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Lynda
At the age of 62, my mother found a breast lump, she ended up with a radical mastectomy. Over the next 21 years she had 17 more malignant tumors, all on the same side as the mastectomy. She had many surgeries and many chemotherapy treatments. Finally there were no more types of chemos' that would help her , so at age 83 she underwent radiation. Yes, at that age it was very hard on her, but she pulled thru. My mothers' strong faith, and positive attitude, helped her thru all the surgeries. Today, mom leads an active life and is a strong role model for "her girls" and everyone else with breast cancer. In April she will celebrate her 90th birthday, of course we are having a big celebration for her. I guess, my point is ... breast cancer is not the end, it is so very important to take care of ones health and do not give up. Women are strong, and everyday there are more and better treatments for breast cancer. Cindy,I am so glad you shared your story, women need to know not to give up , stay strong and have faith. God will take care of us. Thank you, Monica Theis
When I was 18 and in my freshman year in college I found a lump in my neck. I went to health services and ended up in the emergency room on a few occasions with stomach pain and was tested for pregnancy and treated for mono and then just told it must be a virus. 6 months later I was diagnosed with hodgkin’s lymphoma. I still remember standing in the kitchen and getting the call. All I could think of was that I was going to lose my hair. I was 18, what can I say. I went through tests and found out I was stage 3. I was told the treatment was very successful but intensive. That was putting it mildly. I was so sick that the doctor had to give me meds to knock me out for 2-3 days after treatment because I was so sick. That would result in temporary amnesia and I walked around the house not remember anything after 2-3 days. I had 3 months of chemo and then on to radiation. That was a piece of cake. I was cancer free and back in college! Pretty much figured that having cancer once was enough, but I was wrong. Brenda NoahInvincible (a.k.a. Survivor)
When I was young I thought that I was invincible. I would never have cancer. Things like that only happened to people you didn’t know. Then one day in March of 1992 while taking a shower I felt a lump in my left breast. Since I was only 44 years old and invincible I was sure it was nothing serious. To be safe, I went to my doctor and he sent me for a mammogram. When he got the report back he sent me to a surgeon who told me that it looked like cancer. When I heard that I went numb. I thought my life was over. After indulging in self pity and fear for about five minutes, I said “What’s the next step?” Doreen Mwenya-Grant
I am currently three years out from my diagnosis with Stage IIA Infiltrating Ductal Carcinoma (Breast Cancer). Loosing both my parents and four of my sisters was extremely difficult, but non of these experiences prepared me enough for my diagnosis with Breast Cancer! Diagnosed at age 38, I knew very little about Breast Cancer and had no known family history of Breast Cancer. I felt a 'lump' in my left breast while having a shower one day - I assumed it was a swollen milk duct because I had just stopped nursing my son Michael II. A few days later I felt it again and after about 3 weeks, it was more defined. My husband Michael suggested we get it checked right away. I ignored it for a few more weeks, hoping it would just go away! Eventually, I had the mammogram. After a second mammogram, an ultrasound and Biopsy, it was confirmed that I had Cancer. I was shocked! I was convinced that I was going to die. I had breast preserving surgery (Lumpectomy), 4 aggressive cycles of chemotherapy and 35 radiation treatments. 'Chemo' was hard to take. It made me so sick. I forced myself to work everyday to keep my mind off the Cancer and for 3 years I wedged a silent war with a lot of negative feelings inside of me. I felt hopelss, unattractive, depressed, confused and desparate at times. My husband was and continues to be the greatest source of my strength. I would have not made it half way through this journey without him. For a while, I suffered a deep sense of regret - I felt like I had let my children down, because I could not be there the way a mother is supposed to for her kids. My youngest child, was hardly a year old when I was diagnosed and going thorugh treatment. I worried so much about not being there for his first day of school. My 10 year old daughter asked me (out of the blues) one day, if I will be at her wedding. I almost fell out of my chair! but I reassured her that I will do my best to make sure I am there for her every milestone - her graduations from school and college - and 'her wedding'!!! I shunned away from Support Groups - I did'nt have the courage to go there and meet other survivors. The fear was paralyzing me and I couldn't see how other people would help me. Eventually, I joined an online survivors' network and stayed glued to my computer every day - just so I could read about other survivors' stories - It was healing to know I wasn't the only one going through this. Then I met Paula Holland De Long at my first survivor's workshop. Paula is a Life Coach and a long time Breast Cancer Survivor herself. She was the first person I met physically that had survived cancer and was helping others to cope and move on with their lives. I was inspired and this was my turning point. I knew what I needed to do. My family and I founded the Zambian Breast Cancer Foundation earlier this year and later in August I was appointed to Represent the Breakthrough Cancer Trust of Zambia in North America and Canada. The challenges in Africa for women diagnosed with breast cancer are huge. Most women have no access to life saving screenings or care and we are working hard to find ways to bring the most basic of needs for breast and cervical cancer patients in Zambia. Cancer was not a blessing to me but it has opened my eyes to the challenges that women in the third world have to face when diagnosed with a disease like Breast Cancer. Just knowing about their challenges made my own journey with cancer feel so much easier. Claudia FauverMy IBC Story
How many times have we heard: “Check your breasts monthly for lumps” and “have your yearly mammograms”? Every time we turn around, we hear those comments. What we don’t hear and aren’t told by our doctors is “Check your breasts for any changes and tell your doctor when you notice them” and “There’s a form of breast cancer that doesn’t usually show up on a routine mammo”. Ever since I saw a slight pinkish-red blotchiness on my right breast in early July 2007 and my daughter-in-law and I did some online research, I had the feeling that I had IBC (Inflammatory Breast Cancer), a rare and highly aggressive form of breast cancer. Some of the signs and symptoms of IBC are:
I only had one of those symptoms: the blotchiness. Many women have most of those symptoms. IBC cells grow in nests or sheets rather than a solid tumor, which is why a routine mammogram alone is not normally reliable for finding IBC. A doctor will do a clinical exam, but biopsy, diagnostic mammogram and breast ultrasound can confirm the diagnosis of IBC. At age 65 I contacted my doctor’s office about blotchiness on my right breast and was told it was an infection; that I had to have a 10-day antibiotic treatment to see if it would get rid of the infection. After being treated for “mastitis”, an inflammation of the milk glands usually found in young nursing mothers (two different 10-day cycles, not just one cycle), I then had a “diagnostic mammo” specifically looking for the sheeting or nesting of IBC. The report said it was possible that I had IBC and recommended I have a biopsy to confirm it or rule it out. The biopsies the surgeon performed confirmed that I did have IBC. Well, I’d told them that in early July and it’s now six weeks later. After consultation with an oncologist, I actually started my chemotherapy treatments in early September. I dreaded starting chemo, but also knew I had to do it. I feel I was very lucky in that I hardly had any side effects from the chemo, other than losing my nice thick hair. I would have my treatments mid-morning, then my hubby and I would go out and eat lunch before heading home. The chemo was finished in March (that was a very long six months), and I was set for surgery on April 18, shortly after my 66th birthday. I had several tests and procedures done prior to my surgery being started about six hours later than I had expected. The mastectomy was performed and I was put into a room for my overnight stay. Since I was starving, not having anything to eat in over 20 hours, I was given a sandwich because suppertime was over. I remember seeing a nurse the next morning before I checked out and went home with very little instruction on what to do. Luckily, my sister had flown in from TX to help out and had experience taking care of post-surgical patients with drains. I was so thankful for the 4 days she was with me. We took her to the airport and picked up another sister who flew in from MO to help me for a few days. I am so thankful for all the help from my hubby, my sisters and my cousins, and for all the information that I got from my online support groups. The unknown is always scary. They all relieved much of my anxiety. After my drain was removed a week following surgery, I started on one tiny little white pill