare coverage for me will begin in about April 2008, so I decided to wait until that time to see a doctor. When my coverage began, I went to the doctor who promptly sent me for a mamogram. The mamogram did indead show what seemed like a cancerous lump. The doctors took test and the results were as feared. I have cancer. The doctor suggested a masectomy on the breast with cancer. I elected to go ahead and do a double masectomy to avoid future problems. After the surgury, the doctor found pre-cancerous cells in the other breast and cancer in the lymph nodes also. Now the doctor says that I need Chemo-therapy and Radiation and medications that will cost more money than we see in a month. Medicare will cover some of the cost but the doctor and the hospital want the rest of the money up front before I can start the treatments. We simply do not have the money. We do not qualify for Medicaid because we have property and a vehicle. We have placed the property and vehicle for sale but have not had any luck selling due to no interested buyers and title complications. I just don't know what to do.
Around Christmas time 2007, I noticed a lump in my breast. I have had lumps before but this one felt different. I knew that we did not have any money for a doctor visit and that Medicare coverage for me will begin in about April 2008, so I decided to wait until that time to see a doctor. When my coverage began, I went to the doctor who promptly sent me for a mamogram. The mamogram did indead show what seemed like a cancerous lump. The doctors took test and the results were as feared. I have cancer. The doctor suggested a masectomy on the breast with cancer. I elected to go ahead and do a double masectomy to avoid future problems. After the surgury, the doctor found pre-cancerous cells in the other breast and cancer in the lymph nodes also. Now the doctor says that I need Chemo-therapy and Radiation and medications that will cost more money than we see in a month. Medicare will cover some of the cost but the doctor and the hospital want the rest of the money up front before I can start the treatments. We simply do not have the money. We do not qualify for Medicaid because we have property and a vehicle. We have placed the property and vehicle for sale but have not had any luck selling due to no interested buyers and title complications. I just don't know what to do.
Jill's Story
It seems like so long ago yet I remember it like it was yesterday. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the beginning of a journey that would affect my life in ways I never thought possible.
It started like any other routine gynecological visit. Nothing unusual for a 37 year old mother of two young boys. A simple pap smear, internal exam, quick breast exam and I'm out of there. But this time was different- the gynecologist is asking "what is this?" No, I haven't noticed it before, but it's definitely a pea sized lump. "It's probably nothing" he says. He's almost tempted to just watch it, but maybe it's better to get an ultrasound and a surgical consultation just to be on the safe side.
I'm sitting in the surgeon's office in my lovely little paper top. He looks at the ultrasound report and feels my lump. "Probably nothing", he repeats. But again, maybe it's better to biopsy it just to make sure. A week later I'm back in my paper top alone in his office awaiting the results. After all, everyone's pretty confident that it's nothing. I'm healthy, active, have no history of breast cancer, and I'm too young for it anyway. But now he's reading from a chart and I think he said something about cancer. He's still talking, but I can't hear anything he's saying. His words are inaudible sounds drifting just under my consciousness. I just want to put my clothes on and run. The paper top feels smaller as I become more vulnerable by the last word I heard- "Cancer".
I have my lumpectomy and it goes according to plan. I'm sitting in my paper top once again for my post-op visit. This time my cousin is with me. Again the surgeon's reading from his chart. His eyes never meet mine, but this time he's saying "mastectomy". Something about DCIS in the margins. My cousin says we need a second opinion. I can get all the second opinions I want because he knows. He's done the research. We get copies of my records and leave. I'm broken, torn apart. How could this have happened in such a short time? I'm healthy. I feel fine. I'm young.
I fly to New York for a second opinion at Sloan Kettering. The doctor doesn't agree. There was DCIS in the margin after the first resection, but after the surgeon went in again the margin was clear. Go back to Florida and have radiation in case there are wayward cells left behind. Women who have lumpectomies do just as well as those who have mastectomies. Your tumor was small and node negative. We'll probably never hear from this again. I'm a good patient and do exactly what I'm told. I have my radiation, I take my Tamoxifen for five years. My oncologist says it was a fluke and I'll probably be fine the rest of my life. I faithfully see him every 3 months, then 6 months. I have my mammograms like clockwork every 6 months, then every year. I'm cured. Lucky me.It's 11 years later and it's like any other routine mammogram. But wait, there's something suspicious in the same breast. It's probably nothing, but we should biopsy it just to make sure. Am I having deja vu? Is this some parallel universe or is it possible that history is repeating itself? "Probably nothing" has taken on different connotations to me these days. I've just gone through a stressful divorce and put myself through school. I'm ready to graduate. This can't be happening again!
So I have a biopsy, which is botched and tests negative. I develop a hematoma from hell that refuses to go away. Three months later I have a PET scan, which lights up like a Christmas tree. I have an MRI, which now shows two spots. Another biopsy follows, which confirms my worst fears. It's back. Like a stalker who goes into hiding but who's never really more than a stone's throw away. The cancer is back.
Another surgery, this time a mastectomy with reconstruction. I have only one real choice for reconstruction- an expander to stretch the skin for an implant to be placed at a later date. I'm too thin for autologous tissue transplant, but I've had radiation so an implant's slightly risky. If it doesn't work I'll be strapping a Ben and Jerry's cup to my mouth like a feed bag.
The expander works like a charm and I have my exchange surgery. Everything looks good according to my surgeon at Sloan Kettering. Again the two tumors were small and node negative. Go back down to Florida and follow up with an Oncologist. Maybe take Tamoxifen again. You'll be fine. Famous last words.
A few months later, I've graduated my physical therapy program and landed a job in an outpatient clinic. After being primarily a stay at home mom for almost 17 years, I'm really excited about this new chapter of my life. But one day I hurt my back and there's a lump back there. I shouldn't get ahead of myself, but in my heart I know. Once you've had cancer, even a sneeze is suspect.
So when the Oncologist tells me that my cancer has spread to my liver and bones, I'm not surprised. Somehow every bout with the disease has made me stronger, more resilient. I think nothing can shock me anymore. But when he tells me I can be neither cured nor treated, I'm shocked and appalled. He says anything that can be done for me is purely palliative. There are medicines, but they're limited and will eventually stop working. We can start with one, wait for it to stop working, then try another, and so on. I know that the unspoken revelation is that sooner or later they will run out of medicines.
I go home thinking that this is just not good enough. I'm not good at waiting, especially for something so ominous. I need to take charge and exercise some control over my destiny. So I search for an alternative, but what I find is a new life. I feel that women with metastatic breast cancer are the forgotten warriors. We battle the disease on new levels, but we do it silently. We're the ones they don't talk about. You always hear about all the new treatments, but never about those of us left behind by conventional medicine. There's something about hearing the word "uncurable" that sucks the air out of your lungs and leaves you deflated. There's something about being told you have Stage IV when there's no Stage V. Where does that leave us?
I've decided to follow an alternative route. It's a nutritional approach to cancer treatment. I take digestive enzymes and supplements, I drink green juices, I eat my organic, vegan food in its raw state to preserve the natural enzymes. I meditate and go to Reiki circles. I feel and look healthy. I've been told I glow. My last scans found no liver tumor. Most of all, I feel strong and empowered. I'm taking control and I'm proud of my fortitude. I call myself a survivor, because that's what I'm doing every minute of this wonderful life!
It started like any other routine gynecological visit. Nothing unusual for a 37 year old mother of two young boys. A simple pap smear, internal exam, quick breast exam and I'm out of there. But this time was different- the gynecologist is asking "what is this?" No, I haven't noticed it before, but it's definitely a pea sized lump. "It's probably nothing" he says. He's almost tempted to just watch it, but maybe it's better to get an ultrasound and a surgical consultation just to be on the safe side.
I'm sitting in the surgeon's office in my lovely little paper top. He looks at the ultrasound report and feels my lump. "Probably nothing", he repeats. But again, maybe it's better to biopsy it just to make sure. A week later I'm back in my paper top alone in his office awaiting the results. After all, everyone's pretty confident that it's nothing. I'm healthy, active, have no history of breast cancer, and I'm too young for it anyway. But now he's reading from a chart and I think he said something about cancer. He's still talking, but I can't hear anything he's saying. His words are inaudible sounds drifting just under my consciousness. I just want to put my clothes on and run. The paper top feels smaller as I become more vulnerable by the last word I heard- "Cancer".
I have my lumpectomy and it goes according to plan. I'm sitting in my paper top once again for my post-op visit. This time my cousin is with me. Again the surgeon's reading from his chart. His eyes never meet mine, but this time he's saying "mastectomy". Something about DCIS in the margins. My cousin says we need a second opinion. I can get all the second opinions I want because he knows. He's done the research. We get copies of my records and leave. I'm broken, torn apart. How could this have happened in such a short time? I'm healthy. I feel fine. I'm young.
I fly to New York for a second opinion at Sloan Kettering. The doctor doesn't agree. There was DCIS in the margin after the first resection, but after the surgeon went in again the margin was clear. Go back to Florida and have radiation in case there are wayward cells left behind. Women who have lumpectomies do just as well as those who have mastectomies. Your tumor was small and node negative. We'll probably never hear from this again. I'm a good patient and do exactly what I'm told. I have my radiation, I take my Tamoxifen for five years. My oncologist says it was a fluke and I'll probably be fine the rest of my life. I faithfully see him every 3 months, then 6 months. I have my mammograms like clockwork every 6 months, then every year. I'm cured. Lucky me.It's 11 years later and it's like any other routine mammogram. But wait, there's something suspicious in the same breast. It's probably nothing, but we should biopsy it just to make sure. Am I having deja vu? Is this some parallel universe or is it possible that history is repeating itself? "Probably nothing" has taken on different connotations to me these days. I've just gone through a stressful divorce and put myself through school. I'm ready to graduate. This can't be happening again!
So I have a biopsy, which is botched and tests negative. I develop a hematoma from hell that refuses to go away. Three months later I have a PET scan, which lights up like a Christmas tree. I have an MRI, which now shows two spots. Another biopsy follows, which confirms my worst fears. It's back. Like a stalker who goes into hiding but who's never really more than a stone's throw away. The cancer is back.
Another surgery, this time a mastectomy with reconstruction. I have only one real choice for reconstruction- an expander to stretch the skin for an implant to be placed at a later date. I'm too thin for autologous tissue transplant, but I've had radiation so an implant's slightly risky. If it doesn't work I'll be strapping a Ben and Jerry's cup to my mouth like a feed bag.
The expander works like a charm and I have my exchange surgery. Everything looks good according to my surgeon at Sloan Kettering. Again the two tumors were small and node negative. Go back down to Florida and follow up with an Oncologist. Maybe take Tamoxifen again. You'll be fine. Famous last words.
A few months later, I've graduated my physical therapy program and landed a job in an outpatient clinic. After being primarily a stay at home mom for almost 17 years, I'm really excited about this new chapter of my life. But one day I hurt my back and there's a lump back there. I shouldn't get ahead of myself, but in my heart I know. Once you've had cancer, even a sneeze is suspect.
So when the Oncologist tells me that my cancer has spread to my liver and bones, I'm not surprised. Somehow every bout with the disease has made me stronger, more resilient. I think nothing can shock me anymore. But when he tells me I can be neither cured nor treated, I'm shocked and appalled. He says anything that can be done for me is purely palliative. There are medicines, but they're limited and will eventually stop working. We can start with one, wait for it to stop working, then try another, and so on. I know that the unspoken revelation is that sooner or later they will run out of medicines.
I go home thinking that this is just not good enough. I'm not good at waiting, especially for something so ominous. I need to take charge and exercise some control over my destiny. So I search for an alternative, but what I find is a new life. I feel that women with metastatic breast cancer are the forgotten warriors. We battle the disease on new levels, but we do it silently. We're the ones they don't talk about. You always hear about all the new treatments, but never about those of us left behind by conventional medicine. There's something about hearing the word "uncurable" that sucks the air out of your lungs and leaves you deflated. There's something about being told you have Stage IV when there's no Stage V. Where does that leave us?
I've decided to follow an alternative route. It's a nutritional approach to cancer treatment. I take digestive enzymes and supplements, I drink green juices, I eat my organic, vegan food in its raw state to preserve the natural enzymes. I meditate and go to Reiki circles. I feel and look healthy. I've been told I glow. My last scans found no liver tumor. Most of all, I feel strong and empowered. I'm taking control and I'm proud of my fortitude. I call myself a survivor, because that's what I'm doing every minute of this wonderful life!
