There are so many stories to be told, and with each story shared, a life is touched.

Personal stories are good for both the teller and the reader. The teller has faced and overcome adversity. Their words validate what they have been through, and solidify their commitment to a quality life. They have won a hard-fought battle and are ready to help others through the same trials and life-challenges.

The reader may be new to dealing with cancer, or with another life-threatening illness or condition. As we read, we rediscover that survival becomes secondary to living a quality life.

Shared experiences touch lives and help those who don’t know what to say or do to find the actions and words that give comfort.  

Let me introduce you now to those who stepped forward to share their stories in their own words. Take what you need from their courage, love, faith, resiliency, and determination and fold it into your own needs.

MY MEMORIES OF MY MOTHER'S CANCER

Like it or not, I was not affected by my mother's cancer in the way that you read about it in books by other survivors. I was not given a new outlook on life. It did not make me more humbled by God. It did not make me more giving or altruistic. It did not make me more religious or grateful to God for the little things. I am sure that other people that have gone through this experience and did feel these ways. I did not.

How did I feel? 

Normal. That's it. Normal, and later on, guilty (but we'll get to that later).

When my parents first told me that my mom had breast cancer, I did not realize the potential fatality of it all. They told my sister, Leisl, and me that my mom had a lump in her breast that had to be removed.

Big deal, I thought. You had your gallbladder out two years ago and you are fine. So go get this taken out to.  To me it was all part of a normal life. I did not realize the danger of a mastectomy nor of CANCER. I just figured that it was something that people got, had taken out, got medicine for, and life would just go on. I was nearly fifteen years old, and my parents would always be there.

Mom had a radical mastectomy. See how easily I can say that? Okay, so she was released from the hospital which somewhat upset me. I loved bringing her food and swapping for hospital food. Go figure.... I love TV dinners and airplane food, too. Anyway, she was released from the hospital in time to go to my sister’s play.

While at the play, Mom's system began to fail. We all thought she was just overtired. I am unclear today as to what was actually happening.  It was several days after Dad rushed Mom to the hospital in the middle of the night Sunday before I found out she was there again. My father, forgetting that I talk and interact with others in my sleep, woke me up, or so he thought, and told me that he was taking her back into the hospital. I apparently let him know I understood when I was actually sound asleep.

A few days later, my drama teacher asked how mom was doing. I told him that she was in her room a lot so I guess she was very tired but fine. My sister, who was in the same class, looked at me like I'd lost my mind. My teacher then pulled me aside and filled me in on what was going on. What a freaking shock! 

I found out that mom was in CCU and could not have visitors yet. She had apparently died a few times on the table. After about a week in CCU, she was moved to ICU and then to her own room. I remember visiting her most every day once she was in her own room and could have visitors.  I got those good hospital meals every couple of days. I even got to fill out the weekly meal request sheets with/for her/us.

My sister was really nervous about going to the hospital. It gave her the heebie jeebies, although I am sure she will deny that today. I tricked her a few times, it’s true, but usually she would go on her own free will. She was more freaked out by the whole thing than I was.  Perhaps she understood the seriousness of it all, and didn’t like hospital food.

Once mom got home, she was heavily medicated and had weird mood swings and cravings. I guess that was part of the medication. Mom always worried that we would be embarrassed over the way she looked now. She couldn’t get a prosthesis until the incision healed so she had to wear a cotton-stuffed insert in her bra. I was never embarrassed over mom's strange behavior and appearance. To me it was normal, even fun and funny. I never cared if she acted different. I didn’t care that she had to wear a prosthesis, even when it didn’t stay where it should. She was my mom. How could I ever be embarrassed by my mom? To me she was the epitome of womanhood. She was beautiful, fun, smart, etc. I guess I missed out on the she's not my mom syndrome.  I didn't always like my mom but I always loved her and was never embarrassed by her.

My Grandma and Grandpa (PoppaBear) lived several blocks from us. They would stop into check on us, tell us how proud they were that we were handing things so well, and remind us to come down to their house and stay when we wanted. Their home has always been a safe haven, and I knew Leisl and I could stay there anytime. I think they would have insisted we stay there, but they knew we wanted to be busy and in our home. If we stayed there, mom would come home and everything would be fine again.

Jeanette, our neighbor across the street, was the only person from our congregation that brought a meal over or looked to our needs. No one else even called to check on us or to ask how mom was doing. Mom excused it by saying that we had only learned to give, and evidently not how to receive. I had seen her do so much for others, that I was angry when so little was done for her.

My mom's friend, Roma, would bring by casseroles, another of my favorite comfort foods, call to check on us, stop by with a hug and many other things. Roma was a rock in my life. She was raised in the same church as my mom but, at that time, did not attend. But she was there for us. She showed a loyalty and caring that I try to show to my friends today. She had a baby boy named Josh and she hired me, not at the dollar-an-hour that everyone else paid but at minimum wage for regular workers, to care for Josh while she worked. She is a remarkable woman who I admire beyond words.

Now for the not so fun part. I was very angry at the church I was raised in but never at God for doing this to us. I was raised to believe that the church/congregation stepped in when you needed them. Mom always took others food, ran errands for them when they were unable to do them, and offered help in many, many ways while we were growing up. She would take us in-tow and off we would go to do something for someone. If we picked strawberries, half went to someone who was unable to bend over to pick them. If we baked bread, a loaf or two was taken to someone. She was the role model of care and concern for others. And now when she could use some of that same treatment, no one was there for her. The anger I felt during the whole cancer ordeal was based on the hypocrisy within the church in which I was raised, and for whom my mother had done so much.  

