"How do you tell your mother you have cancer?" I wondered as I drove the scenic highway through the Cumberland Mountains from Chattanooga to Cookeville. I barely noticed the scenic vistas I passed as I thought of the last few weeks and the events that had taken place in my life.
It was Friday September 28, 2007. I was 56 years old. I had my routine mammogram on August 30 and was advised to go in for further studies. I was not unduly alarmed as this had happened frequently through the years. I discovered my first lump when I was only 20 years old and remember being terrified that I was going to die. But I had been diagnosed with fibrocystic disease and because of irregularities had a collection of films and reports I had kept through the years. On September 11 I returned for additional studies and was advised they needed a sonogram of the right breast. "We just want to be sure" the mammogram tech advised reassuringly. "Well one out of two isn't bad" I thought to myself anxiously. After the sonogram I walked down to medical records and got a copy of my initial mammogram report. As I walked down the hallway and read the report, the words "suspicion of malignancy" struck into my heart like a dagger. I had to return to work, but that evening at home I pored over my previous reports. None of them ever, not ever, had the word malignancy in the text. All of them referred to suspicion of fibrocystic changes. I was mortified.
I had recently moved to Chattanooga and knew very few people there. My closest family lived two hours away. I called my brother, and my cousin, and told them what the report said. When the sono report came back it was inconclusive and said I could follow up in 6 months or get a biopsy. My maternal grandmother had breast cancer when she was in her early 70's and had a radical mastectomy. My mother had her first breast cancer at age 72, followed by a lumpectomy and radiation. Last year, 9 years later, she had another early stage estrogen positive breast cancer in the same breast, and had it removed. I didn't want to wait 6 months, and my newly found doctor agreed. "You're going for a biopsy" she said, offering me no choice.
The surgeon she sent me to turned out to be a God send. When you are frightened and lost in the medical system, unaccustomed to all of those cold machines and sterile rooms, compassionate physicians and nurses mean the world to you. They can take you through a hell you never thought possible. Dr. King was very knowledgeable and reassuring. He scheduled me for a biopsy and Genetics counseling.
Just a few weeks previously my mother decided to have her right breast removed. She had spent the past year feeling lop-sided and wanted to alleviate her fear of recurrence, even though her surgeon had told her at age 81 "something else will get you first". Her surgery was scheduled on an outpatient basis on September 20 and I took off work to be with her. I had been reading Norman Cousins "Anatomy of an Illness". He cites how endorphins are raised with laughter and help with the healing process. We followed his advice, and the morning of Mom's surgery I switched the television to I Love Lucy re-runs. When the nurses wheeled her into surgery she joked about inviting them to a "burn the bra" party.
She fared pretty well, except for some blockage in her bulb drainage which resulted in her having to make weekly visits to her surgeon for the next 4 weeks to get the incision drained. That Sunday I returned to Chattanooga and I had my biopsy on Monday September 24. The waiting room at the Imaging center was comforting, with comfortable sofas and décor in soft pastels. In contrast, the room for the biopsy was cold and sterile. I began to feel panicky, and when I am stressed I get claustrophobic and can't stand to be held down. After saying something to staff, I prayed, turned it over to God and I felt a peace I couldn't have come up with by myself. The procedure was brief, and when they offered me the option of getting my results by phone or from the surgeon I advised "from my surgeon", knowing that if it was bad news I did not want to be home alone.
That Thursday I had an appointment with the surgeon to get the results. Throughout this time and in the weeks to come, I would lie in bed at night and look at the gray walls of my bedroom. I live alone, with 4 cats. I started again to re-read a book by Joel Osteen, who emphasizes the power of positive thinking in faith. I began listening to relaxing music tapes at bedtime, did progressive relaxation and deep breathing exercises, prayed and meditated. After a few years' absence from any sort of Sunday services I felt a tugging at my heart and attended the local Quaker meeting. I did everything I could to remain upbeat and positive, but the underlying fear was ever present. I called my cousin in Texas, or my brother in Kentucky. I remained upbeat in my conversations with Mom, never mentioning the words "suspicion of malignancy" that appeared in the report.