daily...good old Arimidex, which is supposed to keep my cancer from recurring. It’s something I’ll take for at least the next five years. Maybe I had it easy with the chemo and even the surgery, but this one little pill really knocks me for a loop at times. I never know which of these side effects will hit me, but they all manage to at one time or another: nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, sleeplessness, weight gain, stiff joints, incontinence, and others that I can’t even think of right now. If that little pill does its job, it’s well worth all the side effects that come with it. In June 2008 I started 6-1/2 weeks of radiation therapy. The people at that facility were so nice that you could almost look forward to going there for treatment. I got some extra burn up around my collarbone and had to put off further radiation in that area until the end of my treatment. When I was presented with my “certificate of completion”, I let out a big sigh. My oncologist said he’d see me in a year (that’s already next month now). My surgeon actually ordered an MRI on my chest area and it came out as clear. I was now NED (no evidence of disease; or, as I like to say, “no expiration date”). That’s what we’d worked toward since August 2007 when I had my first chemo treatment. The thing that amazed me the most throughout the past 18 months is the lack of knowledge about IBC (Inflammatory Breast Cancer) in the general public and in the medical profession. Every time I go for any appointment, I talk to whoever I see about IBC. If a telemarketer calls me, I will only listen to their spiel if they’ll listen to me talk about IBC. I almost cried when a worker at the American Cancer Society told me she had never heard of IBC. I pass out brochures about IBC everywhere I go. I don’t want to see another woman get misdiagnosed, have her diagnosis delayed, or be diagnosed as Stage IV because her doctor isn’t aware of the signs and symptoms of Inflammatory Breast Cancer. As it is, IBC is at least Stage III when diagnosed. Regular breast cancer can be as low as Stage 0. My mission in life now is to educate anyone I can about the signs and symptoms of Inflammatory Breast Cancer. I started with my primary care physician after the biopsy confirmed I had IBC. I let her know that rather than starting with surgery as in “regular” breast cancer cases (as she told me I’d be doing), I would be starting with chemo prior to surgery. IBC is aggressive and you have chemo first to reduce the tumor size prior to surgery. My doctor did not know this. At one point, I even advised my oncologist of a new revised protocol/guideline for IBC treatment that had been in place for a month or so. I knew about it because of my online support group. It’s a shame he didn’t know about it also. Of course, he did admit that he’d only treated about one IBC patient each year in his 21-year career. What I’d like to do is somehow make doctors aware of the signs and symptoms of IBC and also aware that you don’t have to have ALL of them to have IBC. Next month (August 2009) I will see my oncologist again after a year of not seeing him. I was told in August 2008 that I looked good and he’d see me in a year. I’m nervous about that, but God has watched over me this far and isn’t stopping now. Tina Turck
The days when I am not busy cleaning or writing my mind seems to snap back to the reality that my little girl, Tina, is gone. She died! At one time I couldn't seem to comprehend that word and my little girl in the same sentence. All the reading to make sure I understood what would lay ahead for her just brings it home to sit in my mind like a vulture and conjure up the idea without her. Her, she, my beautiful child who was so full of loving and caring for other people, is gone. My God, the pain in my breast is like a anvil, and I am waiting for it to lift. My eyes burn from the crying. My mind reels at the memories of what she went through; four years of chemotherapy, a mastectomy, radiation, more chemotherapy, and then she was gone. There was so much more that could have been done, but at the time, just two years ago, science was not at the point it is today. Now there are treatments that could have prolonged her life, and yes...managed her Inflammatory Breast Cancer, instead of the ultimate sacrifice of her short 40 years on this earth. I find my self staring at the pictures of young women on the internet that have poured their stories out in hopes it might help someone else understand this awful disease. These women, and some men, have come together through the Internet and met and consoled and learned from each other. These people come from the United States, France, Germany, Denmark, England, Australia and yes, New Zealand There is no trade zone barrier to abide by when we are all talking about one thing. Inflammatory Breast Cancer, and they all say the same thing, "why did I not know about this form of breast cancer a long time ago". We all pretty much say the same thing. Why Were We Not Armed With Knowledge Before Now? We have a Doctor in the family that actually understands this form of cancer. He has been gentle and kind in his words to me, but honest at the same time. "When young women in their childbearing years get Inflammatory breast cancer, the prognosis is not good. Because they are active and young, their system moves the dreaded cancer cells through their bodies at an accelerated rate and their strength is taxed incredibly soon. Older people don't have such active hormones to move the disease so fast, and have a better chance the chemotherapy can stop the disease in its tracks." My 37-year-old daughter had made up her mind that IBC was not going to change her life. She continued to work, and do the things she always had done. In the beginning, when she was first diagnosed at stage 4 (because the cancer had already metastasized to her liver) "Mom, these drugs are either going to kill this thing, or I am going to die. That is the reality of it all." With her chin in the air, a smile on her face and a determination I had never seen, my baby girl conjured up all the will, anger and stubbornness to keep going forward with the knowledge that the drugs would kill these obscene little marauders and she could come out of the turmoil cancer free. One day I put my arms around her and stroked her very thick short hair. I remember thinking, soon it would be gone, that hair she had always hated. That hair that always had a mind of it's own. "I bought a blonde wig Mom", she said. "I'm ready to be bald, that doesn't bother me." Loosing her hair didn't bother me either, but loosing her life was uncontainable. The song Wind beneath my wings replays in my brain until I can't shut it out. Tina is the wind beneath my wings, because through her ordeal she is held everyone up. I just want to hold her tight and cry and rock her as I did when she was a baby. But I know I can't. I can't break down, but it is so hard to hold the tears back sometimes. But her strength has given me the impetus to move forward, in her memory, and make sure that I reach out across the big blue ball we call earth, and make sure that ALL women know there is more than one kind of breast cancer, and this one rarely shows up on a mammogram. My hope in writing, is that through the knowledge that even one person reading this might one day shed light into the black hole of misdiagnosis and misinformation about Inflammatory Breast Cancer we can be armed for the conflict instead of being confused. My Tina died because she didn't know. And that is not acceptable! She didn't know she could have a breast cancer without a lump. She didn't know that a rash or incessant itching could be something other than a bug bite. She didn't know it could come out of nowhere overnight and be in the late stage category of breast cancer, until it was too late. I didn't either back in 2003, but I do now, which is why I try to every one I can that there is another type of breast cancer that we are not told about. But I do now, and hope by spreading the word other women (and yes men) will benefit from this knowledge. And knowledge is power. For more information you can go to www.eraseibc.com. Patti Bradfield, President April Capil