The guilt?  Some of the family may not want to read or know this, but it happened and it was hurtful. While my mom was in the hospital, my paternal grandmother stopped by one day. I was sitting out on the front porch watching traffic go by. It was entertainment, what can I say? My grandmother sat down beside me and asked how I was doing. I told her fine. She then began to tell me that I should be very grateful for my life. I told her that I was and that I was happy and things were okay for me. She then told me that I, in particular, should feel extra special for my life because my mom had cancer because of me. She told me that my mom was never sick before I was born (something she told me from the time I could remember) and that her cancer probably started when my mom was pregnant with me so I should feel lucky that she wanted me bad enough to get the cancer and die for me.

A severe depression and guilt started the day I was told that I was responsible for doing this to my mother. If I had not been born, my mom would be okay. She would not be sick. She would not have had to have a breast removed. She would not have been close to death. She would not have to go through chemotherapy, and she would be healthy and thin and cancer-free. Yes, according to Gramma, mom would be skinny, healthy, and very much alive if I had not been born. What a horrible person I must be if I was the cause of everything that was wrong. If mom didn’t get well, if she died, I was the one who killed her. I was fourteen-and-a-half years old and I believed her.

This depression and guilt stuck with me for years. It did make me angry at my mother for making me responsible for her life by giving birth to me. How unfair is that? I loved her so much, but I was so angry at her, at me, at…everything. I have come to terms with this intellectually and am sure emotionally that I am not to blame for my mom's health and well-being. But, the emotional impact it had on me as a teenager was overwhelming. 

There is much more to my dealings with coming to terms after the seriousness of the matter hit me, but that is my story and stays with me. I am not ready to share that yet.

 Flash ahead to my adult life. How has my mom's cancer affected my life?

In my 20's I found a lump in my breast. Talk about scared!!!  It did end up being nothing. Thank goodness. Since my 20's I have done monthly breast exams. I know the girls more than I care to admit.

I willingly signed up for a mammogram at age 30 and will go back at 35. I still believe that my childhood, adolescence and life was, and is, normal. Bad things happen. They are horrible, and you wonder if you will get through them. Then you turn it over to God. You can worry about it, you can take precautions, you can eat right, exercise, and do everything you can to ensure well-being but when it comes right down to it, you have to leave the ultimate decisions to God and deal with life as it unfolds to you.

If you treat your life as normal, it becomes so for you. It may not be easy or wonderful but it will be normal and you will be able to deal with it. Things can always get worse, but you can always adapt, deal with it, and get on to better days. Overall, life is what you choose to make it. Determine to live it to the fullest and to thank God for each and every day you have to live.

I remember one day during the chemotherapy year when we all went fishing. We actually caught fish. We laughed a lot and all had our pictures taken with the stringer of fish. We scrambled to look at the pictures when we got them back a few days later. There was one picture of Mom holding the fish. It was probably the worst picture of her ever taken, but I loved it. When I showed it to mom, she snatched it away from me and tore it up. I was hurt and shocked and screamed, “why did you do that? I wanted it!”

“You can’t have it.” Her eyes filled with tears and her voice choked as she cried out, “it’s awful. I’m ugly. Ugly!” She ran from the room to the back of the house, crying. I retrieved the picture from the wastepaper basket and taped it back together. I was so puzzled, hurt, and wounded by her reaction to it. She looked absolutely beautiful to me. There she was, hair blowing in the breeze, no makeup, laughing, and rumpled from all the fun, and she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I hid the mended picture for a week or so under my pillow until it was too crumpled to keep. I keep the memory of the fishing trip, and the picture of my mom laughing as she held the stringer of fish in my mind and in my heart. Mom and I talked about that incident. She was hurt that she had made me feel so badly. I felt bad that her fear of losing us, along with hurtful words from other people, had made her feel so bad about herself. But, that was a long time past. She was so beautiful that day, playing in the sun at the river, catching fish and playing in the water. I still wish I had the real photograph, and not just the one that dances in my memory.

Our lives were never the same from the day Mom’s cancer was confirmed. We were all affected differently, because we are different. It was an experience that shaped our lives from that point on to the present. All experiences, good or bad, are used to gauge and measure decisions made. Experiences are called life. We choose how we live life.

Advice? Yes, I have some.

If you are a victim of cancer, realize it affects not only you but also those who surround you. They are also victims. Be mindful that they feel guilt and worry and stress. Let them know you appreciate their support and love. I don’t remember a single day that my mother didn’t, in one way or another, tell me she loved me. Let your family know you love them, and accept their love in return.

Be honest with them. Let them know that they don’t have to be brave all the time. They are allowed to cry and be scared. When they are, let them say so, and hold them close to you so they can feel your courage and assurances. When you are scared, let them hold you.

Don’t live in constant fear. If you get well, be grateful for the time you have been granted. If you aren’t going to get well, live life everyday. Live it well. That doesn’t mean you have to do dangerous, silly things to prove you are very much alive and in charge. Do what you loved to do before the illness. Go fishing, golfing, to a movie or on a picnic with the family. Read a good book. Pet your dog. Kiss your honey, and love your children.

Thanks, mom, for living life each and everyday. Your example has helped me through some very difficult times. But that is another story. Know that I love you.

KATIE

By her sister, Carrie Jo 

Katie was/is a vivacious, fun-loving, flirtatious teenager. At sixteen-years-old, she was involved in everything, from being on her high school drill team to working at a local fast-food restaurant. She also had aspiring dreams of becoming an actress on the Broadway stage. She had an amazing voice. She liked to keep herself busy…until that November.

