Florence Nightingale
We all have some type of “guardian angel” that watches over us. Mine happens to be Tweety Bird. Many years ago, I was told I looked like Tweety because of my spiky, blonde haircut and big blue eyes. Over the years, Tweety became a “mascot” of sorts, but when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in October 1996, Tweety quickly assumed a more important role in my life.
Because there was a history of breast cancer on my mom’s side, I can’t say I was totally surprised to get my news. I was three months shy of my “BIG 50.”
There is no “right” way to receive this news, but my OB/ GYN for thirty-plus years should probably be the poster boy for how NOT to tell a woman she has breast cancer. He called me at my office (after trying me at home, and scaring my husband and mother half to death). A man of few words, he said, “I have the results of your biopsy, and it’s malignant, so you need to do something quickly.”
Well, what I quickly did was hang up the phone, walk into a staff member’s office, state “I have breast cancer” (which really made it REAL), and burst into tears. I added, “I can’t do this!”
She immediately replied, “Yes, you can, and you will.” Two of my staff members drove me home, where my husband and mom were anxiously waiting.
Those weren’t the last tears I shed, but it was the last time I said “I can’t” through the entire ordeal.
Once I got over the initial shock of actually having breast cancer, I went into immediate action by creating a notebook entitled “Tweety’s Battle with (and VICTORY OVER) Bweast Cancer.” I divided it into four sections: (1) Lumpectomy or Mastectomy? (2) Reconstruction Options; (3) Treatment Options; and (4) General Information. Using information that I obtained from the Internet, various books and the Y-ME Breast Cancer Support Group, I created a list of “interview questions” for each specialist I was going to be seeing. This research helped educate me, and there is no doubt in my mind that knowledge truly is power! As the vice president of human resources for my company, I’ve had extensive experience in developing training manuals and conducting managerial training on how to conduct interviews. Little did I know I would be applying this knowledge personally. My doctors were impressed—and often amused—during my “interviews.” By injecting humor at every possible opportunity, I approached breast cancer head-on with a strength and determination that even amazed me!
As a result of my Q&A sessions, I came away from each appointment with more knowledge, which allowed me to make the decisions that were right for me. I opted for a mastectomy, with five years on tamoxifen and tissue-expansion reconstruction—a lengthy process that resulted in a new nickname at my office: “Dolly Darke” (after the large-busted celebrity Dolly Parton). My doctors still laugh when they remember how I was trying to talk them into liposuction and a face lift as I was being wheeled into the operating room, wearing a Tweety pin on my surgical gown.
After my surgery, I became a certified volunteer with Y-ME, manning the twenty-four-hour Hopeline and serving as a “match” for newly diagnosed women. I also wrote a letter to the Washington Post, which was published, and to my Virginia congressmen, protesting “drive-through mastectomies.”
I vividly remember one woman for whom I was a match. She was from another country and had no family and very few friends in the United States. She was scheduled for a double mastectomy, and her HMO was planning to send her home alone the day of her surgery. Appalled, I contacted the hospital and her insurance carrier and made arrangements for her to remain in the hospital for two nights. They even had a health-care representative go to her home and check on her after she was released.
We had talked by phone many times, but had never met. The day after her surgery, I burst into her hospital room to visit her and brought butterfly balloons—in Y-ME the butterfly signifies “new beginnings”—and a card. She was so tiny and looked so alone and forlorn in this huge bed. When I introduced myself, her eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands like an excited child!
As I mentioned earlier, I have a very short, spiky haircut, and her first comment to me was, “Is your hair just growing back?”
I responded with a laugh, “No, my hair always looks like this!”
She was very apprehensive about her scheduled reconstruction, not understanding the process, so I just opened my suit jacket and showed her my finished results. She was reassured and relieved. After my visit, I truly felt as though I had made a difference in her recovery process.
Today, more than seven cancer-free years later, I recently re-experienced the many emotions (shock, fear, anger, acceptance, determination) when my older sister was diagnosed with breast cancer at sixty-one. I dusted off my Tweety Bird notebook and headed to Richmond, Virginia, to ensure that my “guardian angel” was available if needed.
The amazing experiences that I’ve had and the incredible survivors who I have been so blessed to know since my initial diagnosis have had a tremendously positive impact on my life.
All serve to reinforce the motto of Y-ME: “No woman should ever have to go through breast cancer alone.”
Susan Darke
“We’re all in this together.”
Reprinted with permission of Jonny Hawkins ©2005.
Blessed by Friends
Love cures people, both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it.
Dr. Karl Menninger
“Cancer”—it is such an ugly word that people tend to shy away from it. That was my belief until the past few months.
I am a single mother with breast cancer that has metastasized to my liver. For anyone who is not familiar with the disease, let me tell you that the co-pays, prescriptions and treatments are astronomically expensive. I have been going through treatments for some time now and found myself not knowing how I could continue to make ends meet. I am a very proud person and refused to let anyone know my situation or ask for help.
