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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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Melissa
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| Katie
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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. 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…
|
Bobbe
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| Nate
|
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".
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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.
|
Mara
|
| Dick
|
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
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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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