I didn't have any one to go with me to the appointment, so I brought a pen and a notebook with a list of questions. .Dr. King came in, sat down and said "They've found some cancer". I was still. "Oh my God" I said, "Oh my God", and looked aside. He was quite reassuring, telling me it was estrogen positive. "If you have to have breast cancer, that's the best kind to have". It appeared to be very early stage, and he had a consulted with a Tumor Board of physicians who concurred that I probably would only need a lumpectomy and radiation, followed by oral medication. I asked him my questions and wrote down his answers. "Lumpectomy and radiation is equal to a mastectomy alone" he told me. We discussed my family history and he gave me a copy of my biopsy report. I left needing to decide whether to go for the lumpectomy or mastectomy. I asked for him to call me in a prescription of Xanax.
I was numb, and stood and waited about 30 minutes at the pharmacy for my prescription. I went home and called my brother, and my cousin. My brother was quiet and didn't say much. My cousin, who had lost her 23 year old daughter to Hodgkin's lymphoma, offered comfort and support. Then my mother called wanting to know the results. "The surgeon had an emergency and had to re-schedule my appointment for tomorrow" I told her. I said I would be coming to see her tomorrow anyway and could tell her the results then. She bought the story. Friday morning I went to see the Genetics Counselor. She was very helpful and provided me with a large notebook with information on the breast cancer. She said I scored so low on the test I did not really qualify for Genetics testing for BRCA, the only currently known gene related to breast cancer, which tends to occur in younger women.
So here it was, Friday September 28. I walked in the door and sat on the couch next to Mom. We hugged and exchanged a few words. "They found some cancer" I told her, and offered brief reassurances about it being early stage. Her face turned white and she handed me a piece of paper, looking drained. It was the path report from her surgery, and she proceeded to tell me that she had found out Wednesday there was cancer in the removed breast. "Its
genetics", her surgeon told her, shocked at the report. We were numb and I don't think either of us could move for a while.
We didn't know yet if Mom's cancer was Estrogen positive. If it was, she probably would not need further treatment. If not, then she probably would. Her oncologist was having the breast tissue tested. We talked about how to tell my brother. The next morning we spoke with him by phone. We continued to focus on the positive, making light of anything we could, but wondered how in the world we were going to manage. What if she had to have treatment, or if I did? Even though my surgeon said he didn't feel I would need chemotherapy, you don't feel sure until you get the surgical path report. I didn't want my Mom to neglect herself trying to help me. My income was limited and I had very little paid time off. My brother's family was 5 hours away, and they were leaving soon for a month long trip. Mother had friends nearby. I had a minimal support system.
I poured over the book from Memorial and both of our reports. I need to understand what I am faced with, and the information on understanding what the reports said helped me greatly and alleviated many of my fears. I wrestled with my decision, but in the back of my mind I think my decision had already been made. By the end of the weekend I knew what I needed to do. I drove back to Chattanooga and Monday morning I took a Xanax, went to the surgeon, gave them a copy of Mom's path report and requested a double mastectomy. Then I went to work and told my supervisor what I was going to do. She was female, and quite understanding. Dr. King consulted with another Tumor Board and they concurred with my decision. He advised that I could have reconstruction immediately after the mastectomy and though I was hesitant, I agreed to see a plastic surgeon. As I sat in the surgeon's office and watched the film about breast implants, inserting something like a deflated balloon and returning for several visits to get it inflated, then having another surgery, I made up my mind. It was just too much for me to deal with. I scheduled my double mastectomy for Friday October 12, without reconstruction.