What I didn’t know was that the whole time I was struggling over how, what and when to pay, everyone at work was aware of my situation. I’ve been employed at the same office for almost sixteen years. It turns out they were having bake sales, raffles, hot-dog sales, collections, you name it . . . and all the proceeds were given to me!
I was also given a large donation from someone who does not even work with me, who prefers to remain anonymous.
Now with the blessings of all my friends and those I don’t even know, I no longer am struggling. I have been able to buy some Christmas presents for my children and grandchildren. I even have money set aside for my next rounds of chemo and prescriptions.
I truly believe that God is watching out for me. He is doing that through the blessings of friends.
Judy Hague
The Glow Girls
Where there is laughter, there is always more health than sickness.
Phyllis Bottome
The lives of four women were changed forever the fall of 1999. These women did not meet on the golf course, the country club or bowling league. They met at the Blood and Cancer Center in Canfield, Ohio, and the bond that brought them to that building on Tuesday mornings was cancer. These four women were young wives with children, going to work every day and enjoying life to the fullest.
Tuesday mornings brought them together because all were receiving chemotherapy. It had started with a friendly smile and a hello. Lynn and Karen were the first two to introduce themselves to each other. It just so happened they sat next to each other that first day as chemo was dripping through their veins. They knew they were going to be there for a while, so they befriended each other and started a conversation. Soon they became chemo friends, discovered they were on the same treatment schedule and knew they would be seeing much of each other. A month later, Sandy arrived in the chemo room and decided to take the chair next to Lynn and Karen. Soon after that, Cindy came into the picture, and now they are the Fearless Foursome.
The circle of four was there once a month on Tuesday, and the nurses reserved their four chairs for them. They would sit and com
pare their bald heads; someone from the group would bring snacks to be shared; someone was always telling a funny story. There was always laughter coming from the chemo room when these ladies were together. You never knew what the Fearless Four were going to do next; when these women were together, it was one crazy party! One time there was so much laughter, the doctor walked into the room to see what all the noise was about.
Having fun and laughing is contagious—often other chemo patients joined in the fun. The Fearless Foursome did very well throughout treatment, and it must have been the laughter. When one of them finished her cancer treatments, she would have a graduation party—the graduation party of life. There would be pizza, pop and cake for everyone. Gifts, balloons and flowers would adorn the chemo room. Party hats were worn on bald heads. Once someone brought in a bottle of wine, and the girls had a tiny sip out of a bathroom Dixie cup.
The funny four are no longer meeting at chemo; they have taken their laughter and now meet at a restaurant for lunch. They have decided it’s important for them to stay in touch; after all, they’ve spent their last six months together, running the race of life.
Many months have passed, and the four decided it was time to do something more—to reach out to other women living with cancer. They realize how important it is to love and encourage others, and they formed a support group called The Glow Girls. They always said, “If we’re in a room together with the lights out, we would surely glow!”
Actually, Glow Girls stands for Gracious, Loving, Optimistic Women living with cancer. They are not counselors; they are friends. Women need to know there is life after cancer. These ladies do not offer medical advice; what they do offer is love, encouragement and friendship. They’ll tell you what it’s like to lose your hair, and they’ll also tell you about their beautiful new hair. They will answer questions a newly diagnosed patient might have. These women tell all cancer survivors to be strong, stay positive and make sure you laugh along the way.
Today there are more than thirty Glow Girls. Was it by chance that these four ladies met? No way! God had a plan. None of these women would wish cancer on anyone, but through their cancer experience they have become different people. If it hadn’t been for cancer, this friendship would never have occurred.
The circle of four is now a large circle, still laughing and having great fun. Cancer has been part of their lives, but they took a negative event and turned it into a positive experience. You’ll know when the Glow Girls are together—just follow their laughter.
Karen Theis
Bring on the Lasagna!
Strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody.
Samuel Pepys
There must be some healing properties in lasagna; ask anyone who has ever been sick or in need about all the lasagna that suddenly appears in their life.
After Ian brought me home from the hospital following my mastectomy, we found the principal and a fellow teacher sitting on our front lawn. After hugs and tears of joy, the principal said, “I’ve brought dinner for your family.” We were very grateful for the homemade meat lasagna, especially since it lasted for two meals.
The next lasagna came from my classroom. I had been fortunate enough to be able to teach my third-grade class through almost six months of chemotherapy.
My room mother showed up after school with a large bag. Inside were meals for my family purchased from a popular Italian restaurant in our area: two lasagnas, one meat and one vegetarian.
I believe the third, fourth and fifth lasagnas came from church. Before the start of chemotherapy, someone from the Women’s Ministry called and told us that various church members would provide our family with meals. The food would be left inside the refrigerator in the church kitchen, and we could pick it up at our convenience. The meals could be kept in our freezer and reheated, which really helped out during those times when I was just too weak or sick to cook. We enjoyed homemade meatballs, chicken casserole . . . and lots of lasagna!