It was the Friday after Thanksgiving. On her way to work that day, Katie kept talking about how much her side hurt. Being that she had drill team practice earlier that week, the pain was shrugged off as another sore achy muscle in need of some rest which was typical for her active life. But by that Sunday, the pain was bad enough to double Katie over in pain. At four in the morning, she begged her parents to take her to the emergency room. Something wasn’t right.

Sitting in the waiting room, Katie and her dad had no idea that there was a silent killer lurking about in her body. There were none of the usual symptoms, other than the pain. The doctors checked her out, and ordered an ultrasound that morning. The ultrasound revealed a growth about seven centimeters in size, attached to her left ovary. “Nothing to worry about,” they said. “It was probably a dermoid tumor, which is a germ cell gone awry, or a large cyst.”

A C.A.T. scan was ordered. The scan revealed something abnormal. The growth had its own blood supply, but again they were told there was nothing to worry about. There was only a two-percent chance that it was cancerous. Katie’s surgery was scheduled for that Friday.

There were people everywhere in the surgical waiting room that day. And of course, so was Katie’s family; her maternal grandparents, parents and oldest sister. Anxiously awaiting the surgeon, the family joked about the new “grandchild” about to join the family, (dermoid tumors can have hair and teeth, etc.). Katie’s mom didn’t appreciate the wry humor of the rest of the family.

The surgeon entered the room, and everyone turned to look at him. He immediately asked for them to join him in the consultation room. Oh, the dreaded consultation room! The family all looked at one another and their hearts collectively sank. They knew that the surgeon only asks you to the consultation room when the news was grim. Everyone no more than sat down when those dreaded words escaped his mouth.

“Katie has cancer.”

Immediately, Katie’s dad dropped to his knees, steadying himself on his oldest daughter’s shoulder. The surgeon went on to tell the family that he had to remove her left ovary and fallopian tube and that the mass had already increased by two centimeters in size, making it now nine centimeters. Two centimeters growth in less than a week! It definitely was an aggressive form of cancer.

The doctor knew instantly at the start of the surgery, that this was not a form of cancer he had ever seen before. He contacted cancer specialists at the Huntsman’s Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City, Utah to describe what he was seeing. The cancer was rare indeed.

Dysgerminoma is a rare form of cancer that affects both males and females, in young adulthood, afflicting their ovaries (in females), or testicles (in males). There were only about forty known cases nationwide and Katie’s diagnosis was one of a handful in the Pacific Northwest. It is usually know as the “silent cancer” due to its lack of symptoms, and by the time a proper diagnosis is made, the cancer is too far advanced to attack. Fortunately, Katie was having pain, and they were able to diagnose it early enough that a complete recovery was expected.

Doubt filled the air, however. After being told that chances were small that the growth was even cancerous, Katie’s family had a difficult time believing what they were hearing. Her mom questioned the surgeon over and over, and when he had answered all her questions and left the room, she broke down in tears. Her oldest daughter had never heard her mother cry so intensely or so hard in her entire life. Crying out, “What have I done” and “I can’t believe this,... my baby” escaped Katie’s mother’s lips. What could have made a mother believe she was the cause of such a horrible disease is unknown, but Katie still was her baby, even though her seventeenth birthday was rapidly approaching.

The nurses brought Katie out of recovery and wheeled her into her room. She was sobbing from the pain. The diagnosis was not yet revealed to her. It took all the strength her family could muster to hold back their own tears. She looked so frail and helpless, and now she had a whole new battle to fight.

It was unknown if Katie was to endure chemotherapy yet. More tests needed to be done to distinguish how far the cancer had progressed. But their “little Katie”, as she was known to the family, was still here and she needed all the help and support she could get to make it through this.

Learning of her diagnosis, a few tears were shed but Katie met the challenge head on. The family all made it through Christmas and everyone enjoyed the festive activities as though nothing was trying to steal away a special member of their family. Katie’s birthday was a few days after Christmas, and everyone celebrated. Not long after, the doctors called and revealed that there were a few cancer cells lingering around her lymph nodes and liver and that she would indeed have to go through an aggressive treatment. Being that the cancer itself was extremely aggressive, it should respond well to chemotherapy. The doctors decided to forgo radiation to give Katie a chance of having a family later in life.

The only bad news was that Katie would lose all of her hair. Instead of crying and moping around about the fact that she was going to be bald and very, very sick, she shrugged her shoulders, looked at her dad and said “bring it on”!

Treatments began after the New Year. Five days a week for three months, Katie and her parents made the hour-long drive to the oncologist. It was difficult for them to watch their tiny daughter go through such misery. The medication, at first, didn’t affect her much. But with each treatment, Katie’s family could see the impact the chemotherapy took on her body. She quickly lost weight, going from a healthy 125 lbs. to a meager 85 lbs. by the end of treatment. She lost all of her hair, which she got a kick out of, and she slept all of the time.

The support from the community was amazing! Her friends all rallied together to raise money and shaved their heads when her hair started to fall out. She quickly became a local celebrity, with appearances on the local news and features in the local newspaper. Her family could not go anywhere without being recognized and quizzed on her condition and progress. You could almost see the sorrow in people’s eyes when ever the subject of Katie’s cancer came up in conversation. But they would just smile, nod, and say everything was going to be all right. Katie was a fighter, that’s for sure.

Ten days after finishing her last chemotherapy treatment, Katie spiked a fever. To anyone else without a suppressed immune system, this would have meant take a Tylenol and wait a few days. For Katie, it was life-threatening.