I sent out emails to friends and relatives, sought out friends who had gone through breast cancer. I sought out success stories of breast cancer survivors– Jaclyn Smith, Cheryl Crowe, Melissa Etheridge. I had a photograph of my father who had died in 1961 on my bedroom shelf. I felt his presence and support. . I read "Spontaneous Healing" by Dr. Andrew Weil, following many of his recommendations for diet and lifestyle changes, as well as what questions to ask about cancer. Mr. Cousins' book emphasizes the importance of being knowledgeable about health issues and working with doctors in a supportive relationship. I used his advice often in the days to come. This doesn't come easy. Some doctors get irritated at this. Others won't talk much. But I made sure the physicians I chose did not respond in this way. I continued to focus on being upbeat. All the while that underlying terror, that fear, was there.
Mom, who was 82 and still recuperating from her mastectomy, was with me during my surgery. A member of the Quaker meeting I had not even met yet kindly offered to be with us that day and helped keep the mood upbeat. As I lay on the table I mentioned my right breast being the one that had cancer to the surgeon, trying to avoid being obvious with an underlying concern he might get confused and take off the wrong one! "There's been a little problem" he told me. My heart jumped. "Some of the testing they did revealed a problem, and I cannot have the surgery! I've GOT to have the surgery!" I thought. Dr. King revealed that the procedure to inject dye for the sentinel lymph node biopsy had not been ordered, causing a slight delay. "That's no problem at all!" I said, breathing a big sigh of relief. It was getting late, however, and I worried about him being tired. "You'll get some rest won't you Dr. King?" He smiled and assured me he would. In due time someone a radiologist came and injected a needle in my right breast to deaden it. It sounds extremely uncomfortable, but I focused on deep breathing for about 15 seconds, and it was over. He then injected the dye, and soon thereafter I was wheeled into surgery and given anesthesia which immediately knocked me out.
After surgery I had bandages and a tight fitting harness over my chest. The tight fit apparently was to assist with drainage from the site. I had two small bulbs on each side for drainage of fluids. I had to lie on my back in bed and could not turn on my side comfortably because of the bulbs. When I started getting up, I'd tuck the drainage bulbs in my pockets and joke about being pregnant and giving birth to drainage bulbs. One of my friends had given me a book that recommended you face your pain head on. I put it down. I could not do that at that time without sinking into an abyss. I continued to listen to soothing music tapes at bedtime. I joked about the ugly hospital gowns, saying I wanted to get some bright colored materials with flowers or pumpkins and black cats and sew some new hospital gowns to cheer patients up. One nurse, upon walking into my room and seeing my Mom sitting beside me, remarked "You two look like twins!!!" I looked at Mom and retorted "In more ways than you know!!!" and we laughed. I stayed at the hospital until Monday and was released to go home. Just before going home the surgeon removed one bulb from each side.
At home, I wore myself out reading about breast cancer. I had to understand what I had, what factors contributed to its development, and what could I do to assist in preventing its return. I pored over books and magazines I got from Memorial Hospital's library and read stories of other cancer patients and survivors. It helped me put everything in perspective, and gave me reassurance and hope. When I went to Dr. King for my final path report on Thursday, I had my "boob bag" with me – a tote bag with my spiral notebook and list of questions, the Memorial book and the Joel Osteen book. "This is the day that the Lord has made I will rejoice and be glad in it!" I read that passage several times on the way to his office.
Dr. King informed me that it was as he has suspected and early stage. He had consulted with another Tumor Board and that they agreed I probably would not need anything other than an estrogen blocking pills for follow up treatment. I was ecstatic! On the way home I called work to tell them the good news. Then I called my cousin and my brother. I had a copy of the path report and followed instructions on how to understand it. It did confirm early stages. I emailed all my friends and told them
At night to sleep I had to lie on my back, unable to turn to one side or the other because of the drainage bulbs. After a couple of weeks the surgeon removed them, and I got an appointment with the oncologist for October 30. I went with Mom for her first oncologist appointment. We did not get the news we had hoped for. Mom's cancer was HER 2 positive, and she would need 5 chemotherapy treatment followed by Herceptin immunotherapy IV for a year. We were disappointed and still reeling from everything we had been through. No lymph nodes had been tested, and Mother was hesitant about undergoing another surgery and possibly losing the use of her right arm. Rather than surgery, her oncologist scheduled a full body PET scan the next week and advised that it would show any cancer larger than the size of a pea.