SUMMARY: Of course I wouldn't have a lazy, couch-potato type breast cancer. No, mine was triple-negative, invasive ductal carcinoma, 3/3, aggressive. Just as driven, resilient, and crafty as me. To beat it, I would have to play dirty. STORY: Cancer doesn't fight fair. It tries to take away everything that makes you feel like yourself - your breasts, your energy, you hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. It will try to take away the things you love doing by sapping your strength, flexibility, and optimism. What we must remember, in the midst of our struggle for survivorship, is that nothing can be taken away from us without our consent. Post-diagnosis, you must decide: are you going to get busy living, or get busy dying? Because this fight is to the finish, and if you don't win, cancer will. The thing about cancer is, it's an easy way to die. If you want to check out, no one will blame you. They will blame the inadequacy of drugs, the insurmountable persistence of the disease, or bad luck. You can give up on life, and not even look like like you are. What is scary about cancer is how easy it is to concede when the fight hasn't even really begun yet. I was diagnosed with Triple-Negative, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma at 34, just two months shy of my 35th birthday. My cancer had developed very quickly and seemingly out of nowhere, from a lump that suddenly changed shape and spread to a lymph node in just eight months. I was lucky enough to keep my breasts, but my diagnosis, coupled with 2008's economic downturn, send me into a financial tailspin as job opportunities dried up and my home's value plummeted. I was 3000 miles from home, living on a farm in Kaua'i that I could no longer care for, facing a treatment plan that would make it virtually impossible to get a steady job. When I finally started chemo the day before Christmas Eve, I had no idea just how rough the months ahead would be. Midway through AC, I faced gallbladder removal surgery. When I was done with that drug, I started Taxol and was plunged into a 4-day depression that had me considering Sylvia-Plath-like scenarios of crawling under my house to die and leave my troubles behind. Had it not been for the intervention of a Stage 4 survivor who said, very seriously, "You have to call in the troops. You can't do this alone," I might not have made it. After three cycles of Taxol, my house still hadn't sold. I had a bout with bronchitis and moved back to California to live with my sister and finish chemo. A month later, I developed shingles on my tailbone and was tempted to ask God, "When are the locusts coming?!" I was starting to feel like my life was a litany of misery, and realized that if I didn't find a reason to keep going, I wouldn't make it, and the last six months would be for naught. Thankfully, being back in California had reminded me of who I was, of the fighter and incurable optimist I had always been. Cancer had tried to take away my identity, and I had nearly consented in the face of so many challenges. Five years is the survivorship milestone that lets us exhale. Make it to five years without a recurrence, and we can make it to ten. When I was 27, I did my first marathon and triathlon, along with two other short races. All my friends were bemoaning their approaching 30th birthdays, and it occurred to me that if I completed one event every four weeks for the next two years, I could finish "30-by-30" and actually have something to look forward to when the birthday came around. By the time it did, I had seven triathlons, three bike rides, a half-marathon, three 199-mile relays and a dozen or so trail runs under my belt. My 30th birthday rocked. Facing an uncertain future I haven't been that optimistic about, I've decided that a "40-by-40" is in order. There are 4 major fundraising events for breast cancer in the U.S.: the 2Day (Avon) and 3Day (Komen) walks, the Komen Race For The Cure, and the Making Strides Walks through ACS. In addition, there are hikes benefitting the Breast Fund, Marathons through Komen, and Relays For Life that benefit local ACS offices, who sponsor "Look Good, Feel Better" programs. In the next five years, I plan to do one of each every year, and then some, to complete 40 by my 40th birthday and raise $40,000 for the cause (more info is available at http://www.teamaprilonline.com and http://teamapril.blogspot.com). Breast cancer has also given me an opportunity to reach out to other women going through what I'm going through via YouTube. I've struggled with my self-esteem in the wake of lost hair, eyebrows, and lashes, and found myself bordering on agoraphobic - terribly dangerous during a cancer fight, since human contact and enjoying the outside world are so key to staying strong in the fight. I conquered my fear of friends seeing me vulnerable my making a series of videos of me doing my makeup from scratch on YouTube, and help other women be inspired to have the courage to "put on their game face" and get out into the world too. I was so buoyed by the process of reaching out to others through my video journals, I went to a ropes course with my sister and ziplined from a tower 60 feet up with a team of 7 guys! (my YouTube channel is http://www.YouTube.com/aprilcapil) Crucial in my recovery have been the support of other cancer survivors, who reminded me that this is not a one-time battle, but a prizefight, requiring a knockout in the first round, to prevent second and third rounds. I must enter the ring with the attitude of Muhammad Ali, believing I am greater than my cancer, and Tiger Woods, who, in an unguarded moment admitted that he never worried when players faced-off against him, but instead wondered, "Why do they even bother showing up?" I must have the hope of Michael J. Fox, the persistence of Christopher Reeve, and the sheer defiance of Lance Armstrong. Only then will I be able to show not just my cancer, but other women, that we can live stronger, and longer, than it can. Sarah Brown
I was in a lousy marriage between 1996 and 2005. I filed for divorce in 2005 and was very happy. In 2005 I was 32 years old my Gynecologist felt a lump in my right breast told me not to worry about it because some women simply have lumpy breast and that I was too young to get breast cancer. In 2006 I began noticing a honey color droplet that had dried on the nipple and I was concerned. I was working 2 jobs & didn't have insurance so I attempted to go to a place that helped people with low incomes. I was accepted and had an appointment 6 weeks from that day. 3 weeks before I canceled my appointment because I found out that I was pregnant and they paused and said, "okay". If I had known that there was ultrasounds available to detect cancer I would have done it but then they may had suggested that I not go through the pregnancy. My husband and I married after finding out about our baby. We wanted to wait a little longer but under the circumstances it just sped things up a bit. I gave birth to a healthy boy in Jan. 2007. Not long after I had problems with hemorrhoids and fissures. Fissures are very painful! Every time I went to the bathroom it felt like knives. I went to the dr. and they had me go through a colonoscopy but I explained that there was not a problem on the inside but on the outside...did it anyway. They told me that I had hemorrhoids and fissures and went to a different Dr. After about 6 weeks of breast feeding I went to get a mammogram done. I didn't have enough information and rescheduled. I went again and they told me that I needed to stop breast feeding and to come back. I celebrated my birthday and went back 4 days afterwards. After a mammogram and an ultrasound about 3 women came into the room and I knew that, that was not good. The nurse said, "The right has to go." I was shocked because no one in our family has had breast cancer which has led me to believe that cancer is cancer (I do have various types of cancer in my family). Since they were not very busy that day I went ahead with the biopsy. They told me that I was in stage 1. All I remember doing is cracking jokes. I told my husband over the phone and drove home. I decided to have both breast removed so that I didn't have to worry about it anymore. The Dr. said, "but you're so young, are you sure that you want to remove both?". I said, "yes". She also continued and said that I was in stage 2 and my husband and I did a double take...stage 2!?! When they took it out it was 7.5cm plus 26 lymph nodes had been removed (2 were positive). In the month of May I had them removed and when I awoke from surgery I felt as if I had been hit by a bus! The next day I was in pain all over but once I got home and took my pain meds I was great! We had family fly in to help us out. I was not to pick up my baby boy for weeks! I did a couple of times anyway. I didn't know about this until just recently but my husband said that besides all of our friends being wonderful there was one or two guys who said, "so are you going to take the kid and split?". My husband was disgusted that they would even say that....it's scary to think about but it does happen. What I didn't know about was the tubes that you'd have to put up with for a week or so. They basically drain liquid out from the breast into a plastic grenade type of container. The first time that they needed to be drained I had a nurse come by and do it because I had not looked at my boobs yet...I was too afraid. A day later I decided to do it myself. You had too measure how much fluid you dump out and write it down. I saw myself for the first time and I was okay. I did have expanders in to stretch my skin out to have implants later. If I had been flat it probably would have been more difficult psychologically. Since they had removed lymph nodes my underarm was numb and still is (always will be). My chemo sessions were to come up and they told me that there would be possible constipation, weakness ect... I was still crying went I used the bathroom due to my fissures and told the Dr. that I have to put chemo off until I had something done about my fissures because the constipation would be unbearable....I was having a hard enough time being a new mom, being supportive of my husband, dealing with being boobless. Once things were in order and I started chemo I started to loose my very long hair after the 2nd session. I went ahead and shaved it. It was tough. To me the most important thing about being an attractive woman was long hair and boobs...you can say that it is whats inside a person that counts but when this happens to you, you will feel a bit different. I had always told myself that I would never cry about my cancer/breast removal more than 5 minutes and I never have.To make this long story shorter: I wish that insurance covered the price for wigs. You may not use your hair like arms or legs but it is used to keep your self esteem a but higher in a terrible time. I wore my wigs for a whole year. Also...my husband has been so important to me and has helped me through this mess. I am grateful to him for eternity. He still treats me the same as he always has....like gold! Paula McCoy