Jean's Story
I was diagnosed with breast cancer in October, 2007, at age 57, invasive ductal carcinoma, Stage IIA, non-hormone receptive. As it was explained to me, having the HER2 marker meant I had a more aggressive tumor, but one that might respond to a relatively new drug called Herceptin. Since the tumor was 2 to 3 cms, my oncologist recommended chemotherapy first, in hopes of shrinking the mass prior to surgery. After getting a port, I started 16 rounds of chemo right before Thanksgiving, going every Friday for Taxol, Carboplatin and Herceptin.
My first day at chemo was a blur. My doctor and nurses at the Harold Leever Regional Cancer Center were wonderful and I knew I was getting state of the art treatment, but I let my fears get the better of me. At the end of the day I went home, expecting to be sick as a dog. No one was more surprised than me when that didn’t happen. I was drowsy that evening, but not uncomfortable; the next day, I felt totally fine.
As the weeks progressed, it wasn’t long before I realized that I actually enjoyed going to chemo. My weekly routine was to sit in a lounge chair in a sunny window, sip tea, listen to music, read a book, doze off for awhile, read some more, doze some more. The Benadryl I got to ward off an allergic reaction had the effect of an all-day martini. I began referring to the weekly treatments as my “chemo cruise.”
I began losing my hair about three weeks into treatment. That was pretty traumatic at first, but I asked my son to shave it all off, and I felt much better after that. I received three wigs from friends, but preferred to wear scarves and hats. It was fun matching my “headgear” to my outfits for work. Luckily, this was wintertime and the hats were a welcome addition to my wardrobe.
I never once felt sick from the chemo, not even a little. The only side effect I got was the proverbial “change in bowel habits,” which I was able to control pretty easily. I was able to work full days Monday through Thursday and continue with just about every activity except fussing with my hair.
My surgeon scheduled a lumpectomy in May. Again, I was nervous going in, but the surgery was so easy and the recovery so quick, I joked that my husband could have dropped me off at work on the way home from the hospital. As it turned out, the chemo completely eradicated the tumor so the surgery was quite minor. I was left with a small scar and acceptably, if not totally, symmetrical breasts.
A few weeks after surgery, I began radiation, 25 treatments of full-breast followed by eight zaps targeted at the tumor site. Again, I was pleasantly surprised to find the treatment quick, easy and painless. There’s a little redness, but no tenderness. I was told to expect some fatigue, but I only have two treatments left and have yet to feel tired. We scheduled my treatments for 6 p.m. so I was able to work a full work week. If I had to describe radiation to someone, I’d say it’s like stopping for a quick visit with two friends every day after work – and for about 30 seconds of that visit your breast is exposed.
Though the major part of my cancer treatment will soon be behind me, I continue to report to the Harold Leever Center every third Friday for an infusion of Herceptin. I’ll be doing that until mid-November. In October, I’ll see my surgeon to talk about reconstruction, but at this point, I don’t think it will be necessary. At this point, one breast slightly off-kilter doesn’t seem like a big problem.
When I think back on the past 10 months, the biggest challenge was dealing with my insurance company, and coming to grips with the fact that even with insurance, my portion of the cost is more than I will ever be able to pay. But what I remember most is the incredible support I received from friends, family, even strangers. Not a day went by without cards in the mail, good wishes in my email box, hugs at work, at church -- wherever I went. Through my illness, I was able to see the very best in other people, who surrounded me with love and generosity.
Shortly after my diagnosis, two friends confided in me that they had been treated for breast cancer, and kept it a secret. While I affirm the right of every woman to deal with it in the way she chooses, I can’t imagine the effort it would take to conceal something like this. I think their motivation was to “carry on” as if nothing had happened, but at what price? My advice to someone newly diagnosed would be to trust in the goodness of people, and let them share your burden. The love and support I received from so very many people was a life changing, life affirming experience that I wouldn’t give up for anything.
My first day at chemo was a blur. My doctor and nurses at the Harold Leever Regional Cancer Center were wonderful and I knew I was getting state of the art treatment, but I let my fears get the better of me. At the end of the day I went home, expecting to be sick as a dog. No one was more surprised than me when that didn’t happen. I was drowsy that evening, but not uncomfortable; the next day, I felt totally fine.
As the weeks progressed, it wasn’t long before I realized that I actually enjoyed going to chemo. My weekly routine was to sit in a lounge chair in a sunny window, sip tea, listen to music, read a book, doze off for awhile, read some more, doze some more. The Benadryl I got to ward off an allergic reaction had the effect of an all-day martini. I began referring to the weekly treatments as my “chemo cruise.”
I began losing my hair about three weeks into treatment. That was pretty traumatic at first, but I asked my son to shave it all off, and I felt much better after that. I received three wigs from friends, but preferred to wear scarves and hats. It was fun matching my “headgear” to my outfits for work. Luckily, this was wintertime and the hats were a welcome addition to my wardrobe.
I never once felt sick from the chemo, not even a little. The only side effect I got was the proverbial “change in bowel habits,” which I was able to control pretty easily. I was able to work full days Monday through Thursday and continue with just about every activity except fussing with my hair.
My surgeon scheduled a lumpectomy in May. Again, I was nervous going in, but the surgery was so easy and the recovery so quick, I joked that my husband could have dropped me off at work on the way home from the hospital. As it turned out, the chemo completely eradicated the tumor so the surgery was quite minor. I was left with a small scar and acceptably, if not totally, symmetrical breasts.
A few weeks after surgery, I began radiation, 25 treatments of full-breast followed by eight zaps targeted at the tumor site. Again, I was pleasantly surprised to find the treatment quick, easy and painless. There’s a little redness, but no tenderness. I was told to expect some fatigue, but I only have two treatments left and have yet to feel tired. We scheduled my treatments for 6 p.m. so I was able to work a full work week. If I had to describe radiation to someone, I’d say it’s like stopping for a quick visit with two friends every day after work – and for about 30 seconds of that visit your breast is exposed.
Though the major part of my cancer treatment will soon be behind me, I continue to report to the Harold Leever Center every third Friday for an infusion of Herceptin. I’ll be doing that until mid-November. In October, I’ll see my surgeon to talk about reconstruction, but at this point, I don’t think it will be necessary. At this point, one breast slightly off-kilter doesn’t seem like a big problem.
When I think back on the past 10 months, the biggest challenge was dealing with my insurance company, and coming to grips with the fact that even with insurance, my portion of the cost is more than I will ever be able to pay. But what I remember most is the incredible support I received from friends, family, even strangers. Not a day went by without cards in the mail, good wishes in my email box, hugs at work, at church -- wherever I went. Through my illness, I was able to see the very best in other people, who surrounded me with love and generosity.
Shortly after my diagnosis, two friends confided in me that they had been treated for breast cancer, and kept it a secret. While I affirm the right of every woman to deal with it in the way she chooses, I can’t imagine the effort it would take to conceal something like this. I think their motivation was to “carry on” as if nothing had happened, but at what price? My advice to someone newly diagnosed would be to trust in the goodness of people, and let them share your burden. The love and support I received from so very many people was a life changing, life affirming experience that I wouldn’t give up for anything.
Chelsea's Story
Our story has been short, but filled with events even before we were a story. I met Matt through a mutual friend of ours. He was a widower at 30 with a 9 year old and 2 year old. After a year and half he decided to look into getting back into the game. So in stepped our friend and got us together via e-mail. After dating for a while, both Matt and I knew that we were going to be together. I sold my house and moved in with my parents before we had even dated 4 months.
Matt asked me to marry him on our 7th month anniversary and we set the date to be married 4 months later. We bought a house together and our new family moved in together for the 1st time. We knew that we were biting off a lot with buying a house, selling his house and all living under one roof, but we thought it would soon pass and the hard stuff would be past us. On Easter of 2008, I found a lump in my breast. I didn’t think too much about it seeing how I had found one 5 years before in the other and it turned out to be nothing. But I went ahead and went through the steps of going to doctors and surgeons and such. Matt went with me to the surgeon’s office for the biopsy on 4-3-08. We were planning on playing hooky the rest of the day to get some alone time. Little did we know what would be dropped on us that day.
The surgeon did the biopsy and put in a tag. She was talking that it might be cancer so I was a little freaked, but when she sat us in that big conference room with a brochure about breast cancer is when it really started to sink in. How could this be? I had just finally found my first love at age 35, was going to get married in a month and was going to be a step mom. How could I possibly have cancer?
We called my family and made arrangements for the girls to stay someplace that night so we could try to wrap our heads around this. We decided to tell the girls on that weekend. We were not sure how they would take it seeing how they had lost their mom just a little over 2 years before due to heart complications. They were stronger than we thought. We think that God put us together since they were a strong family and could deal with helping me through this ordeal with what they had already been through.
Matt and I decided to go ahead and keep our original wedding date even with everything going on. We wanted to keep as much normal as we could seeing that everything seemed to be spinning out of normal range. We were hoping that I would keep my hair for the wedding, but one week before it started coming out. So we made a family night of cutting my hair. I had bought a wig just in case and so I had my wedding hair. So on May 9th 2008 we were married. We decided to post-pone our honeymoon until I was feeling better and would be able to enjoy it more. Plus I would like to have hair for my honeymoon pictures.
Things have been hard enough being newlyweds, but not having any sense of normalcy on top of it make it that much worse. We keep thinking just a few more months. I will be done with chemo in August and between now and then we have to decide what kind of surgery we want to do. Which that alone is a whole other issue. We have decided that making it through our first year of marriage will be more than some people go through in 20 years. We already had the deck stacked just with dealing with merging me into the family and getting the girls to accept me as their step mom. But putting cancer on top of that put a whole other layer on our cake.
Matt and I are trying as best we can to keep our minds clear and not let the cancer get us down. It is hard seeing how we only had the first 3 weeks of living under the same roof before cancer crept in. So trying to keep in mind that what we are going through is not what it will be like for the rest of our lives is difficult to remember. But we have good weeks and bad like everybody. We are just hoping to get through our first year without too many scars from the battles.
Matt asked me to marry him on our 7th month anniversary and we set the date to be married 4 months later. We bought a house together and our new family moved in together for the 1st time. We knew that we were biting off a lot with buying a house, selling his house and all living under one roof, but we thought it would soon pass and the hard stuff would be past us. On Easter of 2008, I found a lump in my breast. I didn’t think too much about it seeing how I had found one 5 years before in the other and it turned out to be nothing. But I went ahead and went through the steps of going to doctors and surgeons and such. Matt went with me to the surgeon’s office for the biopsy on 4-3-08. We were planning on playing hooky the rest of the day to get some alone time. Little did we know what would be dropped on us that day.
The surgeon did the biopsy and put in a tag. She was talking that it might be cancer so I was a little freaked, but when she sat us in that big conference room with a brochure about breast cancer is when it really started to sink in. How could this be? I had just finally found my first love at age 35, was going to get married in a month and was going to be a step mom. How could I possibly have cancer?
We called my family and made arrangements for the girls to stay someplace that night so we could try to wrap our heads around this. We decided to tell the girls on that weekend. We were not sure how they would take it seeing how they had lost their mom just a little over 2 years before due to heart complications. They were stronger than we thought. We think that God put us together since they were a strong family and could deal with helping me through this ordeal with what they had already been through.
Matt and I decided to go ahead and keep our original wedding date even with everything going on. We wanted to keep as much normal as we could seeing that everything seemed to be spinning out of normal range. We were hoping that I would keep my hair for the wedding, but one week before it started coming out. So we made a family night of cutting my hair. I had bought a wig just in case and so I had my wedding hair. So on May 9th 2008 we were married. We decided to post-pone our honeymoon until I was feeling better and would be able to enjoy it more. Plus I would like to have hair for my honeymoon pictures.
Things have been hard enough being newlyweds, but not having any sense of normalcy on top of it make it that much worse. We keep thinking just a few more months. I will be done with chemo in August and between now and then we have to decide what kind of surgery we want to do. Which that alone is a whole other issue. We have decided that making it through our first year of marriage will be more than some people go through in 20 years. We already had the deck stacked just with dealing with merging me into the family and getting the girls to accept me as their step mom. But putting cancer on top of that put a whole other layer on our cake.
Matt and I are trying as best we can to keep our minds clear and not let the cancer get us down. It is hard seeing how we only had the first 3 weeks of living under the same roof before cancer crept in. So trying to keep in mind that what we are going through is not what it will be like for the rest of our lives is difficult to remember. But we have good weeks and bad like everybody. We are just hoping to get through our first year without too many scars from the battles.
Kalena's Story
REACH FOR THE JOY!
