At the age of just 57 years our mother died from breast cancer. Ever after, my sister and I became vigilant about our annual exams--good thing too. I was diagnosed in 2000, and around 3 years later so was she. The experience was life-changing. Rather than giving a blow-by-blow account of the details, let me just briefly sketch it out. In the course of one year, I went from a normal mammogram to stage 3C breast cancer (stage 4 is really a death sentence, so I was closer to the brink than I realized). The treatment consisted of a modified radical mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiation (which incidentally destroyed my thyroid gland), and later reconstruction surgery. Subsequently, I referred to these procedures as mutilation, poisoning, barbecuing, and welding. It was a bumpy road for sure, but I also read that maintaining a sense of humor under all circumstances can bolster your immune system. So that is what I attempted to do.
Early in the process, I quickly learned that my oncologist couldn't afford a watch that kept accurate time. So to fill the time in his waiting rooms, I took my knitting. The first time I did so, he saw a nearly-completed, 4 foot long scarf. As he observed me working, he remarked about how slowly the knitting process moves along. I said, "Yep it does Doc. This scarf was only about two inches long when I started waiting for you!"
The place where I received my chemotherapy was referred to as a "suite"--the chemo suite. As it turns out, there really is nothing "sweet" about it. I tried to convince the nurses that they should include some things to make for a more spa-like atmosphere--perhaps add facials and pedicures and so forth to improve the experience.
I could have doubled as Mr. Clean's wife after I lost my hair from the chemo. (For the sake of brevity I will say 'chemo' at times instead of chemotherapy, but I don't like the abbreviation. It sounds like a friendly nickname instead of what it is in reality.) They referred to the intravenous concoction that I got as a chemo cocktail--well I'm here to tell you, mine could have stood a lot more vermouth!
I discovered that your ears look a lot bigger when you have no hair, and I never got used to the "alien" look of a bald head. However, in frustrating situations it was kind of fun to say, "If I had any hair, I'd be pulling it out right now!" For the curious, here's the only known bald picture of me.
Well you never know what you might be thankful for-- maybe a big old dose of radiation is one. If you don't keep your blood levels up to a certain standard you can't get your daily nuking. Hence, you find yourself keeping your fingers crossed (actually praying now) for the opportunity to get zapped! Through the course of all of it, I learned that you really can't trust doctors and nurses who say things such as: "You might feel a little pinch now, or this can sting some, or you may have a tad bit of discomfort". Well, you get my drift. Nonetheless, to all of my lady friends out there I say never miss the opportunity to get your annual, smashing dose of "just a small amount of pressure". It could save your life.
So, how did cancer save my life? Well mom's death made me more conscientious about my own health. In addition to being more careful about check-ups, I discarded a very nasty habit. Getting diagnosed myself made me resolve to eat better, exercise, and try to reduce some of the stress in my life. Now I frequently tell people that when I die, I'm going to be the healthiest person you know!