Maybe the ancient Italians put in some secret ingredient akin to whatever Grandma puts in the chicken soup. The “healing properties” of lasagna must have worked because I have been cancer free ever since.
Lorna Maxwell
“The road of life isn’t ALL about shopping . . .
there are a few pit stops for love and
chocolate along the way!”
Reprinted with permission of Stephanie Piro ©2005.
Family Scenes
Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
From the day my first child was born, I did everything I could to protect and comfort him. It was like a crusade. I picked him up the second he cried; I watched him sleep. I baby-proofed my home, and there are still some cabinets I can’t open. Protecting my child and keeping him safe was my mission in life.
As he got older, he would fall down and bump something or other, but I was always there with the necessary Band-aid and kiss. When we went to the doctor for a shot, I would let him squeeze my hand tight until it was over. Then he would get a sticker. That was the deal, and we never broke it.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, my first thoughts were, Who will take care of my children? Who is going to protect them? My husband and I sat them down and gave them as much information as we thought a three and five-year-old could handle. We talked about the surgery and the hospital and the medication that would make Mommy’s hair fall out. We made sure they had “sleepovers” at Grandma’s house when I had my treatments so they wouldn’t see Mommy so sick.
What I hadn’t expected and didn’t explain to the kids were the Neupogen shots. I hadn’t realized that my white blood count would be so low that I’d require it with every treatment. I would wake every morning before the kids and give myself the shot, or my husband would do it when they weren’t around, but Nathan, our five-year-old, who doesn’t miss a trick, caught on.
One morning when I went to give myself the shot, there he was. He took my hand in his and said, “You can squeeze it as tight as you like until it’s over, and then you can have a sticker. That’s the deal.” So I held his hand, gave myself the shot, and he proudly put a sticker on my shirt. It was then I realized that, for as much as I wanted to protect and comfort my children, they wanted to do the same for me. I was so glad to have them take care of me!
Before I started chemotherapy, my husband and children shaved my head. We thought it would make it easier for them to deal with my hair loss. We went shopping and picked out hats and scarves for me to wear. Our son insisted that I wear my hat whenever we were out, and I always did. One day the doorbell rang, and without thinking, I opened the door without my hat on! Three of Nathan’s friends were standing there and started laughing and calling me “baldy,” but Nathan was devastated and embarrassed. I explained to him that it didn’t bother me, and we should laugh it off like a joke. They were kids. They didn’t understand, and besides, I was pretty bald.
A few weeks later, we were at the pool—my husband, myself and the two children. I, of course, had my hat on. Nathan wanted me to come into the water. I told him I’d have to take off my hat. He didn’t seem to mind. While we were playing in the water, a few of his friends came in. One went up to him and said, “Hey, Nathan, is that your mom?”
“Yeah,” he replied.
“She’s bald.”
“Yeah, I know. The good news is, her hair will grow back. The bad news is, my Dad’s won’t.”
My slightly balding husband and I have never laughed so hard. Nathan was able to see some humor in the situation, and so were we.
Ruth Kotler
Joining the Race
The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.
Voltaire
As the sun hovered over Cocalico’s football field, hundreds of people gathered around the campus. Some were finishing their meals under the bright yellow tent; many were on the track, while others were starting t
o make their way onto the bleachers. The first lap of the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life was about to begin—a race against cancer, full of people determined to make a difference, including my mom. There she stood on the track, ready to lead the survivor lap.
Since my aunt and uncle sponsored the survivor lap, my entire family participated in it. My mom was radiant that evening. Her energy was contagious, her smile uplifting, and her pride evident. It was obvious she was reflecting on the past year and what she had endured.
Although the past year was still on my mind, my thoughts were focused on the present. Behind me people continued to gather on the track. They were the survivors. I chuckled as the event organizers scrambled to make sure every survivor was wearing a pin. There was no need for some emblem on this night. Their expressions clearly told everyone, I am a survivor! Mixed in with the smiles, laughter and hugs, there were tears. The tears simply added to the atmosphere.
The lap was about to begin when I looked over at my mom and smiled; she returned the favor. There was a time not too long ago when my mother wasn’t thinking about some relay. Then again, there was a time not too long before that when my mother wasn’t even thinking about cancer. But now it was all she could think about. We started the march to the ribbon signifying the start of the lap.
That lap was memorable, no doubt about it. Chills ran down my spine when we turned the last corner and saw the bleachers filled with spectators. The standing ovation they gave was genuine—there was nothing scripted about it. Again, I glanced over at my mom and smiled; there was nothing scripted about that either.
The impact cancer has had on our society is great; the impact it has had on my family is even greater. For over a year, my mother endured the physical and emotional effects of cancer. Her tribulations left her tired, yet determined.