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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. |
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KATIE
By her sister, Carrie Jo 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.” 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. Her story is truly inspiring. |
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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……. Friday
the 13th
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 16th 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… |
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MY MOM, THE SURVIVOR 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".
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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. |
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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.
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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.
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“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 be 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 51st 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’. By being part of
the team, we had made a commitment to have at least one person from the team
on the track walking or running from 7:00 in the evening until 7:00 the
following morning. Local businesses
had donated food, pop, water, etc for the event and many, many people donated
their time. All proceeds went to our
local Cancer Society. The track was
completely surrounded by decorated, white bags, each in honor of someone who
had survived cancer or whose life had been taken due to cancer, and each bag
illuminated with candles which burned all night long. Some were obviously decorated by children;
some had actual photos of the person being honored on them. Talk about a humble feeling, walking the
field at 2:00 a.m. and looking at each bag, wondering about the person named
and honored on the bag and about the people who loved and looked up to
them. I loved looking for the bag I
had decorated in honor of my grandfather and others whom I admire for their
courage as they fought (and some won) their fierce battle. Another part of the Race for Life that
really touched me was the survivor walk.
The first lap of the evening was walked or ran by those in attendance
who had survived cancer. Each wore a
purple shirt and with a purple balloon in hand, made their trek around the
track. One lady was in a wheelchair as
another pushed her around the track, some were bald from medications, some
were children, all proud of where they were in life and not afraid to show
it! At the end of their lap, each let
go of their balloon and as if a great weight were being lifted from them,
stood proudly and gave a loud cheer.
We all cheered! I am so grateful
for the opportunities I have had to participate in these events. I challenge others to find ways to make
mammograms, pap smears, prostrate exams, etc. not only a yearly event, but a
celebrated yearly event. The older I
become, the more I celebrate life, not just my life, but that of those who
have overcome and/or endured the trials they have been given. I feast on their strength, love their zest
for life, and admire their attitudes as they choose to face the challenges
and opportunities life offers. God
bless us all! |
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Site created March of 2003
©2003 Sharon Marler