Rushing her to the emergency room, her family watched as she slowly started slipping away. Upon arriving at the ER, her blood work was drawn, as per protocol. No one expected the result that was found. Katie’s red blood cell count was below 100 cells/mL. There are normally millions of cells /mL. This meant that Katie’s body had essentially quit producing blood and was rapidly starting to shut down. She needed emergency transfusions to stay alive!

The decision was made to Life-Flight her back to the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake. Katie received four units of blood that night. Perhaps the scariest ride was the one her father and older sister took. The drive to Salt Lake was three hours long, and they had no way of knowing what was going on with her. The car just couldn’t seem to move fast enough. They arrived in Salt Lake just as the sun was rising over the mountains.

Arriving at the hospital, Katie’s dad and sister hurried up to her room. There she was, sleeping peacefully. The doctors had gotten to her in enough time and she was going to be all right! She was lucky they said. Had her mother not noticed her fever, Katie would have passed away silently in her sleep that night. Again, another blessing in disguise.

She was in the hospital for four days, monitored closely by everyone at the facility. Everyone knew her name and quickly took her under wing. The nurses and doctors there were incredible.

Ten days after being life-flown to Salt Lake, Katie competed in her high school’s junior miss pageant. Everything was going well, and when it was Katie’s turn to come onstage, there was an amazing roar of applause from the audience. When the physical fitness portion came, everyone held their breath as they watched her frail, tiny body attempt to do the required pushups. And when all was said and done, everyone cheered and gave her a standing ovation as her name was read as first attendant. She won over $2000 in scholarship money that night.

A few weeks later, Katie was crowned Jr. Prom Princess for her class and voted Drill Mistress for the drill team. Things couldn’t be going better!

Even Katie’s medical situation was taking a turn for the better. She had started to put on weight and her hair was starting to grow back. And three M.R.I.’s showed no new cancer cells developing in her body. She was getting better.

Her battle isn’t over. Katie needs five years of clean MRI’s to be considered in remission. But with the help of her family and friends, it will happen .Making new friends along the way, Katie took it all in stride. Never once during her long and arduous treatment, did Katie lose hope. With each new thing that was presented, she met it head on and never gave up hope.

  BOBBE’S STORY

I have often thought about sitting down and writing the story of my life. And just as many times I thought, who would want to read that?  Now I am sitting down just trying to put one part of my life on paper. One year actually.  My friend Sharon encouraged me to do this.  She has encouraged me to do several things, all of which have been good for me. 

The end…….

I had just finished my third week of teaching.  It was a new position for me.  Previously, I had been an Information Technology Support Technician. Supporting computer users and teaching them new software programs, troubleshooting network difficulties; you know, all that fun computer stuff.  I enjoyed my work but I did not enjoy working in that department.  Fortunately for me, I was offered a teaching position at the same facility—the Juvenile Corrections Center-St. Anthony. I was putting together an entirely new curriculum and was getting myself ready to attend a mandatory workshop for new teachers in our state.

It was Friday: I was walking from the competency center to my car, parked near the academic building.  It’s a little bit of a hike for a big girl like me.  I was thinking about quitting smoking and how was I going to get this accomplished.  I had to teach Drug and Alcohol classes along with this new job and I sure couldn’t tell my students one thing and then do the other. (Duh, I could only do that to my own children)  I said a little prayer to help me out so I could be a better example for all my kids. I reached my car and had a deep surging pain in my abdomen and then some back pain.  After having four healthy pregnancies, the only thing I could relate to this pain and spasm was LABOR.  Of course I wasn’t pregnant, so I thought it was just must be some kind of gas pain.  I got in the car, shut the door and drove off campus.

By the time I reached the Maverick Store, I knew I better stop, go in and try to use the restroom.  I stayed in that restroom for a very long time.  I was in so much pain I began to sweat and shake.  My clothes were wrinkled and damp when I pulled myself together enough to get back to campus and get some help. 

I stopped at the campus administration building, went into the restroom and still no relief, and I truly felt like I was about to give birth.  I asked the secretary to get the nurse and let her know I needed help.  The nurse came up to that building and said it could be a kidney stone. “But we better get you to the hospital to check it out.”  URCH! Hospital, doctors, no, no.  I didn’t realize until right at that moment, I did not like hospitals.  I fussed irrationally and illogically about going to the hospital, but finally gave in. I gave in mostly because it looked pretty stupid to refuse going.

Lisa drove me and Wayne drove my car to the Madison Memorial hospital in Rexburg.   My son would meet me there so I thanked them and they went on their way.  In the emergency room, x-rays were taken, and I think they gave me a pain pill.  They were looking for kidney stones.  As I lay there, now feeling better because of the medication, I felt foolish and wanted to go home. I would be so embarrassed if it were gas.  Ah, in came my eldest son Joshua. He genuinely looked concerned.  I assured him it was nothing, but I would still need him to drive me home because of the medication.  Just then, in came Dr. Redd with the films.  He popped them up on the light.  He said the least of his concern was the kidney stone. “Take a look at this object, right here.  There is a massive growth here.”  And it was. It was nearly the size of my kidney. I was shocked when I first looked at it.  My son said it nearly eclipsed my kidney.  Holy cow, what now?  I can’t have this! 

Dr. Redd said this could be quite serious and “I want you to promise to go right to the hospital in Idaho Falls, Take this film with you and have this followed up on.  Don’t go home first—go to the hospital.”  I said I would. 

My son Joshua was upset and made the comment. “First my dad, now my mom.”  His biological father had died of a brain tumor when Joshua was sixteen.  Joshua had spent a year from age fifteen to sixteen, taking care of a man who never took care of him.  Yes, that’s another story I need to write about.