June 5, 2006, is a day that will always remain in my mind as the day that my life changed forever. I was told that I had breast cancer, which was a shock as I was only 37 and felt fine. I didn’t even have a lump. Ever since I was a young girl, I said I hoped never to have breast cancer. My fear now was reality. It was not long before I was taken down the hall and directed to Hope & Cope at the Jewish General Hospital where I came across some of the most caring, understanding people. I was so blessed to have been given the best doctors, nurses and volunteers. As my Mom and I looked around, we saw not one or two, but so many people, young, middle aged and older, all facing the same news as I had just been given. The next few weeks before I was scheduled for surgery, I experienced so many difficult feelings. I couldn’t understand why this had happened to me; I was angry at God and didn’t understand what I had done to get cancer. I felt I was sinking. I knew that I needed help. I was guided to two wonderful doctors in Oncology and was started on medication. Before long, I was put back on the road of facing this monster, this life changing dread I had been given. Next came surgery, complications, chemo, and radiation, loss of weight, appetite and hair - difficult days, weeks and months. Seeing so many beside me going through all stages of cancer, at all ages, I then accepted this detour and changes to my body- physically and emotionally. I charged full steam ahead, wanting to get this over and done with. The good and bad days were cushioned by my family and friends. Some friends I had lost because they couldn’t understand or face the fact I had cancer. My surgeon, oncologist, chemo nurses, psychologist and psychiatrist were there for me all through this journey and are still my greatest help. Through Hope & Cope, I was introduced to a mentor, who herself had had breast cancer. We still are good friends today. The new Wellness Centre has been a big comfort to so many, including myself. I attend lectures, exercise classes, yoga, art and much more. This is a place where everyone has a story, a personal experience. I have gained strength being with other survivors, listening and learning about other people’s journeys. I believe that we are tested in life and given trials that we must sort out and face. We need more wonderful people like those I have met along this road. From this experience, I have become stronger, wiser, happier and more understanding. It has also brought to me a very special person, the love of my life who also experienced cancer and travelled the same road. After this journey, my message to others is never to take life for granted, to enjoy each moment and always to count your blessings. Remember that this journey begins with one small step and day by day you get one step closer to the end of your treatments. Linda Larkin
January 2008, I went for my annual mammogram and got a call from my doctor saying something looked different compared to last years. I was sent for another mammogram along with an ultrasound then had a stereotactic biopsy. The biopsy came back negative but my surgeon wasn't comfortable with the results. She thought something wasn't quite right and wanted to do a left surgical biopsy. This was March 2008. I was training for the Danskin Women's Triathlon and Dr. C said it would be OK to wait until after the race, which was on Mother's Day. I did the race on May 11th and had surgery on may 12th. May 15th I got the call from Dr. C and was told those dreaded words...You have breast cancer. It was stage 1 invasive ductal carcinoma, 6 mm (very small) and the margins weren't clear so I would need another surgery. (the hi-light of the week...I had tickets for the Police concert on May 16th...perfect timing. Sting to the rescue!). I was sent for more scans and tests. The MRI detected something on the right breast. The next surgery was June 4. My lymphnodes were checked on the left side and all clear! A few days later I was told I had DCIS in my right breast. My options were 1. bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction, no radiation and no chemo depending what was found during surgery or 2. lumpectomies with radiation treatment and possible future surgeries. I chose option 1. Like everyone else going through this, I had no idea what to expect. I didn't how I was supposed to think or feel. I knew I had to keep living. I spent time releasing stress in the gym. I don't know what I would have done if I did not have that to turn to. When I debating what to do, my sister told me that "the decision is a no brainer...get rid of them, you can always get new ones!" I thought about what she said long and hard, I knew she was right...I chose to have a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction. My surgery was scheduled for Monday, July 21, 2008. A decision I do not regret at all! My sister and 12 year old nephew came down and helped me post surgery. They were just what the doctor ordered! My nephew was my comic relief which helped with recovery. He was so sweet and so helpful. They stayed for a week. I wish they could have stayed longer!! The morning they left I had my drains removed and got the call from my oncologist letting me know I did not need chemo! I'm glad that I was able to tell them that in person instead of over the phone! I had to see my plastic surgeon every two weeks to fill the tissue expanders.The expanders were so uncomfortable and I was counting the days until they were removed. On November 5, 2008 I had my final surgery...tissue expanders removed and implants inserted. This whole journey has been a tremendous roller coaster ride. I don't like roller coasters and knew I had to bring this one to a stop. I was devestated when I got the call from my doctor. Just over a month after my final surgery I turned 40. Since then, I've had a new burst of energy. I am using this energy to help raise awareness - breast cancer does happen to younger women and are SURVIVING!! My friends, family and co-workers were extremely supportive throughout all of this. I was home from work for 4 weeks, my co-workers were wonderful. They sent me a card every week I was home. I've saved all of my cards and have kept a journal of this journey. I am forever thankful and grateful for Dr. C. She went with her gut and because of that my cancer was caught early. Gillian Brill
In 2000, I discovered a small pea-sized lump in my right breast. I went to my regular check-up with the gynecologist, and she told me not to worry, that it was fibrocysts and I should avoid red meat and take vitamin e. They performed an ultra sound on the breast at my insistence, but told me that I was too young to have a mammogram as my breasts were dense and wouldn't show anything. I was 29 yrs. old. A year later, I returned to the doctors, complaining this time of pain in that same breast. By this time the lump felt larger, it was more painful and it was mobile. I was told that those were not usual signs of cancer and not to worry, but I could come back in a month and have another ultra sound done. I was extremely concerned as the lump protruded from my breast. The doctor referred me to a breast surgeon who told me I had fibroadenoma, which is a non cancerous tumor. She told me she would remove the lump due to it's size and I would be fine. A few weeks later, I had a lumpectomy performed, and the result of that removal proved to be three malignant tumors. Breast cancer affects each woman differently. I had invasive ductal carcinoma and was estrogen receptor positive. They wanted me to have a masectomy. I decided on a tram flap ( this is where they take muscle, fat and tissue from my abdomen and create a breast). It was a long surgery, but my decision was based on the fact that I was scared to have foreign substances in my body. ( silicone or saline implants). After the surgery, an oncologist told me they had removed the breast along with 21 lymph nodes. 20 were positive for cancer. She wanted me to begin treatment immediately after recovery from the surgery. Upon my first visit, I had lumps in my neck region and they were very concerned. I started regular treatment of chemotherapy. I went for treatment every three weeks for about 4 months. I inquired as to how long I would need to be on chemo and the doctor's response was "indefinitely". That was not an option for me. I was referred to another oncologist who was working on a clinical trial. This trial's protocol consisted of high doses of chemotherapy with stem cell support. That is where they retrieve your bone marrow, give you a high amount of chemo which kills off both bad and good cells, then they give you back your own bone marrow to help save you. They told me they would first need to see how I responded to the regular treatments to become a candidate. During that time, I started to have severe pain in my spine. I was temporarily put off the regular chemo, and they performed radiation. The "cancer" had spread to my spinal region. This basically meant it was aggressive and I was also considered stage 4. Unfortunately, younger women are affected differently in that the cancer is usually more aggressive. There are fertility issues. I went into early menopause at the age of 30. I also cannot conceive children. I had decided that I wanted to fight this aggressively and opted for the clinical trial. My tumors responded well once I was put back on the chemo and so I was now a candidate. I was eventually put on three different protocols of high dose chemo, and in and out of the hospital over the course of six months, remaining as an inpatient for approximately 3 weeks at a time. Chemotherapy is toxic and my body went through a lot of different stages. I had a blood transfusion along with the bone marrow transplant. I also had poor response in my kidneys. My doctors seemed confident though, and I kept a positive outlook. I used visualization to help me heal, and I also had a lot of love and support from my family. I believe the mind is powerful, and that my positive mindset definitely attributed to my healing. After a year and a half of treatments, I was considered in remission. It has been eight years since my diagnosis, and I have had no reoccurrence. I continue to be tested regularly and I am on medication which helps to prevent bone loss( zometa) and also because I am estrogen receptor positive I was put on (femara) Aside from side effects of these medications, I am doing well and have resumed normal activities. Astrid Nicastri