My story is about reaching for the joy when all hope appears to have vanished. It is about choosing life, in moments when I wanted to give up. The drama that I have endured in the past 12 months may have conquered someone with less fortitude. But I am a survivor and I will persevere. I believe that there is a reason for the way our lives unfold. I am still hoping to understand why I have had to sustain the challenges I have faced, and why, after nearly losing this battle to cancer, I am once again thriving, strong, ready to live another day. To be a role model to my daughter is what keeps me alive, keeps me moving forward, one day at a time.
On July 10 of 2007, only days after moving halfway across the country with my almost three-year-old daughter, I was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer, “terminal” stamped prominently on my forehead. The dis-ease had metastasized to my spine, hips, shoulders, lung and liver. I had gone misdiagnosed for over a year, requesting test after test to determine why my health was failing. Over the next few weeks, I lost my hair, my breast, my posture, my ability to do so many things I once took for granted. I was once an athletic, energetic, youthful Mom who taught acting to children. I have undergone chemotherapy, radiation, two surgeries, extreme weight loss and a loss of spirit, which I am working each day to reignite.
Nearly a year had passed since I first I went to see my OB-GYN to show her a small mass that had developed on my left breast. She set up a mammography and ultrasound immediately. The results of both tests were negative and the ultrasound report even uses the word benign. Unconvinced, I went to the office of a breast specialist and surgeon. She did not believe it was anything to worry about and in fact said that she did not want to cut me open in case it was not cancer. In her estimation, the problem was related to nursing and would right itself when I stopped breast feeding my daughter. She joked that if I pumped hard enough I might extract some cottage cheese. Yuck! She recommended we “keep an eye on it.”
My breast continued to show unhealthy signs. It began to cave in and showed the beginnings of “peau de orange” – an indication of IBC- inflammatory breast cancer. I asked the breast specialist about this and she, again, assured me that I did not have cancer. My husband, Rick suggested that it was all in my mind. I knew that something was terribly wrong, but no one backed me up.
In January 2007, I began a battle with chronic back pain. I maintained my healthy diet, regular chiropractic care and yoga in hopes that this would pass as an early sign of approaching 40. Over time, however, the pain became debilitating as my energy depleted. I could no longer keep up with the demands of caring for my toddler. We had been the center of our Mommy and Me social calendar and my friends watched, as I slipped into a depression while my body betrayed me. After several months I began to wonder if the two symptoms could be related, as my joy for life dissipated under a cloak of constant pain. It was clear that I was in need of medical attention, and my friends and family could not understand why I was not under the care of a physician. Meanwhile, my husband worried about finances. As a self proclaimed entrepreneur, he was constantly concerned about lack, yet did nothing to ensure that our little family was secure. My body was under a vicious attack, and there were several occasions when I passed out from the pain and woke up vomiting in agony. My husband urged me to “sleep it off.” A chiropractor was all we could afford, and even then, there were constant complaints about the cost. Our medical deductible was high, and unfortunately many of the decisions around my health care revolved around money- or lack thereof. And somehow it was always up to me to bring in a minimum amount of income to cover our household bills.
On July 3rd, a year ago today, my daughter and I flew to Austin, Texas to begin our new life. My husband was driving our belongings from Las Vegas and would be delayed by about a week. We had decided that Austin would be a better place to raise our little girl and get Rick’s business off the ground. Rick reassured me that once we got to Austin, my body would somehow, miraculously right itself. We knew only one couple in Austin. They literally saved my life.
While staying with these friends, my back continued to cause me agonizing pain. They urged me to go to the Emergency Room. I was terrified to go, because I had been programmed to believe that my health was not worth the cost of care. I was afraid that my husband would be upset with me if I spent money on medical attention, but these friends convinced me that I had no choice. I am grateful every day of my life to them. Had I waited, I don’t think I would have made it to the end of the summer.
On July 5th of last year , after nine hours in the waiting room, the attending physician in the Emergency Room took one look at me and stated, “You have breast cancer.” When asked about my back pain, he said, “That is most likely a stage issue.” I didn’t understand it at the time, but what he meant was that breast cancer often metastasizes to the bones and it was likely that there were tumors compromising my spine. Why hadn’t anyone told me this before? After over a year of being convinced that there was nothing to worry about, this guy took one look at me and with his eyes diagnosed cancer!? But I was the healthy one! I did yoga and ate vegetarian. I was breast feeding. I got an early mammogram.
We spent the weekend agonizing over my options, waiting to hear back from the ER doctor to schedule the proper tests. My husband arrived on Sunday. On Monday, I was finally admitted to the hospital. Within 24 hours, it was confirmed that I was indeed battling stage four breast cancer. On July 10, 2007, my life was forever changed.
I believe it is our response to change that is of the real importance, that which determines our personality. When I was first diagnosed, many people, including myself, thought, “This is it, game over.” This realization shook me violently awake and made me realize I had a “Do-Over.” It didn’t matter if I have 20 years or 20 days, I did not have to make the same toxic choices I had made before. And it has slowly been revealed to me that the choices I had made had lead to this moment, including the choice to put my trust in Rick. Every day is a new day to take a Do-Over and make new choices. And whatever time I have left in this body, I am going to create the best days of my life. Every day. One day at a time.
This has lead to a year of self discoveries, of rebirth. A year of seeing the world through newer, cancer colored glasses. I have taken some incredible risks, and my goal is to discover the life I was intended to live. I don’t believe that I got sick for no reason. And that I have been given a second chance at life is nothing to take for granted.
Unfortunately my drama does not end with cancer. Throughout this process, my marriage began to unravel. My husband, whom I always suspected was looking for a short cut, an easy way to achieve success, saw my disease as his own personal cancer lottery. It started in the hospital, meeting with lawyers to determine whether or not he could sue the doctors in Las Vegas for “wrongful death.” I was still breathing and he was worried about how to make money off of my corpse. I told him that I did not want to spend what was left of my life in court. My family urged me to change the beneficiary of my life insurance policy to put into trust for my daughter. Rick and his camp convinced me that he would need the money to raise our little girl. In the end, he won that argument and I did not change the beneficiary. Now I am told it is too late.
Rick then began a full time campaign to acquire money through donations. We started a website to share my story (www.kalena.org) and attached a Paypal account to it. Thousands of dollars came through this site and not a single dollar was claimed as income on our taxes. I could not believe that after nearly a year of letting other people pay our way, my husband was not even going to pay taxes on this free money. Rick refused to look for a job, even with the help of my brother and some well connected Austin friends. He hid behind my illness and continued to allow my aunties on fixed incomes to pay our bills, sent letters to cancer organizations asking for donations, used our daughter’s SSDI to pay the rent. Meanwhile, the deductible went unpaid. Rather than getting a job, my husband spent all his waking hours seeking charity, while my family helped support us, and my daughter went to daycare, funded by my brother.
Money continued to be a thorn in our relationship. My brother had created a trust fund for my daughter so that Zaiden would be assured some financial stability in her world and urged me to consider putting her trust down as the beneficiary. I argued with him at the time, as I was convinced by Rick and his camp that he would need the money to help him raise her, to buy a house for her, etc. And he probably will, because he has proven that money slips easily through his fingers. I now regret not having listened to my brother 11 months ago. If the money goes to a trust for Zaiden she will be guaranteed the essentials- like college- and the niceties, like dance or guitar lessons or a trip or photography or whatever she desires. And she will never have to hear “We can’t afford it.” God forbid she ever has medical issues and her father tells her that he cannot afford to take her to see a specialist. The trust assures that she will always be able to do whatever she desires. There is already the possibility that she grow up without her Mom due to this dreadful disease. I want to make sure that she at least has what she needs to really explore life and figure out her passions without being held back financially.
I spent most of my energy working to maintain a positive attitude for my daughter’s sake. I created the illusion of a wonderful marriage and wrote a biweekly blog about Reaching for the Joy. I was, and still am, under hospice care. I have tried several Western therapies, including hormones that my former oncologist used to “shut down the factory” and Herceptin, which caused a violent reaction. But I am a huge believer in “alternative” care and I have been using acupuncture, yoga, prayer, meditation, Reiki, AIM and a plethora of supplements, all to my benefit. Eventually, I began to put on weight again (I got down to 98 lbs on my formerly 5’6” frame), my hair came back (curlier than before and a bit greyer), I was able to drive and take care of myself and my daughter. I was ready to take back my life. And as I began to do that, I felt a strong resistance from my partner.
Desiring nothing but peace and happiness while I fought this disease, I had created a fantasy: we would co-raise our daughter in spite of our marriage dissolving. I began to tire of the façade and in March, as I was growing more and more independent, my husband and I agreed to part ways.
My health was still in the balance, as the stress of a failing marriage took its toll. My numbers began to climb again and the tumor in my liver had grown to six times its size. The treatment I was undergoing was not working. It was time to go back to the drawing board.
On April 18th, just two days after visiting with my Austin oncologist and discovering his concern about my numbers, I got on a plane with my daughter. It was a planned vacation that the three of us were to go on together to visit my family. We had scheduled the trip- using donated plane tickets - to see my Father and huge extended family for Christmas, but postponed the trip due to my health. This was our holiday visit just in time for my 40th birthday. My family knew that things were not going well at home and in fact, my husband was packing my belongings to move me into a rented bedroom of an acquaintance upon my return. My parents urged me to reconsider my options. In Denver I have a large extended family: Father, Step Mom, brothers, sisters, in laws, cousins, aunts, uncles. There are over 100 in our clan in the Denver area alone. Why didn’t the three of us move to Colorado so they could help take care of us?
My daughter and I had a wonderful visit. Zaiden fell head over heels for her uncles, and she quickly developed a close bond with my Father and Step Mom. My Dad hosted a BBQ in my honor and at least 50 people attended, filling the house with laughter and love. Zaiden adores her colorful family and really had the opportunity to get to know lots of her cousins for the first time. She established many routines with her grandparents, such as feeding the birds and having “kid coffee” in the morning with Grandpa. She even got over her fear of dogs, as she befriended the family pooch, Scout. She was reigning princess at my Dad’s house, and one afternoon, while making her rounds among the flower garden, Zaiden exclaimed, “Grandpa, if this is your yard, than it must be my yard! And I can run and play as much as I want!” She sat on the porch, pulling her skirt over her knees, her chin propped neatly in her hand and assessed her new acquisition and shouted, “Grandpa, I’m finally home!”
During our visit, it became clear to me that the three of us, Zaiden, me and Rick, belong here in Denver. With the disease escalating on paper and our imminent separation, all three of us need the love and support that only family can offer. I thought on it, prayed about it, talked it over with my kin and wrote a lengthy letter to Rick. I chose to write rather than talk because I can articulate my points without interruption, and anyone who knows Rick knows his talent for persuasion, or “Jedi mind tricks.” I rationalized that with no job, a lease on an apartment that will end in July, a history of only a few months, and no real roots keeping any of us in Austin, it just made sense for us all to move now. As much as we had all grown to love the city and especially the people of Austin, it was time to sacrifice for my needs: I needed the extra care that my family could offer to allow me to be the devoted Mother that I have always been. There are no guarantees how long I will have in this body and I want to spend every moment I have with my daughter, whether I have my health or I return to the delicate state I was in only recently. Since I was not going to be sharing a roof with my husband, and I may need extra TLC, it just made logical sense to be where I have a support system in place.
My first PET scan- something I have been requesting since long before I was first diagnosed- taken here in Denver the first weeks revealed that the cancer had aggressively progressed. The liver tumors, which I so arrogantly bragged about receding in February, had escalated to a whopping 6x4 cm- and that is just in one location. The bones- in particular, my spine- are under attack as well. I realize that I will need help as time marches on, and I would like to be instrumental in my daughter’s life for as long as possible. Living in Austin means relying on hired help to take care of my needs, should my health decline. The choice seemed obvious, and I believe that a supportive husband would agree: in Colorado all three of us would benefit from the love and care of an enormous, loving family.
When I asked Rick if he would consider moving to Colorado, he said, “No and I suggest you get on that plane as scheduled.” He had a threatening tone to his voice, and he did not even offer to discuss it. I told him that I needed more time to think and more time with my family. I was scared. What if I moved in to the rented room and ended up getting sick again? What if my bones began to break? Who would care for me? A nursing home? Rick suggested that my Mother could move to Austin and that if I did end up debilitated again, that family could drop their lives and fly down to Texas for weeks at a time. Rick has always been easy to volunteer other’s inconvenience over his own. My family members all have homes and jobs and each other and history: roots in Colorado. While I was sick and disabled, my husband did not have a job, we were renting an apartment, my daughter was in day care 4 days a week, as many as 9 hours a day. In Colorado, there are literally dozens of families who would be honored to jump in and do whatever needed doing to assist us- all of us. It just made perfect sense to me. What would you do?