I told Josh, “Hey. It’s just a cyst or something. I am too mean to be sick remember?”  This did not comfort him nor did he laugh.  He drove me to the hospital.  I think I asked him to make sure Grandma and Grandpa knew I was going to be late picking up the little kids. I told him to go ahead and leave. I would take care of this and be home. 

I was at that hospital until 1:30 in the morning.  The Dr. finally told me to get dressed and sent me out to the waiting room where my little boy Mike and my parents were sitting.  I was mad at first. Mike should be home in bed. Definitely not here.  Then the Dr. came out with his assistant and told me I would have to see my regular Dr. tomorrow (Saturday) and get him to refer me to a surgeon right away.  This was a bad tumor and had to be removed as soon as possible.  It was cancer.  Renal cell carcinoma.  No one knows why we get this cancer or how it starts, but it has to be taken out right now and they would probably take the entire kidney. 

“Well,” I said “I can’t do that right now. I just started a new job and have to attend a workshop and no one else can do my job,” and on and on and on.    The Dr. just sat there listening until I finished and then said. “ All that will just have to wait.”  I was devastated and in denial.  My dad told him we would do what he asked.  I got up, took Mikey’s hand and left the hospital.  In the parking lot, I remember telling my dad how mad I was about this damn thing. How it was going to cramp paying the bills that were already late getting paid every month. I couldn’t afford to take time off and what if I lost my job over this deal. 

I also remember Mikey beginning to tear up and he had a real worried look on his face.  I said, “Don’t worry Mike.” 

“How will we pay the bills and buy stuff?” he said.   Funny, I thought he was worried about me.   Man, am I selfish.  I let him know that we would work it out somehow!   We got into the Gimmy and headed for home.  I don’t remember sleeping much. In fact, I just lounged on the couch most of the night, off and on with the computer, finding out everything I could about renal cell carcinoma.  I don’t really remember being worried about me exactly.  I would just as soon have it be the end of the road.  I was very tired and very worn…and again that’s another story.

What I was concerned about were the boys.  Not that I am going to get any Mother of the Year awards anytime soon or ever, but the guys didn’t have a dad between them that added up to a hill of beans.  I sure didn’t want my mom to raise them and Dad couldn’t do it with out mom being around.  (Again, another story).  My sister would love to have them and would be an excellent mother.   I began trying to get an order of things in my head that would need to be done to make that transition smoother.  I thought of my kids being without a mom or a dad.  How crappy for them!

Saturday the 14th

Dad picked me up and we headed for Dr. Christensen’s office.  They just happened to have a Saturday morning walk-in for four hours.  He wasn’t in, his counterpart saw the films, had talked to the Dr. from the hospital, and now was referring me to a surgeon. Really, all I am thinking about now is racking up all these doctor bills and missing work.  He called Dr. Tall and we were to go in first thing Monday morning.  

I went home and cleaned house and re-arranged furniture.  I probably also yelled at my kids for no reason.  I find both very therapeutic. 

BLACK SUNDAY

Didn’t go to Church.  Hadn’t gone for months anyway.  Smoked a few cigarettes, cursing myself all the while.

Monday seemed so far away now.

Monday the 16^th

Again Dad picked me up and drove me to the doctor’s office.  We saw Dr. Tall, the surgeon we had been referred to.  He was pretty matter of fact.  “We have to take the entire kidney. The tumor has grown right to the place we don’t want it to be.”  We don’t do chemotherapy with these; it’s ineffective.  We just have to get it before it gets you.  He explained how the surgery was done, that my chance for survival was 60% (from the cancer, not the surgery), and what I was going to need to do next.  I had to go over to the hospital and get more films and more tests.  We would schedule the surgery for tomorrow morning.  Be there at six.

I spent most of the daylight hours at the hospital and I remember talking to my sister getting things lined out for the boys.  She said she would be down soon. 

Tuesday the 17th 

Finally, the day was here.  It’s a good thing I didn’t wait and go to the workshop and all the other things that I thought were so important.  All I could think about was getting this tumor out of me.  Again, Dad picked me up and drove me to the hospital.  It was summer and no school for the boys, so they all slept soundly as I left the house.  When we arrived at the hospital, the nurses and anesthesiologists began prepping me right away.  I was given a pill, to relax I am sure.  When Dr. Tall came in, I reminded him that I might not want to wake up badly enough so he would have to make sure I did. I needed be around to take care of my kids.  That’s’ all I remember…

I woke up to clinking pop cans and some giggling. How rude! It was my mom and my son Nate.  Back to sleep.

Later, I woke up to too much quiet, Dads was there…my throat hurt badly and my side was killing me.  Ha ha…literally.  Dad said it took longer than they had expected, but it looked like they gotten it all.

I was a little more awake this time.  I had a tube down my nose into my tummy, and an I.V. in my arm.  I couldn’t move or talk, both hurt too much.  I was nauseous and I vomited.  I did not enjoy this.  Back to sleep.

Dr. Tall came in a few times that I can remember, once specifically when Dad and Sis were there and he said “Do you remember what you told me before we went into surgery?” I nodded and said yes. I was scared.  He nodded back and gave me “the look” I knew he had to bring me back from somewhere, and today I am glad he did.

Wednesday, I think.  I woke to someone wanting me to sit up in my bed.  I tried. I vomited.  I stayed sitting.  Hooray.  Later in the day the same thing.  I sat up, I vomited, but I stayed up and actually got myself to the chair next to my bed.     Hooray.  My feet and legs were so swollen, I thought they were going to crack and burst.  My kidney wasn’t working yet and I was retaining tons of fluid.  In fact, I remember Dr. Tall saying that my whole body was still in shock and it would take a while.