Hi, my name is Astrid Nicastri and this is my story. In my twelfth year, my life was turned upside down and I found myself on a journey of learning how to right myself. In 1989/ 90, I had a severe attack. My parents called a doctor friend of ours and I was rushed immediately to the hospital. If I had not received medicine that night, I would have died. I was diagnosed with brain cancer. I had a malignant brain tumor called a medulloblastoma. When I came out of intensive care two weeks after surgery, I could not see, talk, control any of my movements, nor feel there was anything beneath me whether it be a bed or the ground. My 12-year-old mind was pretty much intact, but physically I was trapped in the body of a baby with a lot to learn. After extensive radiation treatments and a long hospital stay, my cancer was in remission. In my thirteenth year, I had attended camp Fiesta. Later on, I became a counselor at the camp. My experiences at the camp had become such a part of me. I enjoyed the ability to give back to those who had helped me so much when I was in need. As a counselor, the reciprocal reward in a smile meant everything to me. Despite the challenges and disabilities I faced physically, and some learning disabilities, I made it to college with the rest of my class. At Hollins University in Virginia, I received a bachelor degree in Expressive Art Therapy, including nutrition and creative writing. After graduation, I moved back to Miami. In 2003, I left for Tampa to attend University of South Florida and work on getting a Masters degree in special education/ varying exceptionalities. I wanted to be able to give a helping hand to those in need and felt that with my own background experience I had something to add and give to others, starting with a special understanding. In 2006, when I was a little more than halfway through my Masters program, I received another attack. I had a brain tumor again, a meningioma, though fortunately benign. Though the tumor was the size of a fist, it was found just at the right time and in a very operable spot. Surgery and rehabilitation followed. I developed meningitis and was treated for that. I have to tell you that by now I decided that I had a very uniquely decorated head from my various brain operations. Okay, I had a couple of flights of stairs to climb back up. My best outlook is forward, one step at a time. In 2007, I got a job working as a paraprofessional. The job did not last long. Near the end of 2007, I was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, stage 3b – 4. The doctors said that I was on a precarious cliff of the cancer spreading past my right auxiliary lymph nodes and the rest of my body. In my current state, I was inoperable. I was given eight sessions of chemotherapy to shrink the tumor. I had a mastectomy of the right breast and removal of five of my lymph nodes. Afterward I received eight treatments of radiation to the affected areas, finishing in August 2008. I am in remission from cancer. And hear my words, I am going to stay that way! I believe we all have obstacles in our life to overcome whether they are visible or not. I have come out of these challenges strong, positive, and empowered. I am also a strong believer in the wonder, magic, and beauty of rainbows. I see myself as a rainbow warrior, and I am going to fight every step of the way to keep my happiness and freedom from cancer! Wendy McCoole
I NEVER REALIZED THAT SHARING MY BREAST CANCER EXPERIENCE ON A WEBSITE CALLED “BALD WENDY” WOULD ULTIMATELY CHANGE THE COURSE OF MY LIFE — AND MY CAREER. My name is Wendy McCoole and I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 42 – Stage 1 Ductal Carcinoma with no lymph node involvement. Because my mother is a three-time survivor (she was initially diagnosed at the same age I was only 25 years earlier) my doctors were a little more aggressive with my treatments. I was also HER2 Positive and Estrogen Receptor negative so the course of action … shut down my ovaries. My Mom and I talk about our experiences a lot. Things were VERY different for her. When she went to the doctor’s office, alone – because no one prepared her for what she might expect – the nurses wouldn’t make eye contact with her after the doctor broke the news that she had breast cancer. They simply sent her home with nothing but an appointment card for the next week. I can’t even imagine what was going through her mind as she sat in the parking lot shaking and sobbing. She refers to this as being a very dark time in her life because people didn’t want to talk about breast cancer back then, or at least that’s what the doctor’s suggested to her. It took her 10 years to start a support group at her local hospital. Today they have one of the strongest and most supportive breast centers in this area. Good things DO come out of challenging times! I was more far more fortunate. I had a wonderful surgeon who cancelled all his appointments to see me and my husband the afternoon that we learned of my cancer. Although I was terrified, I also had a calming sense about me that suggested I would be OK. And I was … and I am. So is Mom. And the beast even came back to visit her three more times – two more rounds of breast cancer and more recently a diagnosis of lung cancer. But we caught them all early and she’s doing great. She’s my hero. I am truly blessed in that I have a wonderful, loving family and a very large circle of friends from near and far. When I went through my treatments it was really hard keeping everyone updated as to how I was doing. I felt like I would be bothering them by sending periodic updates, and often times they didn’t know how to ask. It was very challenging for everyone involved … not just for me as the patient. So I decided to create a website called Bald Wendy and there I would add chapters and photos as I progressed through my treatments. It was so healing for me to put down in words how I was feeling physically and emotionally, and a non-intrusive way for all of them – at their leisure – to read how I was doing. What happened soon after changed my life. At first I recognized the entries in my guestbook, but suddenly there were notes from people I didn’t know. They too were going through breast cancer … and they were afraid. They thanked me for sharing my story so openly and honestly and it soon became clear to me that if my ONE story could touch that many people, imagine if we could create a community where ANYONE could write, read, share … and connect. With the incredible support of my wonderful husband (who I had just married two months prior to my diagnosis) I left my corporate career as a marketing manager and founded a non-profit organization called BreastCancerStories.org. It’s a very special website where Breast Cancer Patients and Care Givers can write about their experiences, share their progress with loved ones, and read stories and connect with other Patients and Care Givers who are going through a similar experience. What truly makes BreastCancerStories.org different from a traditional blog site is that the stories are all searchable by location, age, type of breast cancer / treatment, marital status, ethnic background and more. Imagine a single mother under the age of 30 who just had a mastectomy being able to find someone who is going through the same situation – it’s very therapeutic to read their stories and even connect with them directly through the website. Although at times frightening and certainly inconvenient, I wouldn’t trade my breast cancer experience for the world. I was able to look at things differently – so much more clearly – and I could finally let go of the small things that just didn’t matter, to forgive moments from the past that continued to bring emotional pain whenever they would resurface, and to find peace and a deep comfort from within. Life IS good! Angie Suttles