Rick and I had considered moving to Colorado just a few years before. We chose Austin, mostly due to the weather. Neither of us had ever been to the city, yet both of us had spent time in Colorado over our lives. Austin was a new adventure. But this decision was made before cancer changed the landscape of our lives. There are no guarantees that I will continue to thrive. Having extra loving hands to care for me and for Zaiden just made sense now. And if Rick wants to start another new business, what a better place, where there is a generous, loving and well connected family willing to do whatever they can to help support us- all three of us? My father is a 63 year native. My brother is a successful business man with friends in every industry imaginable. I asked him to consider my idea while I extended our trip by a week or two. I needed more time with my family. He could come out with his ticket and assess things for himself. He responded by hiring an attorney.
As the paper work was being readied by his attorney that week, he pretended that everything was fine and even told me he was looking to find a mediator to help us work out our differences. I was literally blindsided when the doorbell rang during dinner at my folks’ house, and a woman handed me a stack of legal papers that accused me of endangering our child. In fact, the attorney- a child custody specialist with a reputation of being a bear in the courtroom- was hired days before I even shared my feelings with him, which showed me that he had been plotting long before I even considered this solution. I now know that he was looking into divorce attorneys as far back as February. I had simply fallen into his trap. How was he paying for all of this when he had been living off of my and Zaiden’s disability and the donations that came in from my website?
The insurance deductible is $5400 a year. Currently I owe nearly $11,000 for treatments already incurred. And that number is growing daily. Last summer while I lay in the hospital bed believing that I may never see the outside world again, I was told that the treatment plan I desired was out of reach, financially, and yet Rick was about to win the cancer lottery. And now, while we are about to go to court to have a judge determine where our little girl lives, he is gloating about the fact that once he filed for divorce, the beneficiary on my life insurance cannot be legally changed, so he will “get my money when I die.” Meanwhile, Zaiden’s future is being spent to send Rick’s attorneys’ children to college.
I found an attorney who offered to help me, free of charge. This lawyer told me to take care of my daughter and my health and that he would take care of the rest. He would ask for a continuance so that I could undergo the prescribed treatment plan, and allow me the time I needed to figure out what to do next. I put all of my trust and faith in this man. He let me down. On the day of the hearing in late May, I was undergoing chemotherapy treatment. I received a call from Rick letting me know that the continuance had been denied and that I was obligated to send my daughter back to Austin within three days. That was five weeks ago.
I borrowed money from relatives to hire another attorney in order to prepare for the fight of my life. The hearing is July 21st. And Rick has everyone in Austin snowed by his sad tale of the single father. My constant prayer is that the court will see the full picture and allow me to have my daughter with me- at least while I am in relatively good health. Her health, happiness and welfare is all that I care about. So why am I in Colorado while she is in Austin?
Just one look at the physical difference three months have made since my arrival is reason enough. In Austin, I had become a shell of the woman I had once been. The treatment I was on was not working, the stress of a manipulative husband was taking its toll on my health, I had no one I could count on. Here I have the unconditional love and support of my extended family. I have a medical team who is willing to take the time to work with my unique fight with cancer. I am not under the manipulative thumb of a man waiting for me to die. This is the Mother that my daughter deserves.
I am under a brand new treatment plan and my body is responding well. The doctors feel that there is hope that I could defy fates for a number of years. I finally broke down and accepted the idea of chemo and radiation. I am on a low dose drug (Gemzar) and I am having no side effects whatever. I also had Cyberknife radiosurgery a couple of weeks ago that shot some of the tumors in my vertebrae with radiation. It is pretty incredible– stuff of sci-fi movies – that only strikes at the tumors and circumvents the healthy tissue. I am physically stronger today than I ever thought I would be again. I am walking without assistance, driving, doing yoga, and feeling grand. I have no pain, no nausea, no side effects. Even on chemo days, I joke that I am going to the spa for my treatment, because I leave four hours later feeling relaxed and hungry. My new medical team, led by a fabulous female oncologist and including a neurologist and orthopedist is part of the reason for my decision to stay in Denver.
Blame certainly serves no one. But the reality is, had I been supported to begin with, I may have been diagnosed sooner and had a better chance at combating this disease. Instead, I was diagnosed “terminal” at the young age of 39, my two and a half year old plucked off my breast, and all I recall was talk about money: About what we could and could not afford. About suing doctors and making a killing in court. About my life insurance and how Rick was planning to pay off debts and buy a house after I died.
I kept this all to myself, in part because I could not believe this was my life. This was my husband. I wanted things to be different, so I invented a fantasy that I wished for, in hopes of somehow recreating my life. I defended him to my concerned family. I suppose the thought that I might not have much longer to live clouded my judgment. I wanted to try and create happy memories for my daughter and refused to see things as they really were. I swallowed my tongue a lot in those first months for Zaiden’s sake, but as I got clear again, I realized how incredibly unhappy and how frightened for her welfare I was. It was time to speak out.
My first priority and concern, since the day of conception, has been the welfare, safety and happiness of our child. Zaiden is a light. She is incredible. She somehow seems to understand what is going on and what is to come. While we have never discussed death or even shared that I may not be here much longer, she seems to know in her heart that our time together as Mommy and Daughter may be limited. And she really understands when Mommy needs time to rest, and lets me know that she is ok and happy. We talk all the time about being in one another’s hearts, and now, while we are apart, she reminds me of this whenever we talk.
Somehow I know that she will remember this time, even though she is only three and a half. We have always been big on adventures. Adventures can be found in a trip to the grocery store or a walk around the block. And at the end of each day, we recount our favorite moments of the day and talk about all that we are grateful for.
The day she returned to Austin, Zaiden asked me if she would ever have a daughter. Before I could formulate an answer, she said quickly, “I’d rather have a Hermit crab.” And each day she asks if I am well enough to jump on the bed: our gauge of how strong I am feeling on any given day. Today she remarked that she cannot wait to jump on the bed together, “high so high til we touch the sky!” She is an astonishing little girl.
Moving to Colorado was the single most well thought out idea I think I have ever had. I wanted Rick to be a part of it. I know that I am in the sunset of my life and I want the most important people around me now: my family. Rick is fighting me in court for not only custody of our daughter, but also to ensure that will not be held responsible for my medical struggle. On the chopping block is also the life insurance policy that by all rights should be earmarked for our Zaiden’s future.
I love Austin. I really do. And I know that God led me (us) there for a reason. I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle yet, of course. Maybe it was for Rick’s sake. But I don’t want to end up in a nursing home, and that was the way things were heading. Now that we are in the throws of a custody battle, Rick has accepted a job and rented a house- things I have been begging him to consider for many years.
I still don’t know the reason for this illness. There is so much more yet to unravel.
They say love is blind. I realize that if you have been a reader of my work this past year, this information conflicts with some of my earlier writings. I was living in a fantasy. I was under the delusion that my husband actually cared about me. I had to. I could not accept what I am now having to face: that my husband has been waiting for me to die to collect the loot. That is pretty hard to swallow. But I was clinging to the dream that I created: That we were a family and we’d live happily ever after. I think that Rick saw my cancer as an opportunity to get something for nothing. He was going to put on a good show until I passed. But I fooled everyone and lived and got strong again. He couldn’t control me anymore. I believed in Rick and put my trust in him, but it turns out I was only his little pawn to manipulate.
It is in the darkest moments of our lives that the biggest lessons are dumped into our laps. We are blinded temporarily, groping around to find the reasons. But it is in the journey back to light that we begin to see again and appreciate all that we have. I know that this is all a part of my contract- my mission. And I am ok with that. The painful stuff, while we are in it hurts so deeply. There have been days that I wished I hadn’t survived; That God had taken me. But I know there is more for me to learn in this body.
It is incredible how easy it is to take life for granted. Even now, I am walking upright without assistance. I am driving. I am living independently. And yet I forget that there was a time in recent history that I was relying on others to get me around. I could not shower on my own, I lost all my hair, I lay in bed most of the day, could not sit on the floor to play with my daughter.
Today, as I walked in the garden, I took in the beauty that is all around: the flowers, the trees, the sky, the insects, the light that exists in every living being. There is so much to learn. So much to love. I love my body, for all its flaws… Even the breast that looks like it’s winking.
Every day we have a choice. We can choose to accept what is, or we can create a new reality. I choose the latter. Not that I am in denial. In fact, quite the opposite. After a year of believing and even pretending, I am finally in a place of acceptance. I accept that this is my fate- these were the cards I was dealt. I am cool with that. Even with my three and a half year old in tow. Somehow I believe that she chose me as a Mom, cancer and all, and that this is a part of her journey as well. And the fact that I am stronger today than I have been in more than a year tells me simply that I have more to give and more to live.
My story is about reaching for the joy when all hope appears to have vanished. It is about choosing life, in moments when I wanted to give up. The drama that I have endured in the past 12 months may have conquered someone with less fortitude. But I am a survivor and I will persevere. I believe that there is a reason for the way our lives unfold. I am still hoping to understand why I have had to sustain the challenges I have faced, and why, after nearly losing this battle to cancer, I am once again thriving, strong, ready to live another day. To be a role model to my daughter is what keeps me alive, keeps me moving forward, one day at a time.
On July 10 of 2007, only days after moving halfway across the country with my almost three-year-old daughter, I was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer, “terminal” stamped prominently on my forehead. The dis-ease had metastasized to my spine, hips, shoulders, lung and liver. I had gone misdiagnosed for over a year, requesting test after test to determine why my health was failing. Over the next few weeks, I lost my hair, my breast, my posture, my ability to do so many things I once took for granted. I was once an athletic, energetic, youthful Mom who taught acting to children. I have undergone chemotherapy, radiation, two surgeries, extreme weight loss and a loss of spirit, which I am working each day to reignite.
Nearly a year had passed since I first I went to see my OB-GYN to show her a small mass that had developed on my left breast. She set up a mammography and ultrasound immediately. The results of both tests were negative and the ultrasound report even uses the word benign. Unconvinced, I went to the office of a breast specialist and surgeon. She did not believe it was anything to worry about and in fact said that she did not want to cut me open in case it was not cancer. In her estimation, the problem was related to nursing and would right itself when I stopped breast feeding my daughter. She joked that if I pumped hard enough I might extract some cottage cheese. Yuck! She recommended we “keep an eye on it.”
My breast continued to show unhealthy signs. It began to cave in and showed the beginnings of “peau de orange” – an indication of IBC- inflammatory breast cancer. I asked the breast specialist about this and she, again, assured me that I did not have cancer. My husband, Rick suggested that it was all in my mind. I knew that something was terribly wrong, but no one backed me up.
In January 2007, I began a battle with chronic back pain. I maintained my healthy diet, regular chiropractic care and yoga in hopes that this would pass as an early sign of approaching 40. Over time, however, the pain became debilitating as my energy depleted. I could no longer keep up with the demands of caring for my toddler. We had been the center of our Mommy and Me social calendar and my friends watched, as I slipped into a depression while my body betrayed me. After several months I began to wonder if the two symptoms could be related, as my joy for life dissipated under a cloak of constant pain. It was clear that I was in need of medical attention, and my friends and family could not understand why I was not under the care of a physician. Meanwhile, my husband worried about finances. As a self proclaimed entrepreneur, he was constantly concerned about lack, yet did nothing to ensure that our little family was secure. My body was under a vicious attack, and there were several occasions when I passed out from the pain and woke up vomiting in agony. My husband urged me to “sleep it off.” A chiropractor was all we could afford, and even then, there were constant complaints about the cost. Our medical deductible was high, and unfortunately many of the decisions around my health care revolved around money- or lack thereof. And somehow it was always up to me to bring in a minimum amount of income to cover our household bills.
On July 3rd, a year ago today, my daughter and I flew to Austin, Texas to begin our new life. My husband was driving our belongings from Las Vegas and would be delayed by about a week. We had decided that Austin would be a better place to raise our little girl and get Rick’s business off the ground. Rick reassured me that once we got to Austin, my body would somehow, miraculously right itself. We knew only one couple in Austin. They literally saved my life.
While staying with these friends, my back continued to cause me agonizing pain. They urged me to go to the Emergency Room. I was terrified to go, because I had been programmed to believe that my health was not worth the cost of care. I was afraid that my husband would be upset with me if I spent money on medical attention, but these friends convinced me that I had no choice. I am grateful every day of my life to them. Had I waited, I don’t think I would have made it to the end of the summer.
On July 5th of last year , after nine hours in the waiting room, the attending physician in the Emergency Room took one look at me and stated, “You have breast cancer.” When asked about my back pain, he said, “That is most likely a stage issue.” I didn’t understand it at the time, but what he meant was that breast cancer often metastasizes to the bones and it was likely that there were tumors compromising my spine. Why hadn’t anyone told me this before? After over a year of being convinced that there was nothing to worry about, this guy took one look at me and with his eyes diagnosed cancer!? But I was the healthy one! I did yoga and ate vegetarian. I was breast feeding. I got an early mammogram.