Thursday: I was up with a walker now and walking two doors down and back to my room—twice!  My little walking therapist said I was awesome.  I couldn’t breathe properly and had to practice breathing everyday several times a day into a little machine that made my muscles work.  I couldn’t stand up straight and I couldn’t walk without the walker. Incredibly, without a doubt, I was still vomiting every time I sat up.  I begged them to take the tube out of my nose. I was sure that was why I kept vomiting.   Maybe tomorrow, I heard. 

I remember dragging my I.V. pole around with me and scuffing along with my walker. By now my sister or my dad was taking me on my daily walks in the hospital and I needed to walk several times a day.  I was getting faster and going farther. I felt like superman. I still couldn’t walk without the walker or without someone dragging that pole.  Dad came up every day and encouraged me.  Days were boring and uncomfortable and nights were just more of the same.  I do remember one of the nurses making a mistake and giving me the wrong meds.  I thought I might be dying then.  I couldn’t breath my body was on fire.  They had to call upstairs to the big boys who put my spinal in and fix me quick.  That nurse never came back to my room.  I would see her on my walks however. 

I had been in the hospital 6 days and was getting around a bit.  I knew I wanted to go home tomorrow and I wanted to be cleaned and packed.  I ran my own bath.  I thought a soak would do the swelling in my legs some good.  I just had to be careful not to get the big nasty incision across my abdomen wet.  No problem.  I won’t get the water very deep.  Ha ha ha, I couldn’t lift my legs high enough to step into the tub!  Finally I managed to get into the tub still standing.  I started to kneel down and push my legs in front of me like any normal person taking a bath.  They wouldn’t go there.  I was so swollen there was no bending.  I was literally stuck in the tub backwards and nearly upside down trying to get my legs in front of me.  I must have been a sight!  Needless to say, it was much more work that it was worth.  I did get a laugh out of myself and realized this may take some time.  The bath was not relaxing. 

Most days in the hospital are blurry.  I know my Dad was there every single day and my sister came 1000 miles to make sure things were going to be okay.  I saw my little ones a couple of times and my dear friends, Sharon and Dick, came to see me.  I don’t even remember talking. I do remember Sharon had given me a little diary to write down my experience in.  (This gal has foresight!) and a darling stuffed shiatsu toy dog that I still take to bed with me at night. 

A few other people came from work, but it was during the time I was groggy and had a tube down my throat and I don’t remember much.   I do remember looking ghastly when an old boyfriend came in toting a rose and seeing the look on his face was horrifying.  HA!HA!. It was the first day I was trying to sit up in the chair and not vomit.  He didn’t say long.  Another friend’s mother came up and took pictures of me.  It was really an empty camera with a flash but it was sooo funny. She really got my blood going. Thanks, Mrs. Wadsworth. To remember the look on my sisters face— this strange woman coming in and demanding she get some pictures. It was a hoot!

Tuesday, A week later.  I am home and my dad, of course, is here for every need.  Poor guy had to hand me a pillow while I was on the potty and bent over vomiting in a pail.  What a sight that had to be for him.  He took me for my walks up and down my street— first one house, then two houses, and pretty soon I am going to the end of the block. Before long, he’s got me going around the block.  Whew… now remember my dad is still recovering from heart problems and hip surgery.  What a guy! 

My youngest son Mike was also my feet and feeder when Dad or Sis weren’t there.  He did a great job.

It took two months to recover enough that the Dr. would release me to go back to work with instructions to work only as long as I felt like I could.  Boy, was I ready to go back.  I was so tired of having to sit up on the couch and crawl around on my floor to pick things up.  (Still not bending well) and, Man! I was on good drugs!  I called my boss several times and told him I was ready to come back to work.  I must have sounded like an idiot. I was not getting any sleep, thus sleep deprivation, and I was crying all the time and I didn’t think I was going to get any better than this.  This was just not good enough. 

I was having all kinds of complications from surgery and had to see a neurologist and get more drugs and on and on. Now I am on sleeping pills, and ten other pills just to get me through the day.  The first few weeks back to work were rocky there and at home.  My older boys moved back in to the house to help me out…and themselves, too.

I changed doctors six months later to an oncologist, a real cancer doctor, and began getting my ducks in a row.  None of my symptoms since surgery had anything to do with cancer. He just was a sharp enough guy to get me going in the right direction. He told me to go back to my family physician and have a certain test run.  I did, and he was right.

I now see him every three months for cancer checks.  I fast, drink barium and have a contrast introduced intravenously. I have chest, abdomen and pelvic CT scans, then visit him to talk about the results.  So far, so good. 

Cancer is always in the back of my mind now along with the fact that I have only one kidney to function with.  These two factors change ones lifestyle significantly. I am more conscious about what goes in my mouth and about what comes out of my mouth since this experience. I have been cancer free for 16 months and I have three years and nine months to go before they boost my survival rate to 65%.  Of course, I have not smoked a cigarette since…scared the nicotine craving right out of me. 

So be careful of those little prayers you say as you’re walking across campus.  We never know how quickly God is going to answer them.

The beginning…

Back to the top

MY MOM, THE SURVIVOR

When I first found out that my mother had cancer, I almost started to laugh. Yeah right, my mom getting cancer! You've got to be kidding me! My mom is the toughest person I know. Not a single sickness could ever get her to stay home or skip one of her classes. My mom had a "schedule" and, by god, she didn't mean to get off of it. But something had apparently been a bit cleverer than my mom.

