Since I was the first in our family to contract the disease, I had no idea about what the experience would be like. However, the few family friends who had contracted cancer,...

like Linda, had all died from the disease, so as far as I knew from personal experience, a cancer diagnosis was equivalent to a death sentence.

At my Monday appointment the doctor gave me the reassuring message that the cancer had been detected at Stage One. “If you were going to have cancer,” she said, “This is the best one to have.” Then she added, “You should be glad that you aren’t Stage 4. That’s the worst!” The doctor referred me to an Antioch oncology center called Epic Care, which turned out to be a wonderful institution. The medical staff welcomed me with open arms. Before long, a trip to Epic Care seemed like a visit with friends. They would greet me by name; the nurses became good friends and would send me greeting cards. All of the Epic Care medical staff worked together to make the experience as comfortable and comforting as cancer treatment could possibly be.

FACING UP TO DISEASE

During the week following that first diagnosis, I endured a battery of tests. I was at the DMV with my 15-year-old who was getting his learners’ permit when I got a call from the oncologist with the news that my PET scan had found something in my back, and that I needed to return that day for further testing. The next day the doctor gave me the grim news that my condition had been upgraded to Stage 4 Cancer and had metastasized to my bones. The news was devastating! All I could think was, “How much time do I have left?” A fog seemed to settle about me. As the doctor went on with details about my condition, I was in a dumfounded state that reminds me of the Charlie Brown animated specials during which a teacher is speaking but all you can hear is a “Whah! Whah! Whah!” honking kind of sound. I could only think that my kids would someday get married without their mom being present at the ceremony and their children would grow up without their grandmother. Our youngest child was two years old, and I imagined him growing up with no memories of who I was or what I looked like.

The next Thursday, which was less than three weeks following the original diagnosis, I began my first round of chemo. For a few weeks I felt completely buried beneath information overload, trying to figure out what I needed to know about the doses, schedules, purposes, and possible side-effects of each medicine. I was trying to take all of this in while in a state of mind not conducive to learning.

My emotions were on a roller coaster that would sometimes hit a high during which I was distracted by some detail that drove the consciousness of my condition from my mind for a little while. Then reality would return, plunging me again into the dark valley of despondency and despair. My peace of mind was somewhat helped during this time by the challenges of re-organizing my life and preparing myself for what was to come. However, my emotional condition grew even worse three weeks later when large bunches of my hair began to show up on my brushes. Up to that point I hadn’t had adverse reactions to the chemo but when I began to see those thick clotted masses lying in the drain after washing my hair, my spirit was enveloped by a deep fog of depression.

FIGHTING BACK

Fortunately, I finally hit the bottom. The clouds began to lift and my ascent out of the valley of shadows and back into the sunlight was even more dramatic and sudden than the descent had been. The change came when my fighter response kicked in and I made a solemn decision that I would not let this cancer win the battle, nor let disease define who I am. My first victory began with my hair loss. Cancer would remain in the driver’s seat as long as I permitted my hair to fall out one strand at a time, so I had my husband shave my head — an act of defiance that put myself in control of my hair loss.

The decision also served to bring me into synch with the hairstyle that my husband and our three boys have been maintaining for years. Rather than bothering with haircuts, they would simply buzz all the hair off their heads every month or so. The boys all laughed when they saw my shining knob and shouted, “Now Mom is joining us!” They thought it was cool. Even our two-year-old, who of course had no idea of what was going on, would stroke my head and say, “Mommy, I like your hair.” He obviously thought the word “hair” referred to the top of a person’s head rather than to the stuff growing on top of it, since I no longer had any. When we first began going into public I would sometimes ask the boys if they would like me to put a hat on but eventually quit asking when I realized they had no idea why I would ask the question.

On July 8 I had a radical mastectomy and ended my final chemo on October 31. I am doing okay and, in fact, had a little trouble making the transition from the continual cycles of medication, surgery, and recovery that used to fill my life. I enjoy spending time with the kids, however, and am determined to enjoy the pleasant intermission for as long as it will last. Every three to six months I will have to go back for scans. There will eventually be a time when the cancer will return and I will have to start the cycles all over again.

User Rating: / 0
PoorBest