I stayed off of work a little more than 3 weeks. I did not know how I would make it financially since I only had 4 days' vacation pay. I applied for financial assistance with the Y-Me Breast Cancer organization, and after a couple of weeks was informed that my December rent and utilities would be paid. I asked my brother for a loan but he refused. Instead, he and my sister in law gave me money to make my truck payment, buy groceries and tide me through.
Mom's PET scan revealed the cancer had only spread to about 4-5 lymph nodes. We were thankful that it had not spread elsewhere, and she was scheduled for chemotherapy to start in early November. October 30th I saw my oncologist. Outwardly I had remained positive and upbeat, but still I felt that I would not know for sure what my treatment would be until that first oncologist visit. To my relief he confirmed what I had been previously told, and I was started on Arimidex. He wrote me a prescription. I went to the pharmacy to have it filled. "That'll be $300" I was told. "For how long?" "For 30 days" $300 for 30 days????!!!! I was shocked. There was no way I could afford that monthly payment. I thought about what to do, paid for a week's prescription and left the next day to be with Mom for her first chemotherapy treatment. "I've been through so much this far" I thought. "I'll get this resolved too".
Our family had agreed that one of us could accompany Mom to her treatments, and on October 31 I went with Mom for her first round of chemotherapy. The nurses went over all the instructions– what to eat/drink, what side effects she could have, etc. etc.. It was a lot of information to absorb. "Let's wait and see if something weird happens and if it does we'll look at this list!" I told Mom. She laughed and agreed. I talked with her social worker and learned about the prescription drug program for low income persons for Arimidex and applied for emergency assistance. The next day morning Mom had a severe heart pounding episode and I brought her to the hospital.. Her oncologist took an EKG and the heart doctor wanted to admit her. By this time she and I were both exhausted and as they wheeled her to a room, she protested. A few hours later they decided not to keep her and she came home. Her oncologist had ordered lighter doses of chemo because of her age, but now we wondered if she would be able to handle the chemo. The oncologist suspected it had been caused by Neulasta, a medication that boosts the immune system, and suggested we stop using it. Within the week I received an emergency supply of Arimidex, and was approved for a free one year supply. Mom's next treatment was at Thanksgiving, and my niece came and brought all the meals. From then on Mom did relatively well and didn't want anyone to accompany her.
By December I started to feel I had focused so much on being upbeat I hadn't allowed myself to grieve. I had only cried once, and that was at my physician's office the morning after I had been diagnosed. For the first time I broke down and cried on Mom's shoulder. "I'm 82. I've lived a full life" she told me. What she feared most was dying in pain. I still didn't have much time to grieve. I had gone back to work full time, and I was getting ready for Christmas and getting stuff from my mini storage to complete the move in I'd started in August. I should have rested more, but I didn't.
At work, comments were being made about business being bad and "changes" having to be made. In the midst of everything I had had bleeding in my stool and right back shoulder pain.. I asked the surgeon if he thought the cancer had gone on through to my back and he nodded no and grinned. "That's a common fear" he said. In January I had a colonoscopy. When I awakened after the procedure the nurses told me it was clear. I burst into tears. "I don't have cancer!" I cried. The anesthesia felt so good after all I had been through I grinned and asked "Can I have some more of this stuff??!!"
