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I didn’t give cancer much of a thought. I mean, why would I? I was in my late 20’s (29 to be exact), healthy, excited about my career, enjoying the new ventures my children were taking me on, had met the man of my dreams (or as much as a couple of months together could tell me) – nothing was going to bring me down. And then I found it, that small lump that shouldn’t have been where it was. Of course it couldn’t be anything so I did what thousands of women do – nothing. I did nothing for two months, all the while finding myself checking in daily on that lump that meant nothing. It wasn’t until I reluctantly told Darin (then boyfriend, now husband) about this little bit of nothing that I was faced with the inevitable – I had to go have it checked out. And so I did – and my life from that point forward would never be the same.
Breast cancer – seriously? But I’m too young, my family history doesn’t support it – WHAT? Yep, breast cancer. And so the steps began. Biopsy, staging, treatment plan, treatment and a future that would be full of doubt, optimism, more doubt, a little bit more optimism and so on and so forth.
From the minute I heard the words come out of the doctor’s mouth, I knew this journey was going to be the most confusing time of my life. I didn’t cry at first; I guess I couldn’t really feel it. Now that I look back, I’m not sure I ever really cried. All I could think about was how no one could know – this couldn’t affect anyone but me. After all, I had always taken care of myself. I didn’t know how to be any other way. I wasn’t sure I could let people get close enough to help in the way I was going to need help. I know I am in the minority here, but I felt so sure that I could deal with this on my own (my dearest friend Amy and my sweet Darin were the only people I told after receiving the news). I spent hours researching how to cope with the side effects of my treatment, which in the beginning was an experimental pill taken that had shown promise in reducing tumors so no surgery would be needed. I was determined to do every funky thing listed on the net that promised to reduce the side effects. Ummm, not so lucky! I was miserable. For two months I kept moving forward with this experimental treatment, determined to save my breast. The side effects were terrible, horrible actually. Paralyzing headaches, fevers, leg tremors – not exactly the way a single mother of two wants to feel while trying to keep up her work hours, keep her children innocent to the evil that was inside her; all the while trying to keep her family and friends at bay. I’m sure so many of you can’t fathom why I wouldn’t share this burden and quite honestly, I’m not sure I even understand it completely. What I do know is that from the time I was a pre-teen, I was extremely independent. I took care of myself, only letting very few people get close to my heart. Like so many others, I had been hurt so many times by friends and family, it was simply easier to forge ahead and to take control of my own destiny. During my early treatment, I knew every fiber of my energy was going to have to be so dedicated and focused; I just couldn’t stand to use any extra part of me to invest in letting people in.
And then my hand was forced. A scan showed only slight improvement on the “wonder drug”, so very slight and it was time to change treatment course. So in December 2006, I began a chemo cocktail that once again, had proven successful in putting patients into complete clinical remission without radical surgery needed. Still determined to save my breast (this is a whole separate topic to dive in to later), I wanted to give the chemo a try before opting for surgery. In doing this, I was told I would most certainly lose my hair. I could handle that – or so I thought.
Christmas came and went and I still hadn’t told many additional people, other than my boss and a few co-workers. And then it happened – I was taking a shower and as I washed my hair, it started to come out in clumps. Wow was I so not ready for that! The nausea, the aches, the fatigue – easily passed on as a long lasting flu of sorts. But hair loss, not so much.
On a cold January day, Darin and I sat my mom down to give her the news. As you can imagine, it didn’t go so well when she realized I had been keeping this from her for nearly six months. In all fairness (I can hear the sighs), my relationship with my mother and siblings has been a bit of a roller-coaster and if you had been along for the ride, you would surely understand. With that said, it was a very hard discussion but we got through it. The news was given to my siblings soon thereafter. We shared with the rest of our friends and extended family at that time as well. The outpouring of support that came from so many directions was valued more than I could ever express in words. At times it was overwhelming, especially for a private person such as myself. But I could see the burden it lifted off of Darin’s shoulders, off of my shoulders – through the meals provided, the drivers to chemo and so much more – we were provided with everything we needed and more. I joked at the time that should I ever have to go through something like that again, I’d shout the news from the rooftops if it meant having such an amazing support system for my family and me. Who would’ve thought that statement would ring so true? That story will be left for another day.
Conclusion to my rambling: I was confirmed as being in complete clinical remission on March 16, 2007. No radical surgery needed, breast saved. Amazing! So much of me feels like I reached that point because of the support, both physical and emotional.
Moral of the story: DON’T wait!!!! NEVER miss a yearly exam!!!! ALWAYS accept offers to help!!!! FOREVER realize you are worth the effort!!!!