In 1998, after being treated for what I was told was just an “infection,” I was diagnosed at the age of 31 with a rare vulva cancer, which had invaded one lymph node in my pelvic area. Following radical surgery, I was given radiation to the area and told that I would not be able to have any more children. Since vulva cancer is not responsive to chemotherapy, I was not given that option. The radiation treatment forced my body into pre-menopause. Just at 5 years out from being free from the vulva cancer, I discovered a knot in my left armpit. My fear was that the knot was an indication that the vulva cancer had returned. My oncologist sent me for a mammogram but due to my age and the density of the breast, the mammogram was clear. They then did an ultrasound under the arm but did not do an ultrasound of the breast, and once again I was told I had an “infection” and was put on antibiotics. After a month, several knots appeared in the breast. I underwent a lymphectomy to remove lymph nodes and a lumpectomy to remove the tumors — one of which was five centimeters — from my left breast. Nine lymph nodes and the tumors tested positive, and I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma. I then underwent a mastectomy. At that time, I had a tumor marker of around 172. I received the normal protocol of radiation and chemotherapy. When it was discovered that the breast cancer had metastasized into my bones, the chemotherapy was stopped, and my new oncologist decided to begin a bone strengthener and an anti-hormone treatment. Twice I was treated for “infection,” but instead I had advanced cancer both times. I can say today that after a diagnosis of advanced vulva cancer and stage four breast cancer, and being told I could only hope for partial or complete remission, I am free from cancer — not in remission. Today my bones are scarred but free from disease, and my medical report states that I have new bone growth. The tumor marker that was 172 is now around 15. I was told that normal (someone who had never had cancer) would be at 30. My final pathology report states, “healing and response to therapy." God is faithful. December 5th of 2008, another chapter began and I had to return to treatment BUT I ask you not to judge the book by the chapter I am in...I know in whom I have believed and once again He will give me beauty for ashes. I am married, mother of one, and a soon to be a three - time survivor of two stage 4 cancers. I am a cancer advocate and delegate with the Lance Armstrong Foundation and the local Livestrong Army Leader(Livestrong Army Upstate SC) which is a grassroots organization of The Lance Armstrong Foundation. I served as Entertainment Chair for the 2004 Relay for Life, a committee member for the South Carolina Cancer Alliance's First Survivorship Conference 2008 and a current member, former volunteer with the Anderson Cancer Association. I also served as a Track Leader for The Lance Armstrong Foundation at the 2008 Livestrong Summit. Now, I am currently working to establish a breast cancer survivor dragon boat program in the Upstate, which is an active support group and has been proven to reduce the risk of reoccurrence and lower the risk of Lymphodema. Melanie Singh
Today is May 1st, 2009. It is one year to the day that I got that phone call. Survivor Sisters, you know the one I'm talking about... I was 35 years old, and I'd never given breast cancer a second thought. That was something that happened to other women - not me. Nobody in my family had ever had breast cancer, so I never worried about it. One night in March of last year, I was lying in bed unable to sleep. I'd never been good at remembering to do my monthly self breast exams. For some reason on that night - I did one. And there it was - the lump. I hate that word. And it was big. I thought - nah, it's got to be nothing. Of course, it was a Saturday, and I'd have to wait until Monday before I could do anything about it. I credit my family doctor and his spunky nurse Judy (a breast cancer Survivor as well) with saving my life. I called the office first thing on Monday morning and left a message for Judy, "I found a lump in my breast." Five minutes hadn't gone by before she was calling my cell phone and commanding me to the doctor's office. They got me in for a mammogram that very day and an ultrasound the next day. Of course, there it was - a 2 cm egg-shaped lump with a "limited" blood supply. I brought my scans to my surgeon (another person I credit with saving my life) and had a consult. I still wasn't scared. Like I said ... not me. The surgeon recommended a lumpectomy, and I whole-heartedly agreed. Whatever this thing was, I wanted it out of me. The one mistake I made was that I waited nearly four weeks to have the lumpectomy. I felt (stupid me) that it was more important for me to go to my cousin's out-of-state wedding first. So in late April, I had the lumpectomy. It was no big deal. I was home in a matter of hours, and it wasn't very painful. Still - I wasn't nervous at all. Isn't naiveté a wonderful thing? Anyway - on May 1st, the phone rang, and it was my surgeon. I didn't realize at the time that the fact that he was calling me himself was not a good thing. I said, "Hi Doc! How are you?" And I heard those words ... "I'm so sorry, Melanie. You have breast cancer." Ever have an out-of-body experience? I think I did at that moment. Then, I snapped back into reality when the sensation of being slapped by a wet fish came over me. He proceeded to tell me that it was DCIS. I was thanking the Green Earth that I'd done my research and I knew what DCIS was. He told me that he'd have to do a wide re-excision, and then I'd have a course of radiation therapy and I should be just fine. Ok - another snip, a few zaps, and back to normal, right? I hung up the phone. Then I freaked. The hardest thing was telling my husband and telling my parents. Nobody ever tells you how to do that. "...um, can you pass the salt? I have breast cancer." Naturally, I delivered the news with very little grace. My nerves were frayed and I still felt like I was in a bad nightmare from which I could not awaken. Less than two weeks later, I had another surgery. This one was much more painful. Now I was REALLY on pins and needles waiting for the lab results. I was a total wreck. It took 8 days to get those results. I knew it before I got the call. Something in my gut told me that it wasn't over; that I was going to lose my breast. One night I had a dream about my deceased Grandma. Grandma said, “Darlin … you’re going to lose your breast … but you’ll be ok, and I’ll be there with you.” The very next morning the surgeon called and told me that he hadn't gotten clear margins and that I would have to have a mastectomy. I couldn't believe it. After all I've been through in my life (diagnosed with Crohn's disease at age 28, severe endometriosis resulting in a complete hysterectomy at age 33) ... I mean, c'mon! Hadn’t I already paid my dues?? Delivering this news to my husband and my parents was even worse. I was beyond terrified. I was afraid of everything about the whole thing. I was afraid of what I would look like, how I would feel, the post-op drain, whether or not I'd live or die. I went from a cocky, self-assured career woman to a frightened mouse overnight. Somehow I had to squelch all that fear and be strong for my loved ones. And I had to wait six weeks before mastectomy day. I work as a Senior Human Resources Manager for a manufacturing company. Of course, being the career woman that I am, I continued to work throughout my ordeal. I only took a few days off after each surgery and then promptly got back to work. Work was like therapy. I work in a wonderful environment, and the people and the place were helping to keep me sane. During this whole time, a wonderful conspiracy was happening at work. One of my employees decided that she was going to do something to make my life as happy as she could. Deborah conspired with a few other employees and she built a garden for me right outside of my office window. She called it Melanie's Secret Garden. She wanted to create a place that I could look out upon and instantly feel happy and relaxed. Her little project turned into a big production, and it ended up involving about 90% of the employees at my facility. I think I can count the number of times in my life that I was totally speechless. This was definitely one of them. Another one of my coworkers rallied troops in his own way ... he managed to gather 20 employees to donate their PTO to me so that I'd have enough PTO in my bank to cover my impending absence. Three thousand miles away in Portland Oregon, my boss and the HR Corporate group put together "TEAM MELANIE" in Portland's Race for the Cure. Like I said ... the support that I received was nothing short of incredible! As mastectomy day loomed closer, I was feeling more and more empowered. My support system had grown, and my supporters were emanating such strength that it was boosting my courage. To make a long story short, the mastectomy successfully removed all remaining traces of cancer from my breast and I was able to have immediate reconstruction. At home, my husband was like a rock - constantly telling me how great I was doing and how wonderful I looked. And my parents were there with me every step of the way. I had two additional surgeries in the Fall & Winter of 2008 to complete the reconstruction process. For any woman out there who is facing mastectomy - I want you to know that it is not as horrible as you think. Don't get me wrong ... it's not a cakewalk, but it is not nearly as terrible as I feared it would be. And by the way ... that pesky drain is no big deal. I was afraid of that more than anything. I didn't feel it at all. So now, it has been one year since that awful day. I am in a much better place now than I was then. I am still on Tamoxifen (and hating it), but I've made some big life changes. I completely re-designed the way I nourish my body, and I've lost 26 pounds and six pants sizes. I meditate every night and I only eat organic meats & dairy products. I still have my kooky sense of humor (even cancer can't kill that!!). I think of it this way ... when I'm an old fart in the old age home, everything else may be sagging, but I'll still have the rack of a 20-year-old! Bill James