Then we were hit with another bombshell. My brother, my only sibling, told me he had a place on his head and his doctor wanted a surgical biopsy. After the biopsy he called to tell me - it was a malignant melanoma. Surgery was scheduled for early February. I offered him reassurances but I was devastated. I called Mom after he had told her the news. "What's happening to our family??!!" she grieved. He underwent the surgery. He did not want me to come. He had his family and preferred not to have that many people around. There were difficulties as they were not able to biopsy any lymph nodes, but fortunately his surgeon felt he had gotten everything. At his follow-up appointment he learned did not need any further treatment.
For me, the medical bills continued to come in. I had already been in debt from a near fatal automobile accident three years previously. My employers did not provide insurance and my policies had high deductibles. By March I was in bankruptcy court. The job continued to fall apart. Business was not good and the owner had been hateful with me. I diligently searched for work to no avail. Eventually I was told my salary would be cut to a level I could not live on. That evening I was offered a job that I took out of desperation, and it turned out not to be a good move, but I was bailing out of a sinking ship.
Over the course of the year Mom continued her treatment. She had some nausea and occasional diarrhea and general feeling of being drug out but did not have another heart pounding episode. And over the course of the year I worked through my grief. I learned that while being positive is good, I had often been overly positive to please others who couldn't handle the pain at the expense of myself. I was often being the "good little trooper" for the sake of approval. Once one of my co-workers called me "a brick". At home I broke down and cried. "I'm not a BRICK!!!! I'm a HUMAN BEING with FEELINGS!!" I'd cry at unexpected times. Every summer there is an outdoor concert series in Chattanooga and as I walked to the concert that May I burst unexpectedly into tears. I couldn't believe a year had already passed. "A year of my life has been taken from me! Why did this happen to me? Oh my God it happened to me!?" My mother and grandmother had it in their 70's. Why did I get in my 50's? My mother's came back 2 times. I feared recurrence.
That summer we had the burn the bra party Mother had wanted. Initially I did it for Mom as I really didn't want to joke about it any more. But many friends attended and some brought bras that we burned, so it turned out to be fun and uplifting! I never second-guessed the loss of my breasts. I'd always been a tomboy anyway, and I had lived in terror of them ever since I found that first lump in my 20's, so their loss was a relief to me.
Burn Baby Burn!!
I told someone at one time that I had faced my greatest fear – cancer. But then I backtracked and said no, my greatest fear was chemotherapy. But I turned it over to God, knowing that if I had to undergo chemo, I would do what I had to do. That's what you have to do in life, and during the course of time I had done what I could to get through. I sought out success stories. I meditated, and listened to soothing music every evening before bed. I prayed and had devotional time every morning and evening. I exercised, and changed my diet to eat mostly vegetables, and only eating organic meat and dairy products to avoid the hormones in them. People questioned what I was doing, and at times it would upset me but I continued to say this was MY journey and do what I felt I needed to do.
And I made it through. My Mom made it through. My brother made it through. And we all made it through.
OVER THE SHOULDER BOULDER HOLDER
Sabe and Tayne
d acquired Little Bit. When we returned to Tennessee we were a four cat family.
Sarabi Moufasa
eighbor the cook crazy. Houdini was quite appreciative with him, however, and on more than one occasion delivered a dead lizard to his doormat. "Why's he delivering it to MY door!!!" he'd screech. "Because he wants you to COOK it for him!" I'd retort.
became the 4th member of our cat family. After a few months the job played out and I got a job at a guest ranch in West Texas. Off we went again. Little Bit was new to travel and would not come to the front of the truck. So every evening when we'd stop, I'd put the other boys in the room, grab a carrier, look to see where he was in the camper, crawl quickly into the camper and shut the back door. Then I'd put him in the carrier and take him inside. Our living quarters were a guest room at the ranch and the owners had large dogs so the boys had to settle for being taken out on leashes again. They adapted amazingly well and enjoyed sitting on the beds looking out the windows at the ranch as well as exploring the ranch with me when I could take them out.