We spent the weekend agonizing over my options, waiting to hear back from the ER doctor to schedule the proper tests. My husband arrived on Sunday. On Monday, I was finally admitted to the hospital. Within 24 hours, it was confirmed that I was indeed battling stage four breast cancer. On July 10, 2007, my life was forever changed.
I believe it is our response to change that is of the real importance, that which determines our personality. When I was first diagnosed, many people, including myself, thought, “This is it, game over.” This realization shook me violently awake and made me realize I had a “Do-Over.” It didn’t matter if I have 20 years or 20 days, I did not have to make the same toxic choices I had made before. And it has slowly been revealed to me that the choices I had made had lead to this moment, including the choice to put my trust in Rick. Every day is a new day to take a Do-Over and make new choices. And whatever time I have left in this body, I am going to create the best days of my life. Every day. One day at a time.
This has lead to a year of self discoveries, of rebirth. A year of seeing the world through newer, cancer colored glasses. I have taken some incredible risks, and my goal is to discover the life I was intended to live. I don’t believe that I got sick for no reason. And that I have been given a second chance at life is nothing to take for granted.
Unfortunately my drama does not end with cancer. Throughout this process, my marriage began to unravel. My husband, whom I always suspected was looking for a short cut, an easy way to achieve success, saw my disease as his own personal cancer lottery. It started in the hospital, meeting with lawyers to determine whether or not he could sue the doctors in Las Vegas for “wrongful death.” I was still breathing and he was worried about how to make money off of my corpse. I told him that I did not want to spend what was left of my life in court. My family urged me to change the beneficiary of my life insurance policy to put into trust for my daughter. Rick and his camp convinced me that he would need the money to raise our little girl. In the end, he won that argument and I did not change the beneficiary. Now I am told it is too late.
Rick then began a full time campaign to acquire money through donations. We started a website to share my story (www.kalena.org) and attached a Paypal account to it. Thousands of dollars came through this site and not a single dollar was claimed as income on our taxes. I could not believe that after nearly a year of letting other people pay our way, my husband was not even going to pay taxes on this free money. Rick refused to look for a job, even with the help of my brother and some well connected Austin friends. He hid behind my illness and continued to allow my aunties on fixed incomes to pay our bills, sent letters to cancer organizations asking for donations, used our daughter’s SSDI to pay the rent. Meanwhile, the deductible went unpaid. Rather than getting a job, my husband spent all his waking hours seeking charity, while my family helped support us, and my daughter went to daycare, funded by my brother.
Money continued to be a thorn in our relationship. My brother had created a trust fund for my daughter so that Zaiden would be assured some financial stability in her world and urged me to consider putting her trust down as the beneficiary. I argued with him at the time, as I was convinced by Rick and his camp that he would need the money to help him raise her, to buy a house for her, etc. And he probably will, because he has proven that money slips easily through his fingers. I now regret not having listened to my brother 11 months ago. If the money goes to a trust for Zaiden she will be guaranteed the essentials- like college- and the niceties, like dance or guitar lessons or a trip or photography or whatever she desires. And she will never have to hear “We can’t afford it.” God forbid she ever has medical issues and her father tells her that he cannot afford to take her to see a specialist. The trust assures that she will always be able to do whatever she desires. There is already the possibility that she grow up without her Mom due to this dreadful disease. I want to make sure that she at least has what she needs to really explore life and figure out her passions without being held back financially.
I spent most of my energy working to maintain a positive attitude for my daughter’s sake. I created the illusion of a wonderful marriage and wrote a biweekly blog about Reaching for the Joy. I was, and still am, under hospice care. I have tried several Western therapies, including hormones that my former oncologist used to “shut down the factory” and Herceptin, which caused a violent reaction. But I am a huge believer in “alternative” care and I have been using acupuncture, yoga, prayer, meditation, Reiki, AIM and a plethora of supplements, all to my benefit. Eventually, I began to put on weight again (I got down to 98 lbs on my formerly 5’6” frame), my hair came back (curlier than before and a bit greyer), I was able to drive and take care of myself and my daughter. I was ready to take back my life. And as I began to do that, I felt a strong resistance from my partner.
Desiring nothing but peace and happiness while I fought this disease, I had created a fantasy: we would co-raise our daughter in spite of our marriage dissolving. I began to tire of the façade and in March, as I was growing more and more independent, my husband and I agreed to part ways.
My health was still in the balance, as the stress of a failing marriage took its toll. My numbers began to climb again and the tumor in my liver had grown to six times its size. The treatment I was undergoing was not working. It was time to go back to the drawing board.
On April 18th, just two days after visiting with my Austin oncologist and discovering his concern about my numbers, I got on a plane with my daughter. It was a planned vacation that the three of us were to go on together to visit my family. We had scheduled the trip- using donated plane tickets - to see my Father and huge extended family for Christmas, but postponed the trip due to my health. This was our holiday visit just in time for my 40th birthday. My family knew that things were not going well at home and in fact, my husband was packing my belongings to move me into a rented bedroom of an acquaintance upon my return. My parents urged me to reconsider my options. In Denver I have a large extended family: Father, Step Mom, brothers, sisters, in laws, cousins, aunts, uncles. There are over 100 in our clan in the Denver area alone. Why didn’t the three of us move to Colorado so they could help take care of us?
My daughter and I had a wonderful visit. Zaiden fell head over heels for her uncles, and she quickly developed a close bond with my Father and Step Mom. My Dad hosted a BBQ in my honor and at least 50 people attended, filling the house with laughter and love. Zaiden adores her colorful family and really had the opportunity to get to know lots of her cousins for the first time. She established many routines with her grandparents, such as feeding the birds and having “kid coffee” in the morning with Grandpa. She even got over her fear of dogs, as she befriended the family pooch, Scout. She was reigning princess at my Dad’s house, and one afternoon, while making her rounds among the flower garden, Zaiden exclaimed, “Grandpa, if this is your yard, than it must be my yard! And I can run and play as much as I want!” She sat on the porch, pulling her skirt over her knees, her chin propped neatly in her hand and assessed her new acquisition and shouted, “Grandpa, I’m finally home!”
During our visit, it became clear to me that the three of us, Zaiden, me and Rick, belong here in Denver. With the disease escalating on paper and our imminent separation, all three of us need the love and support that only family can offer. I thought on it, prayed about it, talked it over with my kin and wrote a lengthy letter to Rick. I chose to write rather than talk because I can articulate my points without interruption, and anyone who knows Rick knows his talent for persuasion, or “Jedi mind tricks.” I rationalized that with no job, a lease on an apartment that will end in July, a history of only a few months, and no real roots keeping any of us in Austin, it just made sense for us all to move now. As much as we had all grown to love the city and especially the people of Austin, it was time to sacrifice for my needs: I needed the extra care that my family could offer to allow me to be the devoted Mother that I have always been. There are no guarantees how long I will have in this body and I want to spend every moment I have with my daughter, whether I have my health or I return to the delicate state I was in only recently. Since I was not going to be sharing a roof with my husband, and I may need extra TLC, it just made logical sense to be where I have a support system in place.
My first PET scan- something I have been requesting since long before I was first diagnosed- taken here in Denver the first weeks revealed that the cancer had aggressively progressed. The liver tumors, which I so arrogantly bragged about receding in February, had escalated to a whopping 6x4 cm- and that is just in one location. The bones- in particular, my spine- are under attack as well. I realize that I will need help as time marches on, and I would like to be instrumental in my daughter’s life for as long as possible. Living in Austin means relying on hired help to take care of my needs, should my health decline. The choice seemed obvious, and I believe that a supportive husband would agree: in Colorado all three of us would benefit from the love and care of an enormous, loving family.
When I asked Rick if he would consider moving to Colorado, he said, “No and I suggest you get on that plane as scheduled.” He had a threatening tone to his voice, and he did not even offer to discuss it. I told him that I needed more time to think and more time with my family. I was scared. What if I moved in to the rented room and ended up getting sick again? What if my bones began to break? Who would care for me? A nursing home? Rick suggested that my Mother could move to Austin and that if I did end up debilitated again, that family could drop their lives and fly down to Texas for weeks at a time. Rick has always been easy to volunteer other’s inconvenience over his own. My family members all have homes and jobs and each other and history: roots in Colorado. While I was sick and disabled, my husband did not have a job, we were renting an apartment, my daughter was in day care 4 days a week, as many as 9 hours a day. In Colorado, there are literally dozens of families who would be honored to jump in and do whatever needed doing to assist us- all of us. It just made perfect sense to me. What would you do?
Rick and I had considered moving to Colorado just a few years before. We chose Austin, mostly due to the weather. Neither of us had ever been to the city, yet both of us had spent time in Colorado over our lives. Austin was a new adventure. But this decision was made before cancer changed the landscape of our lives. There are no guarantees that I will continue to thrive. Having extra loving hands to care for me and for Zaiden just made sense now. And if Rick wants to start another new business, what a better place, where there is a generous, loving and well connected family willing to do whatever they can to help support us- all three of us? My father is a 63 year native. My brother is a successful business man with friends in every industry imaginable. I asked him to consider my idea while I extended our trip by a week or two. I needed more time with my family. He could come out with his ticket and assess things for himself. He responded by hiring an attorney.
As the paper work was being readied by his attorney that week, he pretended that everything was fine and even told me he was looking to find a mediator to help us work out our differences. I was literally blindsided when the doorbell rang during dinner at my folks’ house, and a woman handed me a stack of legal papers that accused me of endangering our child. In fact, the attorney- a child custody specialist with a reputation of being a bear in the courtroom- was hired days before I even shared my feelings with him, which showed me that he had been plotting long before I even considered this solution. I now know that he was looking into divorce attorneys as far back as February. I had simply fallen into his trap. How was he paying for all of this when he had been living off of my and Zaiden’s disability and the donations that came in from my website?
The insurance deductible is $5400 a year. Currently I owe nearly $11,000 for treatments already incurred. And that number is growing daily. Last summer while I lay in the hospital bed believing that I may never see the outside world again, I was told that the treatment plan I desired was out of reach, financially, and yet Rick was about to win the cancer lottery. And now, while we are about to go to court to have a judge determine where our little girl lives, he is gloating about the fact that once he filed for divorce, the beneficiary on my life insurance cannot be legally changed, so he will “get my money when I die.” Meanwhile, Zaiden’s future is being spent to send Rick’s attorneys’ children to college.
I found an attorney who offered to help me, free of charge. This lawyer told me to take care of my daughter and my health and that he would take care of the rest. He would ask for a continuance so that I could undergo the prescribed treatment plan, and allow me the time I needed to figure out what to do next. I put all of my trust and faith in this man. He let me down. On the day of the hearing in late May, I was undergoing chemotherapy treatment. I received a call from Rick letting me know that the continuance had been denied and that I was obligated to send my daughter back to Austin within three days. That was five weeks ago.
I borrowed money from relatives to hire another attorney in order to prepare for the fight of my life. The hearing is July 21st. And Rick has everyone in Austin snowed by his sad tale of the single father. My constant prayer is that the court will see the full picture and allow me to have my daughter with me- at least while I am in relatively good health. Her health, happiness and welfare is all that I care about. So why am I in Colorado while she is in Austin?
Just one look at the physical difference three months have made since my arrival is reason enough. In Austin, I had become a shell of the woman I had once been. The treatment I was on was not working, the stress of a manipulative husband was taking its toll on my health, I had no one I could count on. Here I have the unconditional love and support of my extended family. I have a medical team who is willing to take the time to work with my unique fight with cancer. I am not under the manipulative thumb of a man waiting for me to die. This is the Mother that my daughter deserves.
I am under a brand new treatment plan and my body is responding well. The doctors feel that there is hope that I could defy fates for a number of years. I finally broke down and accepted the idea of chemo and radiation. I am on a low dose drug (Gemzar) and I am having no side effects whatever. I also had Cyberknife radiosurgery a couple of weeks ago that shot some of the tumors in my vertebrae with radiation. It is pretty incredible– stuff of sci-fi movies – that only strikes at the tumors and circumvents the healthy tissue. I am physically stronger today than I ever thought I would be again. I am walking without assistance, driving, doing yoga, and feeling grand. I have no pain, no nausea, no side effects. Even on chemo days, I joke that I am going to the spa for my treatment, because I leave four hours later feeling relaxed and hungry. My new medical team, led by a fabulous female oncologist and including a neurologist and orthopedist is part of the reason for my decision to stay in Denver.