I had just come out of the shower when my ever inquisitive wife asked about the “bump” on my chest. I told her “oh that thing”, I believed it was the results of a wrestling session I had with our 15 year old son. We were always playing around when he was younger but now he was maturing and gaining too much strength and wearing me out. My wife suggested that I get it looked at by my primary doctor. I said not to worry it will probably go away in time. A few weeks later the lump was slightly bigger and my right nipple had inverted. I paid a visit to Dr. Jennings and he referred me to Dr. Torres- Solich for a biopsy. The results of the biopsy showed some “irregular cells” and he scheduled a lumpectomy to confirm that there was cancer present. This was devastating to me. To think, that an ex-athlete/football player full of testosterone could possibly have a woman’s disease. Parish the thought it must be a mistake. Well, the lumpectomy was scheduled in October 2003. The results were not encouraging. It seems the lump was cancerous and the cancer may have spread outside the exterior wall of the lump. And during the prep work prior to the operation a concern was expressed regarding my EKG and I would be required to visit a cardiologist before anything else could be done. The cardiologist ran me through a series of tests on and off the treadmill. At the end he said that they could not determine if there was a problem and that the only way to know for sure was an angiogram. Thus, I was sent to another office for this final procedure. It turns out that the process involves inserting a tiny camera in my aorta located in my groin area. Everything starts with a localized anesthetic prior to the insertion of the camera and connecting wire. I guess the localization was out of my zip-code because the next thing I know I am screaming in agony and almost of the table. After only a few minutes the Doctor leaned over me to say he could find nothing wrong. November 11, 2003 was my “mastectomy day”. A date that also happens to be Veteran’s Day and the same date I returned from overseas in the military in 1964. Dr Torres-Solich had thoroughly explained the procedure to me outlining that my nipple would go away and I would become a one nipple man from here on out. I toyed with the idea of a tattoo but thought that too vain. The good doctor suggested an implant and reconstruction surgery but that did not appeal because it was like taking a 1954 Ford and trying to making it look like a 2009 Bentley. The good Dr removed the affected area along with 23 lymph nodes. Only one was cancerous and it was very small. The surgery was successful but I knew it would be because Dr Torres-Solich is of Puerto Rican descent. Who could be more skilled with a scalpel than a young man that has played with knives his entire life? His skill saved my life. Following surgery and the embarrassment of telling family and friends that I had a “woman’s” disease it was time to meet my assigned oncologist Dr. Sara Garido. Dr Sara is a petit lady with a thoroughness that NASA could use. After checking me out and putting me on the obligatory 5 year Tamoxifen plan. I was put through test after test. I then realized how fortunate I was to be assigned to such a perfectionist from Columbia. Who is more capable or knowledgeable about dispensing the right drugs than a Columbian. Five and ½ years later I am doing fine except for a touch of prostate cancer that was cured by Dr. Maria Rodriquez from Brazil, haven’t figured that connection out yet. The 3 months of chemo for breast cancer and 43 weeks of radiation for prostate cancer have rewarded me with a recent diagnosis of leukemia. Just another little bump in the road. Actually, I feel very good and would continue that trend if the Drs would stop giving me cancer diagnosis. Paula Holland Delong
My name is Paula Holland De Long and I was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 37, twelve years ago this past January. One day I was living my life. Then, somehow, three weeks later I was sitting in a hospital minus my left breast, wondering what the hell had hit me, afraid I was going to die. The shock and disbelief of what was happening had barely sunk in before I was living it, afraid and not knowing what was next for my life. I remember the pain and fear of not knowing what was going to happen. The tedious numbness while putting one in front of the other during chemo, over and over again. Keeping my “I’m fine” face on and my wig straight in 90 degree heat and 90% humidity. Feeling guilty about not being superwoman during a time when I often could barely get out of bed. My focus was on reaching that magic time when somehow this cancer stuff would end and my life could go back to normal. Two years later, with nine surgeries and 4 rounds of chemo behind me, my treatment did end. Everyone was so happy for me! So thrilled that I was “done” with “cancer.” Well, guess what? I was bald, weighed 95 pounds, and half of my chest was missing. I had scars all over my body and facing the thought that I could die soon had changed me so much that I didn’t know what normal was anymore. My logic was fuzzy but my intuition was screaming at me. I knew in my heart that things that really mattered to me before, like a nice car, well paying job and prestigious title didn’t matter anymore. The truth was, I wasn’t thrilled to have my old life back. Something was wrong and I had no idea what to do about it. I decided to take a low paying, mid-level job instead of going back to my executive position. I started gardening and walking the dog. Pretty soon my husband was looking at me and asking me “Who are you and what have you done with Paula?” And he didn’t mean that in a necessarily positive way. I kept wondering “What’s next for my life?” and feeling “There’s got to be more.” After cancer, the stuff I had and the things I achieved didn’t really make me feel like I mattered. It really hit home that bigger houses, impressive titles, or physical perfection — to name a few — don’t take care of you when you’re sick, love you when you’re wrong, or provide inner peace or appreciation for what you do or who you are. I have to tell you, the Paula who was diagnosed is not the same Paula who is writing this story. This Paula has been inspired by cancer to create a new life of passion and joy, of giving back, and helping others. This Paula isn’t willing to wait for happiness. This Paula knows that she is meant to have it now. Since that day in 1997 I know that I don’t know what the world has in store for me. I do know that I’m not going to wait to do the things that thrill me, bring me joy, and feed my heart and spirit. I’m not alone in this choice. Of the 11 million cancer survivors worldwide, and a large majority of them have made that same choice. I realize that we have been taught from an early age to follow the thoughts in our heads rather than the desires in our heart. We have been relentlessly trained to operate inside the box of what we know we can achieve, rather than risking the uncharted territory of what we truly want. Intuition and resonance are ignored for the safety of conforming to society’s definition of success and happiness. Like millions of other survivors, cancer stripped me of my willingness to conform and replaced it with an unquenchable desire for aliveness, passion, and purpose in my life. Now, I’m a professional life coach. I’ve been working with cancer patients and survivors for the last 10 years, either professionally as a volunteer. It took three years to get my life back after my cancer treatment ended. That’s too long. This realization inspired me to use my experience and knowledge to help other survivors move beyond their experience to a meaningful life based on personal values and passion and found my company, What’s Next For My Life, Inc. We’re becoming known as an experts in the oncology community because our workshops transform the emotional challenges that come with cancer into hope and empowerment, in as little as one or two days. We hope to bring these workshops into cancer treatment centers around the country. Before my diagnosis, I thought I was successful but I was dying inside. Cancer was a wake up call for me. Dealing with cancer and all of the changes it forced on me made me stronger and more courageous. It wasn’t easy. It was worth it. Mel Majoros