tranded, in the middle of nowhere, off the coast of Nicaragua during a time of civil war. In a little boat with no motor, only one oar, and no life jackets (they are lucky to have boats). What did we do? Stuart and Mike, both Presbyterian pastors in Texas, grab a dark green plastic garbage bag from the bottom of the boat, sit on each side of the front of the boat, hold their arms up and make a sail. "Two pastors leading us and they don't know where they're going!" we laugh. "Just like at home!" Then we sing hymns. "I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore" takes on new meaning at a time like this. "Down by the Riverside" comes next. And we crack jokes and laugh about our predicament. "I'm sure glad my mother doe
sn't know where I am right now!"
as where their service was to be held. It was surrounded by islanders, many of them children, who watched us as we entered the small room and peered at us through the open windows once we were inside. About 25 people sat at small wooden school desks – all towards the back of the room. Their altar was a small wooden table covered with a simple cloth with an embroidered cross which lay across the front. A little man, elderly and weather-beaten, stood in the far right corner holding a tiny, battered red accordion – their "organist".
help. Nancy takes the can and begins bailing water. Mike grabs the plastic bulb to the fuel tank and begins pumping. This leaves our driver to do what he's been doing all along … working with the motor trying to keep it going. "Brrrn…..brrn….brrrn….brrrn….brrrn" our motor sputters along for perhaps 30 minutes or so. Those of us in the front are singing and joking about our predicament. Mike continues to pump the gas, nervously cracking a joke here and there but secretly whispering to Nancy, "They're not taking this SERIOUSLY enough! I'm glad YOU'RE taking this SERIOUSLY!!!" At one point I ask, "Mike you've been pumping for over 30 minutes now. Don't you want someone else to help you? "NO!" he replies quickly. "This is the only thing that is keeping me SANE!" I burst out laughing. He doesn't.
ks in Bluefields have begun to miss us, and a Moravian search boat is headed our way. We change boats and go ashore.
e park is centrally located off CC Camp Road. Just take Jackson or Buffalo Valley west from Willow and at the intersection of the two streets take Buffalo Valley west. Go 4 streets to CC Camp Road and turn right at the intersection with house with only its roof exposed above ground.
n still see the lake in the distance. The trail winds back and parallels the trail the lakeside trail you came up on, winding its way back down and meeting that trail at the small pier. You can go left there and then take a right off the paved trail to go back on the same trail you came up on, or continue to the right on the paved trail for a short distance until it ends at the playground area. Then take a short walk to your left down the road back to the restrooms and your parked vehicle. The trails on this side of the lake are wooded and it's nice to walk on them on a hot day, or when there's light rainfall because the trees guard you from the rain.
tle bridge over a creek. Beyond the bridge is a split - to the left the trail continues right alongside the lake; to the right it goes up and around away from the lake but offers beautiful lake views from a distance. If you go right there, you'll wind around to a small cluster of trees. Take the little trail into the trees and you'll see signs identifying White Oak, Southern Red Oak, Eastern Red Cedar and Black Cherry trees. Continue on the trail wind around to eventually join the lakeside trail that initially split off to your left. To make a good 30 minute walk at a 3mph pace, continue to the right along the lake and at the end of the lake double back on that same trail and join to join lakeside trail. Towards the end of the lake go left at the fork and you'll meet the intersection where the trail first forked. Veer to the right back across the bridge and to the parking lot.
so be sure to stop and read the park signage along the trail. You'll learn about water pollution, what you can do to prevent it, shoreline erosion and sedimentation, and efforts made to preserve Cane Creek. They give some useful tips on pesticide use, motor oil and paint disposal, or watering lawns in ways that protect our waters. Don't forget to look at the back of the signs, too! You'll walk past a variety of ducks, an occasional blue heron and deer peacefully grazing in the pasture or nestled in forest of this protected area. And other walkers and dogs who will greet you as you pass. All of this combined makes this one of the prettiest places to walk in the area.