Blame certainly serves no one. But the reality is, had I been supported to begin with, I may have been diagnosed sooner and had a better chance at combating this disease. Instead, I was diagnosed “terminal” at the young age of 39, my two and a half year old plucked off my breast, and all I recall was talk about money: About what we could and could not afford. About suing doctors and making a killing in court. About my life insurance and how Rick was planning to pay off debts and buy a house after I died.
I kept this all to myself, in part because I could not believe this was my life. This was my husband. I wanted things to be different, so I invented a fantasy that I wished for, in hopes of somehow recreating my life. I defended him to my concerned family. I suppose the thought that I might not have much longer to live clouded my judgment. I wanted to try and create happy memories for my daughter and refused to see things as they really were. I swallowed my tongue a lot in those first months for Zaiden’s sake, but as I got clear again, I realized how incredibly unhappy and how frightened for her welfare I was. It was time to speak out.
My first priority and concern, since the day of conception, has been the welfare, safety and happiness of our child. Zaiden is a light. She is incredible. She somehow seems to understand what is going on and what is to come. While we have never discussed death or even shared that I may not be here much longer, she seems to know in her heart that our time together as Mommy and Daughter may be limited. And she really understands when Mommy needs time to rest, and lets me know that she is ok and happy. We talk all the time about being in one another’s hearts, and now, while we are apart, she reminds me of this whenever we talk.
Somehow I know that she will remember this time, even though she is only three and a half. We have always been big on adventures. Adventures can be found in a trip to the grocery store or a walk around the block. And at the end of each day, we recount our favorite moments of the day and talk about all that we are grateful for.
The day she returned to Austin, Zaiden asked me if she would ever have a daughter. Before I could formulate an answer, she said quickly, “I’d rather have a Hermit crab.” And each day she asks if I am well enough to jump on the bed: our gauge of how strong I am feeling on any given day. Today she remarked that she cannot wait to jump on the bed together, “high so high til we touch the sky!” She is an astonishing little girl.
Moving to Colorado was the single most well thought out idea I think I have ever had. I wanted Rick to be a part of it. I know that I am in the sunset of my life and I want the most important people around me now: my family. Rick is fighting me in court for not only custody of our daughter, but also to ensure that will not be held responsible for my medical struggle. On the chopping block is also the life insurance policy that by all rights should be earmarked for our Zaiden’s future.
I love Austin. I really do. And I know that God led me (us) there for a reason. I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle yet, of course. Maybe it was for Rick’s sake. But I don’t want to end up in a nursing home, and that was the way things were heading. Now that we are in the throws of a custody battle, Rick has accepted a job and rented a house- things I have been begging him to consider for many years.
I still don’t know the reason for this illness. There is so much more yet to unravel.
They say love is blind. I realize that if you have been a reader of my work this past year, this information conflicts with some of my earlier writings. I was living in a fantasy. I was under the delusion that my husband actually cared about me. I had to. I could not accept what I am now having to face: that my husband has been waiting for me to die to collect the loot. That is pretty hard to swallow. But I was clinging to the dream that I created: That we were a family and we’d live happily ever after. I think that Rick saw my cancer as an opportunity to get something for nothing. He was going to put on a good show until I passed. But I fooled everyone and lived and got strong again. He couldn’t control me anymore. I believed in Rick and put my trust in him, but it turns out I was only his little pawn to manipulate.
It is in the darkest moments of our lives that the biggest lessons are dumped into our laps. We are blinded temporarily, groping around to find the reasons. But it is in the journey back to light that we begin to see again and appreciate all that we have. I know that this is all a part of my contract- my mission. And I am ok with that. The painful stuff, while we are in it hurts so deeply. There have been days that I wished I hadn’t survived; That God had taken me. But I know there is more for me to learn in this body.
It is incredible how easy it is to take life for granted. Even now, I am walking upright without assistance. I am driving. I am living independently. And yet I forget that there was a time in recent history that I was relying on others to get me around. I could not shower on my own, I lost all my hair, I lay in bed most of the day, could not sit on the floor to play with my daughter.
Today, as I walked in the garden, I took in the beauty that is all around: the flowers, the trees, the sky, the insects, the light that exists in every living being. There is so much to learn. So much to love. I love my body, for all its flaws… Even the breast that looks like it’s winking.
Every day we have a choice. We can choose to accept what is, or we can create a new reality. I choose the latter. Not that I am in denial. In fact, quite the opposite. After a year of believing and even pretending, I am finally in a place of acceptance. I accept that this is my fate- these were the cards I was dealt. I am cool with that. Even with my three and a half year old in tow. Somehow I believe that she chose me as a Mom, cancer and all, and that this is a part of her journey as well. And the fact that I am stronger today than I have been in more than a year tells me simply that I have more to give and more to live.
Linda's Story
I was diagnosed in August/September 2007 after going in for what appeared to be an enlarged lymph node. I was mammogramed, MRIed and biopsied in short order, then diagnosed with stage 3 1/2 breast cancer--in both breasts, but trying to escape through the lymph nodes. I had chemo first, then a bilateral mastectomy, and now am in the waning stage of radiology (35 doses), leaving my chest a sunburnt mess; flaming magenta skin from armpit to armpit--clearly the worst to deal with, as it gets worse every day instead of healing.
To add insult to injury, my place of business changed operating companies (from Co-Advantage to ADP) and so changed insurers, from Aetna to United Health Care. Everything that they promised would be seamless has been CLUEless--even now, I'm paying off the last Flexible Spending Account as I fund the next one for the new insurance policy. Also, United Health Care has as of yet refused to accept what I have submitted to them as proof of my spending out-of-pocket, meaning that the last two months of treatment have not been paid for--basically, I'm paying for insurance I'm not getting. Cancer treatment is expensive, and this glitch will TOTALLY screw up my finances if my insurer's not picking it up--in order to get treatment, you have to be able to pay for it (unless you're homeless or illegal or whatever). Ten thousand dollars might pay for my radiation, but i'm rather pissed off that my insurance company isn't paying for it yet--I'm starting to get bills; and this should all be covered. Thank you for being an arena to vent-- if you happen to think I'm worthy to pay, I'll immediately pay my bills to protect my credit rating--this insurance garbage was my worst nightmare come to life!!
To add insult to injury, my place of business changed operating companies (from Co-Advantage to ADP) and so changed insurers, from Aetna to United Health Care. Everything that they promised would be seamless has been CLUEless--even now, I'm paying off the last Flexible Spending Account as I fund the next one for the new insurance policy. Also, United Health Care has as of yet refused to accept what I have submitted to them as proof of my spending out-of-pocket, meaning that the last two months of treatment have not been paid for--basically, I'm paying for insurance I'm not getting. Cancer treatment is expensive, and this glitch will TOTALLY screw up my finances if my insurer's not picking it up--in order to get treatment, you have to be able to pay for it (unless you're homeless or illegal or whatever). Ten thousand dollars might pay for my radiation, but i'm rather pissed off that my insurance company isn't paying for it yet--I'm starting to get bills; and this should all be covered. Thank you for being an arena to vent-- if you happen to think I'm worthy to pay, I'll immediately pay my bills to protect my credit rating--this insurance garbage was my worst nightmare come to life!!
Kelly's Story
My first diagnosis, intraductal carcinoma, came 8 years ago. After years of cysts, biopsies, and scars, I had decided I was through with mammagrams. I fell down (or was pushed by a higher power) and while I was getting my wrist ex-rayed, the technician said, "let's do the mammagram, too." So, two lumpectomies, radiation, and a lost summer later, I was thinking I was home free. In the following 8 years I was very busy, working, taking care of my parents, and living life to it's fullest. My mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer in 2004, and in 2006 lost her battle; my dad followed her 6 weeks later. Needless to say, I missed my mammagrams in 2006 and 2007, and made a resolution to get a complete physical in January of 2008. In December of 2007, I was throwing my first ball at a bowling party, and went down hard - right into the gutter. I landed on my left breast, as well as other body parts, and was pretty bruised.
Later that month, I noticed that there was still a lump there, but thought it was just the bruise - since I have a history of big, black and blue ones. So, it really came as no surprise when, during the clinical exam accompanying the mammagram, that suspicion was raised about the approximately 3 centimeter lump on the lower left quadrant.
After the subsequent ultra-sounds and biopsies, and the diagnosis of lobular, estrogen receptive carcinoma, I made the decision to have a double mastectomy. I had come pretty close to that decision 8 years previously, but when the margins had come back good on the second lumpectomy, breathed a sigh of relief and put that decision back in the hopper. Now I was faced with the decision that I felt better prepared to make.
I have lost a great-aunt, an aunt, and others to this disease, and my own mother had a history of lumps and biopsies that forced her to make a decision years ago to have prophylactic mastectomies and implants; so we don't know if she would have had breast cancer - but it is highly likely. I went ahead with the bi-lateral mastectomy on March 10, and am now in the midst of chemo-therapy. I am bald, rotund, black and blue, and immersed in "pink". As I finish up chemo, and begin taking 5 years worth of Arimidex, I thank my lucky stars for falls that made me aware that something was going on.
My prognosis is good, and I still say it's not breast cancer that will kill me. My daughters are already getting their regular mammagrams, and face the very likely possibility of going through similar experiences some time in their lives. We all participated together in the Komen Race for the Cure in Boise, ID right after my first chemo; and once again, there was a lump in my throat when I saw how many pink hats were in that great assembly. There's just too much breast cancer, but, thank heaven, there are so many out there battling it for themselves and for others - and I'm one of them. I truly do "think pink" with every fiber of my being - or what's left of them.
Later that month, I noticed that there was still a lump there, but thought it was just the bruise - since I have a history of big, black and blue ones. So, it really came as no surprise when, during the clinical exam accompanying the mammagram, that suspicion was raised about the approximately 3 centimeter lump on the lower left quadrant.
After the subsequent ultra-sounds and biopsies, and the diagnosis of lobular, estrogen receptive carcinoma, I made the decision to have a double mastectomy. I had come pretty close to that decision 8 years previously, but when the margins had come back good on the second lumpectomy, breathed a sigh of relief and put that decision back in the hopper. Now I was faced with the decision that I felt better prepared to make.
I have lost a great-aunt, an aunt, and others to this disease, and my own mother had a history of lumps and biopsies that forced her to make a decision years ago to have prophylactic mastectomies and implants; so we don't know if she would have had breast cancer - but it is highly likely. I went ahead with the bi-lateral mastectomy on March 10, and am now in the midst of chemo-therapy. I am bald, rotund, black and blue, and immersed in "pink". As I finish up chemo, and begin taking 5 years worth of Arimidex, I thank my lucky stars for falls that made me aware that something was going on.
My prognosis is good, and I still say it's not breast cancer that will kill me. My daughters are already getting their regular mammagrams, and face the very likely possibility of going through similar experiences some time in their lives. We all participated together in the Komen Race for the Cure in Boise, ID right after my first chemo; and once again, there was a lump in my throat when I saw how many pink hats were in that great assembly. There's just too much breast cancer, but, thank heaven, there are so many out there battling it for themselves and for others - and I'm one of them. I truly do "think pink" with every fiber of my being - or what's left of them.
Garilynn's Story
At 43, in May of this year,I obtained my masters degree in Clinical Psychology. I intend to get my doctorate within another two years. I am not one of those people who went back to school, I have been in school since I was twenty and I have been struggling ever since. The reason I am writing about my education is because if it were not such a dream of mine to help others, I would have given up this exhausting dream long ago. Whatever it is inside of me that has kept me ticking away at the educational process, has now also served to tackle yet another obstacle. I am a fortunate one though, for my prognosis is a good one and when all is done, that is all that this current situation will be.
I was called back for a second mammogram in April and I have to tell you that it was really, really devastating to me. I have large, dense, lumpy breast and have been having regular mammograms since I was about 35. I never, ever imagined however that I would be called back for a second mammogram, let alone ever be told that I have breast cancer. I couldn't have breast cancer, I didn't have the time. I mean, I was in the middle of writing my thesis, I was trying to finish my quarter and I was in the process of ending a diagnostic practicum at a hospital where patients were counting on me to be there. Also, summer was my time to make money so that I could keep going to school. Not only that but I LOVED MY BREASTS!! I was born with some genetic defects that left me with fangs for teeth until some kind dentist donated (we were so poor back then!) his time to cap them for me at age 10. I have frizzy hair and bad skin. I have had to have a multitude of surgeries over the years and just when I thought I was finally feeling better......boom! Now, the one thing I really, really liked about myself was about to be scarred. Why me?