THE ULTIMATE FACE OFF I have always had a wicked sense of humor. I get that from my dad. On Sept 18, 2007, when I was told, "It's cancer," I didn't know how my sense of humor and my favorite game, hockey, would get me through perhaps the greatest challenge of my life. Immediately I saw the irony in my breast cancer. I had just participated in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life a couple of months before and now I was a cancer survivor. My primary care physician broke the news and, since I had basically just met her, it was dubious at best. I remember she told me and then her voice sounded like the adults in the Peanuts cartoon. After that she made an appointment for me to see a surgeon, Dr. Brown. I immediately pictured Doc Brown from Back to the Future. If he starts talking flux capacitors and screams 1.21 jigawatts I am so out of there, I thought. Fortunately he is nothing like that. We discussed my options and decided I would get a lumpectomy. "You could get a mastectomy so you can be sure the cancer doesn't go into the other breast" he said. Well I am all for preventative medicine but let's not get carried away. To quote one of my favorite TV shows, Seinfeld: "They are real and they are spectacular." I decided to keep both of them. Dr. Brown did two surgeries, one to remove the lump and one for the port. He told me the surgery would only take about a half hour. I got to the hospital around 10 a.m. Surgery was scheduled for around noon. I couldn't have anything to eat or to drink after midnight. I was waiting in a private room, watching the video about my port. The time ticked by and soon it was 2 o'clock and I was still waiting. I happened to spy the doc walking by my room and yelled out, "So what did you do, forget about me?" He had some kind of cardiac emergency to take care of and told me I was next in line. He said "You must be pretty hungry, huh?" I was and said, "Yeah you owe me a pizza." He said OK. As I was being wheeled into the OR the surgical nurse said, "OK now the doctor will be right in. He is just ordering your pizza." "Haha," I thought, "Funny joke to play on someone who is just about to be put under." Sure enough when I woke up from surgery a Jet's pizza was waiting for me. Having cancer is not easy, and telling people is just as difficult. Some people I could tell right away, while others would have to wait. It is exhausting enough just having the disease, let alone rewinding and replaying the story for my friends and family. So how do you tell people? "Hey!! Haven't seen you in a while, how ya doin'? I have cancer. How are the kids?" I never thought I wouldn't be OK, even after I lost weight. People who didn't know that I had cancer said, "Wow, you look great!!" "Yeah," I said. "That cancer is the best diet ever!" Even after my first chemo treatment made me so dizzy and nauseous for three hours, I still knew I was going to be OK. No wonder I don't drink. Chemo gave me the worst hangover I ever had. Even after I had my stylist shave my head because the chemo was making my hair fall out I had to laugh. My mom wanted a current picture of me and, as it turned out, I got my head shaved on her birthday. Happy Birthday Mom!! My hair is growing back, and she is still waiting for that picture. I really didn't have the side-effects that many people do, with the exception of the first chemo hangover bedspins. I am convinced that working out to get ready to hit the ice really helped me battle this disease. All this was going on around the beginning of hockey season, something I look forward to. I am the captain of the Petoskey women's hockey team and I always work out my hardest to get ready for that, and, because of my job at WMKT, I was able to go to the Red Wings Training Camp. I was diagnosed on the last day of training camp. The Wings save their best game for the last day. Unfortunately I did not make it to that game. Since I am a huge hockey fan, it really meant something special to me when the Red Wings won the Stanley Cup. The Wings will hoist the Stanley Cup banner on Oct. 9. One year to the day of my lumpectomy surgery. I use hockey as an analogy to fighting cancer. If you are on the ice and someone knocks you down, you don't stay down. You get up and keep skating. That is what I will do. I will keep skating. Red Wings Training camp photo copyright 2007 by Melinda Majoros taken during the 2007 training camp, that's right, a few days before my diagnosis. Stacy Martello
Stacy's Story- DCIS with MastectomyIt has always been easy for me to fall asleep in my bed, snug, in the late evening. Unraveling the events of the day, and wondering about their obscure meanings. I often do this in bed at night, going through my day, eyes closed, always looking for a meaning, something or someone that made an impact in some way. As I flip through the pages of my day in my mind, memories seep from my veins. You see, I believe that each day becomes a part of you. Imprints on you, inspires you. I feel sometimes a willingness to follow my inspiration, to pay attention to uncanny coincidences and synchronistic events, which help me, attune to a higher order and magnetize good fortune. This particular evening as I was flipping the pages in my mind, I thought nothing of what dreams may come while I sleep. I don’t remember that particular night, just my ritual. What I do remember is waking up, startled, and scared in the middle of the night, in the middle of the darkness. I sat up in bed, knees drawn to my chest. I took a deep breath, let it out, and knew I had Breast Cancer. Do you know the TV show Medium, which stars Patricia Arquette? She plays Allison Dubois, a psychic medium who while she is sleeping is able to tap into some “realm.” She is able to see visions, know things about people that others don’t know. Well, I’m nothing like that. Not even close. Phew, you are probably thinking, ok so she isn’t crazy. What happened to me while I slept was just my ability to attune to a higher order, if even for one night. I placed my head on my pillow, eyes closed. Breathing slowly and deliberately, slowing my mind down to drift off to sleep. In the corridors of my mind, while I slept, pictures began to take shape. I found myself walking alone. I was barefoot, and I realized this the second I looked down. I could feel the dirt road beneath my feet. Along each side of me was grass, and in the distance beyond the grass were trees as far as I could see. I have no idea where I was, I had never seen this place before. The temperature was perfect, not to warm, not to cool, just perfect. I never looked behind me. I only noticed the trees, the smell of the grass, and the soft dirt under my bare feet. It was very still, very quiet, so quiet that I couldn’t hear my feet touch the ground as I walked. A simple silence as I walked, tilting my head to the sun feeling the warmth and glow, I was approached by a man who seem to appear out of nowhere. He stood a little to the left of me, not blocking my next steps, and reached out and touched me. He put his right hand on my left leg, and immediately images were in my mind. Images of my leg, inside like a 3D model. He spoke to me and said, “Your leg is fine.” I had been worried about my leg; it had been aching for a while with no avail. He then reached his hand up and cupped my left breast gently and said, “You have breast cancer, go to the doctor.” Simple. One moment I was enjoying a beautiful walk, barefoot with such amazing clarity in my mind, and then he appeared. I awoke, startled, shaken and knew at that very instant my life had changed forever. Many of us spend all our time waiting for second chances. What if’s? I was lucky enough to get a second chance on life, and this was my second, second chance. I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer a couple of months, and many medical tests later. It was an early diagnosis, but alas just as devastating. I never felt it was a death sentence, but a life sentence. Memories that will forever be with me, be a part of me. What do you do with your memories? When they come bubbling up to the surface. Do you let the just float by? Do you analyze them, go into them, or just walk away? I have my memories and many times my memories carry me to another level of understanding, another level of awakening. I am inherently inspired conscious and open to experimenting with new forms of imagination and understanding. Through my openness, optimism, enthusiasm for adventure or new ideas, and my willingness to go out on a limb and do something unusual or risky, blessings flow into my life. My blessing: Cancer. How odd that may seem, and how inappropriate, but to me it was a blessing. Eckhart Tolle is also one of my blessings. He writes: “Die to the past every moment. You don’t need it. Only refer to it when it is absolutely relevant to the present. Feel the power of this moment and the fullness of Being. Feel your presence.” Since my diagnosis of Breast Cancer in April of 2008, I have worked tirelessly to raise awareness for the cause. While recuperating from my Mastectomy my daughter and I came up with the idea of FightPInk.org. A non-profit organization dedicated to the breast cancer cause. We unite with Authors, Physicians, breast cancer survivors, co-survivors, children of survivors, official non-profit community organizations and groups or individuals to support us in our global breast cancer awareness campaign. We connect Breast Cancer survivors, with newly diagnosed breast cancer patients to provide encouragement and support. Fight Pink shares Survivorship stories through our web site, while raising awareness for Breast Cancer through community events and projects by partnering with local and national organizations dedicated to the cause and searching for the cure to Breast Cancer. We advocate for the patients needs as well as update our Fight Pink site daily to keep up with the latest news, legislation and Survivorship stories. Our motto is to “Unite, Become Aware, and Make a Difference!” Share your story, make a difference. If you are a Survivor, or a Co-survivor, help others by sharing your story. For more information please email stacy@fightpink.org. Stacy Martello Pink Warrior
The Story Behind |
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