My mom had cancer in her kidneys. The doctors at Madison Memorial hospital found it (a tumor) when she went there for a kidney stone. They told her she needed to have the tumor removed right then.

I was living with my dad for the summer, like I do every summer. The summer before I had gone to my aunt's house for almost a month, and my dad was still mad about that. So, I stayed with my grandfather so I could go see my mom everyday in the hospital. My dad only let me do that for about a week. When I came home to my dad's house, my grandpa would call or I would call him and see how my mom was doing. I would have called her but I didn't want to feel shame for me because I wasn’t there.

When my mother came home, I still was at my dad's house. My little brother Mike had been taking care of her. He gained a lot of respect from me that summer but I’m sure he lost a lot for me. My mom couldn't walk so Mike had to help her to the bathroom and anything else she needed. He also cooked and kept the house in working order.

My mom's road to recuperation was slow but progressive. But she was getting a little better everyday. Soon she was going to work again and back on her "schedule".

All and all, my mom is a pretty tough woman.

She likes to be called a "survivor".

Breast Cancer

Life is full of surprises, and mine is not an exception. Sometimes we are prepared to handle them and sometimes we simply are not. Through out my entire life I had the idea that I could handle whatever, expected or unexpected, that came my way. I have been careful with my economy. I have been serious about my education and I have been always taken care of my body by working out, watching my diet, and avoiding drink or smoke. I was a young, strong and healthy person.  Unfortunately, being healthy and young was not a great advantage for me; young women’s breasts are rich in fibrous tissues that make it very difficult to detect the presence of lumps, and that was my case. 

Towards the end of 1999 I began to lose weight, which felt good at first. Then I became too tired to keep up with my regular activities, and began having problems with my digestive system on and off for no apparent reason. Sometimes I wondered if I was pregnant again.

During the summer of 2001, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I had to undergo many tests, surgery and treatment, and as many other people diagnosed with cancer I became sad, anxious, and afraid. My family was scared, and some of my friends could not believe I was sick. Some even thought I was depressed and looking for some extra attention. I thought the worst part wasn’t being sick, but the idea that I could die and leave my beautiful children without me, their mom. Well, I was wrong. The worst part was that I had not enough faith, acceptance and appreciation for what Heavenly Father has in mind for each one of us.

Being diagnosed with cancer has been a great blessing in my life. This illness brought to my life feelings and thoughts that I never paid attention to before. I suddenly became more aware of the beauty of life. I also learned to see each of my days as a precious gift, to begin them with a positive attitude, and to live each one of them as if they were going to be the last one. I also learned to choose my battles and to think that if something won’t be important the following week, then it is not important to argue about it at all.   

I can not talk about the negative things or the sad ones because many others had already talked about them. I just want to mention that I have been blessed and given the chance to review my life and improve it and I am grateful for this great opportunity.

Cancer turned out to be a blessing in disguise for me. It seems to be a word that most of us are afraid to hear. It also seems to be a disease that people fear so much, and it make us feel sorry for those who happened to be diagnosed with it, yet it is a mysterious way to learn wonderful lessons of patience, wisdom, perseverance, self-discipline, self-esteem, humbleness, success, but most of all love. Love for our families, love for our friends and neighbors, love for life and love for our Creator.

Cancer was a dramatic experience for me. It was not easy, but it was worth living it and I would not change it if I had the opportunity to do so. 

I pray for those who may be suffering now from this illness that they can find their own personal way to make this experience a successful one, a way to conquer their fears, a way to get stronger and closer to their loved ones and to Heavenly Father.

Never give up.

M.B.

Back to the top

TRIBUTE TO DARRELL RUCKMAN

by Dick Marler

WOLF OR COYOTE?

Like the child who kicks and pulls against the force leading them to the car that will take them home from the party cries out, “I don’t wanna go home now”, so departs a good friend. Life is too short, the party lasts so briefly and all too soon the candles are blown out, the cake is gone, and the presents that were given linger as reminders of the love and friendship that were and are forever left as comforters for the future.

He pulled up in his SUV. The door opened and the booted foot hit the pavement. His western-influenced southern drawl said,

“Saw a wolf up the road”.

“Sure it wasn’t a coyote? I asked.

“Nope. It was a wolf.”

“Strange seeing a wolf so close to West (Yellowstone), ” I said. 

“Looked like a wolf. Big. Bigger than a coyote” he said in that quiet smiling voice of his.

“Doubt it was a wolf, Darrell, but if you want it to be a wolf, then a wolf it is” I answered.

See, I’ve finally learned that it is best to let folks see what they want, and I’ll see it my way if that is what I so choose to do. Darrell saw a wolf. I think he saw a coyote. We’re both happy knowing that we’re right, and he’s wrong. We all do that more often that we like to admit. There’s a great satisfaction in that, you know? It keeps peace that way. It leaves the rest of the day open to whatever else one chooses to see or think or do. And, as long as it isn’t hurting others, what the heck difference does it all make.

It’s too bad the world leaders can’t handle a few conversations and situations with this kind of attitude. Right, or extreme right—what does it matter, as long as we are mindful of what the collective goal is and what is best for everybody. You know, the goal of peace, consideration of others, and common courtesies. The one where we live together in harmony and enjoy a few good laughs and help one another when things are rough. The one where we have more to do than talk down on others, or find fault and place blame. We need to remember that friendship is what’s important, and let the little differences remain small.

We went to Rolling Stones at the IMAX (my wife’s idea!) the night of the wolf/coyote conversation. What a hoot! As the pounding, resounding music throbbed through my usually quiet life, a huge inflatable demon was inflated on screen. As the air filled the demon, it twisted and turned awkwardly to take on full size, exposing its backend to the crowd for a brief moment, fully revealing its identifying gender.