How about it? Can you believe that in that last paragraph I didn't once mention that I couldn't have breast cancer because of what it meant to me physically? Well, I thought about that about 5 days after the biopsy came back positive for Ductal Carcinoma In Situ in my left breast. I had a total melt down at around that fifth day. I had been told that I wasn't going to be able to graduate if all of my classes hadn't been completed by the following Monday and I knew there was no way, I had just had the surgical excision and I was in a tremendous amount of pain. When I called to try to get this situation resolved via the phone, I began to cry. I wasn't even sad, I was angry, I was frustrated and incredibly discouraged. It was in that phone conversation that I finally let myself falter and I said the following three words: I HAVE CANCER.
My school issue was resolved and I graduated in between surgeries. I had my lumpectomy May 30th and just had my first radiation treatment this morning. I will have about 7 weeks of treatment all together. I follow that with 5 years of tomoxifen. More than likely, I will have some sort of reconstruction in the interim. I am a very, very fortunate girl-there can be no doubt about that as I have a excellent chance of being cancer free from here on out. The difference between myself and someone else who has not had such a promising prognosis is that my cancer was caught so very early. I have spoken to many women who say that they do not want to go to get a mammogram because they are afraid to hear the outcome or they might say that they don't think they need one every year. I hate to think about how differently my prognosis might have been if I had skipped this year, just one year.
As I mentioned earlier, today was my first treatment and I am feeling pretty good, a little sore and tired but alright. I will have my treatments in the morning, I clean houses on somedays and work in a homeless shelter on others. After work, I go to work doing odds. The week of my excisional biopsy, my fiance' lost his job so we told everyone we knew that we were both looking for work and we have been "fortunate" to have landed it. We have been staining decks, trimming bushes and pretty much what ever else anyone has asked of us-we just do whatever it takes as we are determined to keep it all going. By the end of the day, I am wiped out but I always wake up, ready to start a new.
Thus far, my greatest challenge has been juggling everything. The appointments alone can overwhelm you and I think the changes in my body are starting to wear on me a bit but I have nothing really that challenging. One of my good friends clipped the article out of the news paper for me. She is a breast cancer survivor and has been my greatest asset throughout this process. She is a survivor but she had both a mastecomy and a lumpectomy with chemotherapy rather than radiation. This is going to sound goofy but the thing she did at the very beginning was to show me the breast that had the lumpectomy. The scar was barely visible and the breast looked pretty normal without any reconstruction. To see that before my lumpectomy really reduced my anxiety. I knew she was a breast cancer survivor but I had never talked to her about her own story. I have to say that I find it real interesting how we are not usually genuinely interested in something until it affects us personally. I also have to say however, that knowing her and how normal she was (so healthy, phsycially fit) after the whole ordeal really helped me the most. I guess I really worried about being able to carry on with my life as I wanted to and seeing that it was possible was priceless. This entire situation has really given a tremendous amount of insight, not only into how breast cancer (or any cancer, I imagine) affects the cancer patient but what it means for the people who are trying to be supportive of the person dealing with cancer. In my professional life, this insight has given me another way in which I can relate to others who are suffering.
I am telling this story just because it is my story. I realize that there is the possiblity for some financial assistance for the best story but I didn't write it for that. I certainly hope that the money goes to someone who really is in need. I have health insurance and although it will not cover all of my expenses, I certainly will not have the financial burden that some others might have. I truly can't imagine how much worse I would feel if I had to face what I did without insurance. I was standing in line at my surgeons office. I was behind a woman who didn't have insurance and I have to say that I was really ashamed of how the receptionist treated her. I am sure it was enough that the young woman might be facing breast cancer, not to have to be humiliated on top of it, ya know? How awful.
I am a pretty busy person. I will be for some time to come but I would be willing to speak about breast cancer to anyone, anywhere and without any monetary compensation. I am working towards my chosen profession because I believe in the power of verbal communication and that one person can make a difference. I have been surrounded by a ton of supportive people and the services that are available to me are wonderful but not everyone has these things and I believe that without them, this would have been so much worse. I am incredibly lucky and I would like to spread my good fortune by extending my hand and my heart to those who have not been so fortunate.
I was called back for a second mammogram in April and I have to tell you that it was really, really devastating to me. I have large, dense, lumpy breast and have been having regular mammograms since I was about 35. I never, ever imagined however that I would be called back for a second mammogram, let alone ever be told that I have breast cancer. I couldn't have breast cancer, I didn't have the time. I mean, I was in the middle of writing my thesis, I was trying to finish my quarter and I was in the process of ending a diagnostic practicum at a hospital where patients were counting on me to be there. Also, summer was my time to make money so that I could keep going to school. Not only that but I LOVED MY BREASTS!! I was born with some genetic defects that left me with fangs for teeth until some kind dentist donated (we were so poor back then!) his time to cap them for me at age 10. I have frizzy hair and bad skin. I have had to have a multitude of surgeries over the years and just when I thought I was finally feeling better......boom! Now, the one thing I really, really liked about myself was about to be scarred. Why me?
How about it? Can you believe that in that last paragraph I didn't once mention that I couldn't have breast cancer because of what it meant to me physically? Well, I thought about that about 5 days after the biopsy came back positive for Ductal Carcinoma In Situ in my left breast. I had a total melt down at around that fifth day. I had been told that I wasn't going to be able to graduate if all of my classes hadn't been completed by the following Monday and I knew there was no way, I had just had the surgical excision and I was in a tremendous amount of pain. When I called to try to get this situation resolved via the phone, I began to cry. I wasn't even sad, I was angry, I was frustrated and incredibly discouraged. It was in that phone conversation that I finally let myself falter and I said the following three words: I HAVE CANCER.
My school issue was resolved and I graduated in between surgeries. I had my lumpectomy May 30th and just had my first radiation treatment this morning. I will have about 7 weeks of treatment all together. I follow that with 5 years of tomoxifen. More than likely, I will have some sort of reconstruction in the interim. I am a very, very fortunate girl-there can be no doubt about that as I have a excellent chance of being cancer free from here on out. The difference between myself and someone else who has not had such a promising prognosis is that my cancer was caught so very early. I have spoken to many women who say that they do not want to go to get a mammogram because they are afraid to hear the outcome or they might say that they don't think they need one every year. I hate to think about how differently my prognosis might have been if I had skipped this year, just one year.
As I mentioned earlier, today was my first treatment and I am feeling pretty good, a little sore and tired but alright. I will have my treatments in the morning, I clean houses on somedays and work in a homeless shelter on others. After work, I go to work doing odds. The week of my excisional biopsy, my fiance' lost his job so we told everyone we knew that we were both looking for work and we have been "fortunate" to have landed it. We have been staining decks, trimming bushes and pretty much what ever else anyone has asked of us-we just do whatever it takes as we are determined to keep it all going. By the end of the day, I am wiped out but I always wake up, ready to start a new.
Thus far, my greatest challenge has been juggling everything. The appointments alone can overwhelm you and I think the changes in my body are starting to wear on me a bit but I have nothing really that challenging. One of my good friends clipped the article out of the news paper for me. She is a breast cancer survivor and has been my greatest asset throughout this process. She is a survivor but she had both a mastecomy and a lumpectomy with chemotherapy rather than radiation. This is going to sound goofy but the thing she did at the very beginning was to show me the breast that had the lumpectomy. The scar was barely visible and the breast looked pretty normal without any reconstruction. To see that before my lumpectomy really reduced my anxiety. I knew she was a breast cancer survivor but I had never talked to her about her own story. I have to say that I find it real interesting how we are not usually genuinely interested in something until it affects us personally. I also have to say however, that knowing her and how normal she was (so healthy, phsycially fit) after the whole ordeal really helped me the most. I guess I really worried about being able to carry on with my life as I wanted to and seeing that it was possible was priceless. This entire situation has really given a tremendous amount of insight, not only into how breast cancer (or any cancer, I imagine) affects the cancer patient but what it means for the people who are trying to be supportive of the person dealing with cancer. In my professional life, this insight has given me another way in which I can relate to others who are suffering.
I am telling this story just because it is my story. I realize that there is the possiblity for some financial assistance for the best story but I didn't write it for that. I certainly hope that the money goes to someone who really is in need. I have health insurance and although it will not cover all of my expenses, I certainly will not have the financial burden that some others might have. I truly can't imagine how much worse I would feel if I had to face what I did without insurance. I was standing in line at my surgeons office. I was behind a woman who didn't have insurance and I have to say that I was really ashamed of how the receptionist treated her. I am sure it was enough that the young woman might be facing breast cancer, not to have to be humiliated on top of it, ya know? How awful.
I am a pretty busy person. I will be for some time to come but I would be willing to speak about breast cancer to anyone, anywhere and without any monetary compensation. I am working towards my chosen profession because I believe in the power of verbal communication and that one person can make a difference. I have been surrounded by a ton of supportive people and the services that are available to me are wonderful but not everyone has these things and I believe that without them, this would have been so much worse. I am incredibly lucky and I would like to spread my good fortune by extending my hand and my heart to those who have not been so fortunate.
Paige's Story
I am not sure where to even begin.
My whole life I have been blessed with my mother's hair and my dad's hairline. My mom has really fine flat hair. It doesn't hold curl or really do anything for that matter. My dad had a serious case of male pattern baldness by the time he was 30. No, I wasn't bald, but that left me with an extremely high forehead and hair that was about as desiccated as a toupee.
When I was a teenager, I would joke around with my best friend Casey. We would put a bandana or a scarf on my head and pull it back just to the ridge of my hair line. Because that line was so high it looked like I was bald. I would turn to Casey and say, "Look Casey, I am a cancer patient."
I know. Pretty insensitive. I was a teeneager, eh? We all did and said stupid things back then. At least mine wasn't directed to anyone specific....right?
Well, I find it ironic and almost comical that over 10 years later and the joke has been backfired. I actually laugh at the satire. Who wouldn't? Hopefully you laugh too as you read that story. If you don't....stop being such a cynic!
I guess I will start when I first noticed the lump when I was about 32 weeks pregnant with my 3rd child. I didn’t think anything of it. You see, when you are pregnant and even as far a long as I was, you attribute everything to the pregnancy. Every ache, pain, fatigue, etc.. I attributed the lump to a clogged milk duct, although, I had never had one before with any of my other pregnancies or nursing lapses. As the weeks went on, I got more and more tired. Again, third pregnancy, I am older (if 28 is considered old/er)….what else could it be? But, then I noticed something. I noticed that, quite plainly, something just wasn’t right. I was starting to worry. Worry that my baby was going to be healthy and safe. I stopped gaining weight. My uterus wasn’t growing and the fatigue became extremely overwhelming. Now, I don’t know if any of those has to do with my diagnosis, but these were just feelings I was experiencing. My OBGYN decided to do an ultrasound to make sure the baby was okay. Happily, everything was…..so why did I still feel this fear that something wasn’t right?
About two weeks after I felt the initial lump, I was sitting down for the evening, after the kids had been put to bed, and noticed that the lump was slightly larger. This concerned me so I mentioned it this time to my husband. He felt it and agreed that is was still probably a clogged milk duct. I reminded myself to ask my doc about it next time I went in. Did I remember? Nope!
I didn't remember to ask my doctor for several weeks until I noticed that I started to have a bloody discharge from my nipple. Finally, at 36 weeks pregnant I interrogated my doctor. He felt the lump and decided to sent me to a general surgeon to be safe, even though he felt like it might be a clogged milk duct as well.
I made the Doctor apointment with Karen Tormey on Tuesday, March 25. I explained everything to the doc and expected her to agree that is was just a clogged milk duct. She did, but, she wanted to bring her ultrasound machine in to confirm. A few minutes later she came in with the machine. She finally concluded that it was a little abnormal and she needed to perform a few more tasks to come to a conclusion. She wanted to see if she could extract some milk through a needle to confirm this belief of a clogged milk duct. She informed me that she was first going to use a “smaller” needle and then if that didn’t work, she would use a larger one. The “smaller” needle was not small. I hate needles. I can tolerate them when I am pregnant with all the blood tests and everything but I usually just don’t watch. This supposedly smaller needle was, now I might be exaggerating but I swear to be true, about 1 ½” to 2” in just the needle length.
I felt the pinch and winced. Nothing came out. Crap! Now I had to see the larger needle. This time she said she would numb me a bit so I didn’t feel the pain. By this time the anxiety started to set. She came back in with the nurse, a tray, some equipment and anesthetics. She proceeded to take 3 or 4 (I can't really remember) specimen from the larger lump and 1 from the smaller one. She informed me that results would be back from pathology in about 4 days. She told me it could be one of two things. Either a lactating adenoma, a benign tumor which pregnant women occasionally get and eventually disappears or it could be cancer. But I knew that it was going to be the first mentioned. How could it not be?
