Our Survivor Story

A local newspaper did a feature Survivor Story on my during the month of October:

In early January 2013, I was like any other 32-year-old mother with three young kids: happy we survived the holidays, and ready to get back into our regular routine.  I was also fighting off some kind of illness that just wouldn’t leave me alone, but doing my best to ignore it...moms don't stop for illness! 

I ended up going to the doctor, convinced I had mastitis from nursing my youngest, Emily, who was just under nine months old.  I had every symptom…fever and chills, a general feeling of illness, pain while nursing, and breast tenderness with a lumpy plugged milk duct that just wouldn’t go away.  My physician and I had been keeping an eye on the plugged milk duct, which I had noticed a few months earlier.  The lump was asymptomatic of anything to be concerned about, and I had, what I thought, was hardly any family history.  When I went to the doctor that January, I was diagnosed with strep throat, but I was told to come back for an ultrasound of the plugged milk duct, because it looked infected and would most likely need to be drained. 

About a week later I went in for the ultrasound, but they couldn’t find any of the infected fluid that we had originally thought would be in the lump.  So my surgeon took a few biopsies…seven, actually…and told us they’d call in four days.  Three days later I received a call from the nurse, saying that the results were in and that they would like both Brad and I to come in, without the kids, if possible.  It was at that appointment with our beloved family physician that he looked Brad and I in the eyes and told us that I had breast cancer. 

We spent the next several weeks trying to adjust to our changing life.  We notified friends and family, we grieved, we educated ourselves, and, above all, we tried to keep a normal environment for our children.

We consider ourselves very lucky in the ages that our children were when I was diagnosed.  The girls were young: 3 years, and 9 months, so as long as they were taken care of and played with and loved up, they weren’t greatly affected by the changes that were taking place around them.  About a month ago, Megan, who’s now 6, and I were talking about my cancer diagnosis, and she sighed and looked up at me and said, “I really wish we could do all that again.  I had such a good time!”  And that literally made me cry with happiness…because the last thing you want to do is scar one of your children.  I’m so happy that she carries with her only happy memories of that time. 

Our eldest, Brendan, was five and in preschool when I was diagnosed.  He is very intelligent, and easily picked up on the fact that something big was going on.  We were able to share a lot of information with him, and he was at that perfect age where he was interested, but didn’t yet understand the fear part of having cancer. 

One of my favorite stories of how our kids coped with my diagnosis, came from Brendan.  His teacher, Ms. Peggy said they were having table time at preschool, where the students were all gathered around a table, talking and doing a project.  

She said that Brendan announced out of the blue, "My mom's sick."  

She said she lightly prompted him to talk about it a little more, to see how he was handling it.  

"Yep, my mom has strep throat...oh, and cancer...but we're being really careful about her sore throat!"  That story made one of our biggest concerns (how it would affect our children) less of a burden on our hearts.  With children, there’s no stopping.  There are still endless snacks to make, spilled milk to clean up, books to read, owies to kiss, baths to take, birthdays and holidays and milestones to celebrate.  As exhausting as that can be sometimes, it was also a huge blessing for me, because it forced me to focus on so many things other than myself, and helped me maintain a positive outlook with all that I went through.

But being told you have cancer is a scary thing.  Those first few weeks, when your head and emotions are spinning, and you don’t have a lot of specific information yet…that’s a pretty overwhelming and dark time.  About a week after I was diagnosed, Brad and I met my surgeon for the first time.  Originally, my doctors thought my tumor was about four centimeters in diameter, but when my experienced surgeon felt it, and then felt to my nodes in my armpit, the look of sadness that crossed her face made our hearts sink.  After a mammogram and node biopsy, it was confirmed that my tumor was more around 10 centimeters and that it had definitely spread to my nodes under my arm, opening the door for it to spread systemically throughout my body.  I was re-diagnosed to stage 3, with a 10-year survival percentage of 50%.

Upon getting that news, I hugged my husband hard and then headed into the changing room, to change out of my hospital gown.  In that empty changing room I started to shake, uncontrollably, and I fell to my knees, begging God in an age-old prayer that has been said by countless people before me, and will be said by countless people after me.  “Please, God.  Please let me watch my children grow up.  Please let me grow old with my husband.  Don’t let this be the end of my story.”  After a moment, a feeling of peace warmed me, my shaking stopped, I stood up, I changed and headed out to find my husband, determined to not let this be the end of my story.

I have been so relieved that my faith has been a major strength for me during this time.  You never really know what adversity will do to you...will you raise your fists to heaven?  Will you give up your beliefs in despair?  Or will you try your best to understand your situation and rely on your faith?  God didn't give me cancer.  God gave me the strength to get through cancer.  To fight it.  And to learn from it.

Because of my advanced stage, I went through eight rounds of chemotherapy before surgery, to try to shrink and kill the cancer that had already spread from my breast to my axillary nodes.  Surprisingly, I found out that my cancer was genetic, even though the only people in my family that I knew of to have breast cancer had been both of my grandmothers, and each had had it in their 60’s and had later passed away in their 80’s from other causes. 

Everyone reacts differently to dealing with cancer.  I experienced that first-hand as I dug into our family history.  I discovered that it wasn’t just my grandmothers that had had cancer.  I had great-aunts who had ovarian and breast cancer.  Several of my dad’s cousins had had breast cancer.  But it tended to be a hush-hush thing in those generations.  I came face-to-face with several “I think she had it…I’m not quite sure…nobody really knows.”  And that can’t happen, as cancer is facing more and more generations.

Because of my high reoccurrence stats, due to the genetic factor, I had a double mastectomy with reconstruction.  After surgery, we discovered that my cancer hadn’t responded ideally to the chemotherapy, and instead of the chemo directly killing the entire tumor, it had created sponge-like areas in the tumor, where small holes had been killed, but that many living cells still existed.  But my surgeon got good margins, I had my nodes removed where it had spread, and I completed 6 ½ weeks of daily radiation, to hopefully kill any remaining cancer cells.  Six months later I had both of my ovaries and tubes removed, as a step to further head off any additional cancer due to my genetic factors. 

Hopefully the fact that I was 32 and diagnosed with breast cancer will be a reminder to everyone to be thorough in the care of their own bodies.  I was diligent in my breast self-examinations.  I stayed up-to-date on my physicals.  I had symptoms that were easily, appropriately explained away.  I didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, maintained a healthy diet, and got my exercise chasing three little ones around.  It's more than self-exams...it's knowing your body and taking care of it.  

And now we move forward, trying our best to ignore the nagging fear of reoccurrence.  Trying to keep in mind all that we have been through and engraining those lessons we learned into our everyday life.  And trying to pay forward the love and kindness that we received.

I have never been happier to be alive, or more grateful.  I watch my children practice their writing skills, and play outside, and snitch grapes from the refrigerator and nestle their heads into the crook of my arm while I read to them.  I look at my husband, who never falters in his care for me and was right beside me every step of the way.  I feel the love of my parents and in-laws, who protect us and provide strength.  I see the smiles of family and friends, and even strangers, and I thank God for each and every day.