Darrell leaned over and asked, “Is it a wolf or coyote?” Clever of him, huh? Got me laughing even if my expertise was still being questioned.

Questions need to keep being asked. They keep us thinking. They keep us aware of what is happening around us. We need to ask why children are shooting children. We need to ask why schools are no longer safe. We need to ask where we, the world, have failed to teach kindness, tolerance, and caring. We need to find some answers. Questions keep us caring enough about our world to seek better ways of doing things. They keep the balance.

Darrell left the party early Friday morning. He didn’t want to leave yet, but his party was over. The present he left will be enjoyed by all of us for many, many years to come.

I think when I see him again, I’ll tell him it really was a wolf.

Back to the top

BEVERLY IN BUHL

"Wham! A lump! Alarmed”

May 19,2002 will long be a day to remember. And one of acceptance. My breast cancer had arrived. Now I’m a survivor of one-and-a-half years.

I was able to come through my four surgeries with great support from my doctor, husband and friends.

My first surgery was to remove the lump on my right breast only to find it had two different types of cancer.

 My second type of surgery was my choice. I chose to have a right modified radical mastectomy. God choice for me as the pathologist found two different types of cancer spots in the removed breast and found a spot in only one of the six lymph nodes that were removed. That one node had a dot right in the center of it. 

Now, for preventive purposes, four treatments of A/C type chemo therapy were necessary. I had inflammation of the veins on my left arm so before I could begin my chemo, I needed a post-a-cath. So my third surgery was to implant this port-a-cath completely under my skin just above my left breast. This then allowed the nurses to access my port for chemo.

Yes, I lost my hair, wore a wig, and now love my new growth hair look.

My husband, Cliff, having experienced the loss of his (first) wife of thirty-four years to cancer—non-Hodgkins lymphoma—knew how to love, care and give valuable positive support to me. He was always gentle and kind. I want to share a very personal moment to show the affection my husband has for me and my “new” body. He drew me close to him as he was sitting down, and gently kissed my right scarred chest and said, “I have to give this titty as many kisses as I give this one,” looking back at my whole left breast; and then, again, looking back at the scarred chest and continuing to say, “as this one gave its life for you!” I cried. How compassionate he was to me in his caring.

My husband drives an eighteen wheeler rig. I chose to ride with him after my second chemo. My hair was coming out in chunks. It just added to the nauseous feeling I was already having from  my previous day’s chemo. Arriving in California from Idaho, Cliff says to me, “Babs, we’ll just stop at a truck stop, get a shower room, and I’ll cut off all you hair (meaning the hair that was left J ). We did just that. But all we had was a pair of the biggest orange handled scissors you could have. Ha! They worked, and that was all that mattered. Again I cried for his courage and thoughtfulness towards me. I’m so thankful for him and, of course, I love him dearly.

Just a few more thoughts as to where I am now as a breast cancer survivor. I only have moments-short moments-of thoughts and sometimes teats when I look at my upper body. I move on quickly and count my blessings. I have so much to be thankful for.

My job now for me to be the best survivor ever is to always give back to others that are in need of support with a hug, a smile, a word of encouragement. Being there for them and most importantly giving hope…and more hope. Always HOPE!

A final thought I ponder on:  when one has a negative event happen in their life, one must certainly find joy and hope out of that. Sometimes one has to look very deeply. And when one does, the healing can begin.

“A WHAT party?”

“A WHAT party?”  my husband asked with fear in his voice.  His fear soon diminished as he heard the excitement in my voice.  “I’ve been invited to Sharon’s MammySlammy Party, I can’t wait!”  OK, I suppose you need a little translation like my husband did, so I’ll back up a little and explain.

Let’s face it, Mammograms are NOT pleasant!  It’s one of those yearly things most women dread, but I don’t dread it anymore.  There are so many awesome women I know who have faced the challenge of cancer; most have found the dreaded disease through a simple mammogram.  So, why not make that dreaded procedure a little more fun?  And what better way than to celebrate life than with friends, new and old? 

My first “MammySlammy Party” was on June 26, 2001.  In preparation for the event I made an appointment with my physician and informed him I needed his permission to attend this party.  After he stopped laughing, he told me how proud he was of us for making this a fun event and for encouraging other women to become involved.  The day of our party a few of us met for lunch, which was a great way to get to know some of the women I had never met.  Then, on to the Imaging Center where we were ushered into our reserved party room.  We played games, cards, told stories and jokes, watched a chick flick, enjoyed prizes and snacks, and exchanged gifts while we waited for our turn at our ‘glamour shot’.  Several times we got a little rowdy and the employees at the Center just HAD to check in on us (they wanted to be included, so checked in on us often).  Then several of the party goers went to dinner together and learned more about each other.  It was great; I definitely needed another year of this party thing.

On June 27, 2002, the third annual “MammySlammy Party” was held (my second to attend.)  This time I took the whole day off of work, after all this was my 51^st birthday and I wanted to celebrate life with my friends.  Again, I was not disappointed – we played games, learned a lot about each other, laughed a lot, and exchanged gifts.  As each woman came back to the party room after their “glamour shot”, she was knighted with a plastic sword by the previous victor, and given a nickname to enter into our new ‘sisterhood’. 

Following our day of victory, some of us headed to a local high school athletic field to participate in an additional event – the annual Cancer Society Race for Life.  Wow, what an event!  There were several teams, each represented by a name, a decorated camp area, and special money-making projects. Ours was the ‘Ya Ya Yo Yo’s’.