I picked up my son from the waiting room and went on my way. Honestly? I didn’t think anything of it. The following Thursday started off pretty normal.
At 11:30 a.m. I got the phone call. It was Dr. Tormey. She asked how I was recovering from the needles. I told her a little bruised and tender but that was okay. She immediately got to the point.
Cancer.
Breast Cancer.
She told me that she had called my OBGYN and informed him. They would collectively decide what plan of action to take including the birth of my unborn child. From there, everything kind of happened in a whirl wind. Over the course of the next week and half I would undergo 2 surgeries, the birth of my baby, and my first chemo treatment.
The tumor measured about 5 centimeters. The following surgery on Monday was to test my lymph nodes. The removed 2 and one tested positive so they removed 10 more and about half tested positive. Not too bad. They kept me overnight in the hospital. They thought the anesthetics would induce labor, which they started to but then it stopped. My doc decided to keep me in there anyway and induce me the next morning. At 12:56 p.m. on April 1, I had a beautiful baby boy. Ethan Mac weighed 7 lbs. 2 oz. and was 18 and a half inches long. Not bad for 2 weeks early!
On thursday I had a PET Scan which showed that there was no distant metastisis but that the cancer had spread a little to underneath my arm.With tumor size, lymph nodes, and PET Scan this classified the cancer as a Stage III. Not too bad, in my opinion.
I had Port put in on Friday April 11 and they wheeled me down to the oncologist for my first poison injection. I have now had 4 chemo treatments. I go in for my 5th treatment in the morning. I have actually had the last 5 weeks chemo free because I had a mastectomy on June 9. I am lopsided, bald and trying to maintain motherhood. When people ask me if I am tired, I say, "Of course! But it is hard to distinguish between what is from the chemo and what is from being a mom of a 5 year old, a 3 year old and a newborn baby."
My routine day is fighting cancer to ensure that I can raise my children, spending time with my children and catching up on my sleep when the baby sleeps. I still have 4 treatments of chemo and 5-6 weeks of radiation after that. Because my estrogen and progesterone tested positive I am having a hysterectomy on July 14th. I will have my other breast removed as soon as I am completely cancer and treatment free.
My biggest worry in life is that I wouldn't be able to raise my children. The challenge I have had is not letting myself have a pity party or wallow in my grief. If I get down about it then it has negative effects on my children. I want them to see that any challenge in life can be overcome with the right attitude. I still have my moments but I try to keep those between me and my husband. Night times are our times to cry and cuddle. We share our fears and hopes. We joke of my lopsided chest and and mourn the loss of my breasts.
I have noticed my stress levels with kids has dropped. Now, when my 3 year old asks me to play catch with him and I am trying to get things done, rather than putting it off or saying, "not now!" I will actually stop what I am doing and focus my attention on him.
I just hope that no matter what challenge people are going through in life, they realize that having the right attitude is everything in overcoming it. Even if it is fatal, don't take anything for granted. Love your children unconditionally and let everyone know how special and unique they really are. This life is a precious gift and we are what we make of it!
Thank for this wonderful opportunity. You guys are awesome for doing this!
My whole life I have been blessed with my mother's hair and my dad's hairline. My mom has really fine flat hair. It doesn't hold curl or really do anything for that matter. My dad had a serious case of male pattern baldness by the time he was 30. No, I wasn't bald, but that left me with an extremely high forehead and hair that was about as desiccated as a toupee.
When I was a teenager, I would joke around with my best friend Casey. We would put a bandana or a scarf on my head and pull it back just to the ridge of my hair line. Because that line was so high it looked like I was bald. I would turn to Casey and say, "Look Casey, I am a cancer patient."
I know. Pretty insensitive. I was a teeneager, eh? We all did and said stupid things back then. At least mine wasn't directed to anyone specific....right?
Well, I find it ironic and almost comical that over 10 years later and the joke has been backfired. I actually laugh at the satire. Who wouldn't? Hopefully you laugh too as you read that story. If you don't....stop being such a cynic!
I guess I will start when I first noticed the lump when I was about 32 weeks pregnant with my 3rd child. I didn’t think anything of it. You see, when you are pregnant and even as far a long as I was, you attribute everything to the pregnancy. Every ache, pain, fatigue, etc.. I attributed the lump to a clogged milk duct, although, I had never had one before with any of my other pregnancies or nursing lapses. As the weeks went on, I got more and more tired. Again, third pregnancy, I am older (if 28 is considered old/er)….what else could it be? But, then I noticed something. I noticed that, quite plainly, something just wasn’t right. I was starting to worry. Worry that my baby was going to be healthy and safe. I stopped gaining weight. My uterus wasn’t growing and the fatigue became extremely overwhelming. Now, I don’t know if any of those has to do with my diagnosis, but these were just feelings I was experiencing. My OBGYN decided to do an ultrasound to make sure the baby was okay. Happily, everything was…..so why did I still feel this fear that something wasn’t right?
About two weeks after I felt the initial lump, I was sitting down for the evening, after the kids had been put to bed, and noticed that the lump was slightly larger. This concerned me so I mentioned it this time to my husband. He felt it and agreed that is was still probably a clogged milk duct. I reminded myself to ask my doc about it next time I went in. Did I remember? Nope!
I didn't remember to ask my doctor for several weeks until I noticed that I started to have a bloody discharge from my nipple. Finally, at 36 weeks pregnant I interrogated my doctor. He felt the lump and decided to sent me to a general surgeon to be safe, even though he felt like it might be a clogged milk duct as well.
I made the Doctor apointment with Karen Tormey on Tuesday, March 25. I explained everything to the doc and expected her to agree that is was just a clogged milk duct. She did, but, she wanted to bring her ultrasound machine in to confirm. A few minutes later she came in with the machine. She finally concluded that it was a little abnormal and she needed to perform a few more tasks to come to a conclusion. She wanted to see if she could extract some milk through a needle to confirm this belief of a clogged milk duct. She informed me that she was first going to use a “smaller” needle and then if that didn’t work, she would use a larger one. The “smaller” needle was not small. I hate needles. I can tolerate them when I am pregnant with all the blood tests and everything but I usually just don’t watch. This supposedly smaller needle was, now I might be exaggerating but I swear to be true, about 1 ½” to 2” in just the needle length.
I felt the pinch and winced. Nothing came out. Crap! Now I had to see the larger needle. This time she said she would numb me a bit so I didn’t feel the pain. By this time the anxiety started to set. She came back in with the nurse, a tray, some equipment and anesthetics. She proceeded to take 3 or 4 (I can't really remember) specimen from the larger lump and 1 from the smaller one. She informed me that results would be back from pathology in about 4 days. She told me it could be one of two things. Either a lactating adenoma, a benign tumor which pregnant women occasionally get and eventually disappears or it could be cancer. But I knew that it was going to be the first mentioned. How could it not be?
I picked up my son from the waiting room and went on my way. Honestly? I didn’t think anything of it. The following Thursday started off pretty normal.
At 11:30 a.m. I got the phone call. It was Dr. Tormey. She asked how I was recovering from the needles. I told her a little bruised and tender but that was okay. She immediately got to the point.
Cancer.
Breast Cancer.
She told me that she had called my OBGYN and informed him. They would collectively decide what plan of action to take including the birth of my unborn child. From there, everything kind of happened in a whirl wind. Over the course of the next week and half I would undergo 2 surgeries, the birth of my baby, and my first chemo treatment.
The tumor measured about 5 centimeters. The following surgery on Monday was to test my lymph nodes. The removed 2 and one tested positive so they removed 10 more and about half tested positive. Not too bad. They kept me overnight in the hospital. They thought the anesthetics would induce labor, which they started to but then it stopped. My doc decided to keep me in there anyway and induce me the next morning. At 12:56 p.m. on April 1, I had a beautiful baby boy. Ethan Mac weighed 7 lbs. 2 oz. and was 18 and a half inches long. Not bad for 2 weeks early!
On thursday I had a PET Scan which showed that there was no distant metastisis but that the cancer had spread a little to underneath my arm.With tumor size, lymph nodes, and PET Scan this classified the cancer as a Stage III. Not too bad, in my opinion.
I had Port put in on Friday April 11 and they wheeled me down to the oncologist for my first poison injection. I have now had 4 chemo treatments. I go in for my 5th treatment in the morning. I have actually had the last 5 weeks chemo free because I had a mastectomy on June 9. I am lopsided, bald and trying to maintain motherhood. When people ask me if I am tired, I say, "Of course! But it is hard to distinguish between what is from the chemo and what is from being a mom of a 5 year old, a 3 year old and a newborn baby."
My routine day is fighting cancer to ensure that I can raise my children, spending time with my children and catching up on my sleep when the baby sleeps. I still have 4 treatments of chemo and 5-6 weeks of radiation after that. Because my estrogen and progesterone tested positive I am having a hysterectomy on July 14th. I will have my other breast removed as soon as I am completely cancer and treatment free.
My biggest worry in life is that I wouldn't be able to raise my children. The challenge I have had is not letting myself have a pity party or wallow in my grief. If I get down about it then it has negative effects on my children. I want them to see that any challenge in life can be overcome with the right attitude. I still have my moments but I try to keep those between me and my husband. Night times are our times to cry and cuddle. We share our fears and hopes. We joke of my lopsided chest and and mourn the loss of my breasts.
I have noticed my stress levels with kids has dropped. Now, when my 3 year old asks me to play catch with him and I am trying to get things done, rather than putting it off or saying, "not now!" I will actually stop what I am doing and focus my attention on him.
I just hope that no matter what challenge people are going through in life, they realize that having the right attitude is everything in overcoming it. Even if it is fatal, don't take anything for granted. Love your children unconditionally and let everyone know how special and unique they really are. This life is a precious gift and we are what we make of it!
Thank for this wonderful opportunity. You guys are awesome for doing this!
Dorothea's Story from her friend Kim
Hi, My name is Kim and I wanted to tell the story of my 30 year bestfriend. Her name is Dorothea and she is fighting Breast Cancer. I could tell you the hell I have seen her going thru but its to graffic! Dorothea is a woman who cares for everyone before she cares for her self. Dorothea is in the second round of Chemo therapy treatments and its not good. I wish I could take it away from her bit, I can't. I watched my Mother die of Cancer 2 years ago and I wouldn't wish it on anyone ! I wish I had the resourses to help Dorothea but I don't. There are these Cancer Walks for Life but how do you get help? If I could help anyone with the money you have to give away it would be Dorothea, she could fight this Cancer with her son Brandon at her side, not living with his Dad but back with her. Thank you for listening to our story, GOD BLESS EVERY CANCER PATIENT!
Dorothea's Story
Hello, My name is Dorothea. I am 41 years old and I have breast cancer. I have been fighting this disease since June of 2007. I have lost everything. My son has moved in with his father because I cannot pay the bills. My long-time boyfriend gave me the boot, said he could not stand to look at me anymore because I had lost all of my hair from chemo. After 17 years with this man he asked my Mother to ask me to leave!
I finished chemo after five months of treatment, had both of my breasts removed, and now I have begun chemo again! I feel like I'm loosing this battle. Sometimes I think I should just end it so I wont have to put my son through the pain of seeing me sick anymore, but I can't give up. I wonder how I'm going to endure another seven months of chemo, how will I pay for it with no money? My Mother has given everything she has and now she is broke, where do women go for help? Why? I want to know WHY? How can there be no help for women dying of breast cancer. I see all of the walks for life on TV but where is there help for people like me?
I live everyday praying for a cure,but until there is one, I will keep fighting. I hope if anyone who has breast cancer reads this, NEVER GIVE UP! Hope is a wonderful thing! God is holding all of our hands and as long as we have God, we will always be ok! All of my love to everyone battling breast cancer!
I finished chemo after five months of treatment, had both of my breasts removed, and now I have begun chemo again! I feel like I'm loosing this battle. Sometimes I think I should just end it so I wont have to put my son through the pain of seeing me sick anymore, but I can't give up. I wonder how I'm going to endure another seven months of chemo, how will I pay for it with no money? My Mother has given everything she has and now she is broke, where do women go for help? Why? I want to know WHY? How can there be no help for women dying of breast cancer. I see all of the walks for life on TV but where is there help for people like me?
I live everyday praying for a cure,but until there is one, I will keep fighting. I hope if anyone who has breast cancer reads this, NEVER GIVE UP! Hope is a wonderful thing! God is holding all of our hands and as long as we have God, we will always be ok! All of my love to everyone battling breast cancer!
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