Women Patient Stories Archives

Deceived But Not Defeated

I never felt any symptoms. I mean, I was tired, but what young 20-something who had just started graduate school while maintaining a full time job wouldn’t be? It happened during a physical. A lump towards the top of my throat was felt by my doctor. “I would go and have that scanned,” he said. I wasn’t worried; he had never mentioned cancer. So I went and had the ultrasound. “Well, we see what your doctor was talking about, and it appears to just be a cyst,” the doctor said, “but there’s another spot on the right side of your thyroid. You have two options. You can wait to see if the spot grows or we can perform a biopsy to see if it’s cancer,” he explained. “Now, the chance of it being cancer is anywhere between 10-15%, a very very low chance,” he reassured me. “I want the biopsy,” I said, not wanting to take any chances. The biopsy was performed, and within minutes, the doctor returned saying he had bad news. “Unfortunately, it’s cancer, but the good news is that it’s very treatable. I recommend you having surgery.” And that was it; although, it hadn’t hit me, at least not as hard as I thought it should had – at least not immediately. I went to my car, called my mom, and asked her if she was sitting down. I told her the news, still shocked by the ordeal I was just handed. In an instant, my life had changed forever. I heard those three words no one ever wants to hear, “You have cancer.”

I wasn’t sure how to proceed. How advanced is my cancer? What doctor(s) do I go to? How quickly do I need surgery? I just started school – do I need to drop-out already? What about my job. All of these thoughts raced through my mind. However, the support of my family and, luckily, not having any symptoms kept me going. I was working in a hospital at the time, and I spoke with a few of the doctors I worked with. “Oh, the good type of cancer. You’ll be just fine,” one said. “‘Good type?’” I thought. What is good about having cancer? He gave me the name of a surgeon who specialized in thyroidectomies. It was a five month wait to get in.

When I eventually saw my surgeon, he gave me two options. The first, he explained, was a partial thyroidectomy. “We’ll only remove the lobe of the thyroid where your tumor is. The benefit of that is that the other lobe will continue producing enough of the hormones that your body needs so you don’t have to take a medication for the rest of your life. The second was a total thyroidectomy, rendering me to that medication, literally, for a lifetime. I went with the former, and had a successful surgery. Of course, it didn’t end there.

Two days after my surgery, my doctor called. “We performed pathology on some of the lymph nodes that we removed from your neck, and unfortunately, almost all of them had cancer. What this means is that we need to have you come back and perform another surgery to remove the rest of your thyroid. Then after, you’ll have to undergo radioactive iodine to rid your body of any residual thyroid tissue.” My heart sunk. My world was crushed yet again. Another surgery? What was radioactive iodine? I didn’t how to process the emotions that I was feeling as tears streamed down my face. “It never ends,” I thought.

After my second surgery, I was thyroid-free. Later, I went through the radioactive iodine procedure where I had to be a specific diet for approximately 3 weeks. I could consume very little to no iodine, or salt, which was essentially in every product. As I went up and down the grocery store aisles reading every nutrition label, I found myself frustrated finding almost nothing that I could eat. Don’t get me wrong, this was a very healthy diet, as I was essentially restricted to meats (without seasonings), fruits, and vegetables. But it wasn’t my favorite. I went to a nuclear medicine center where I consumed a pill that would make me radioactive. I was to stay physically away from people for approximately one week, slowly decreasing the amount of feet I could be within others as each day passed. I then had a whole body scan that showed that the cancer hadn’t spread, or metastasized, to any other place in my body, but there was still some residual thyroid tissue that the radioactivity would hopefully kill.

The journey continued. I would need to be on a medication for the rest of my life. I would need to see a specialist, an endocrinologist, for the rest of my life. They would decide the dosage of my medication based on a variety of factors, including how I was feeling emotionally and physically. It wasn’t until after I had my thyroid removed that I realized how much it does for our bodies. “It will take some time before we find the right dosage for you,” my endocrinologist explained. In other words, sometimes I would be hyperthyroid, other times, hypothyroid. My symptoms may be all over the place, including my metabolism rate, my body temperature, and even my mood. As a patient with chronic depression and anxiety, I could only hope that the “right” dosage would be found quickly.

Fast forward two years later from my diagnosis, and I have been deemed “cancer free,” no more thyroid tissue. While I am incredibly thankful for this result, I can’t help but feel survivor’s guilt. I often think, “Why me? Why did I get to survive and others don’t? How did I get by so easily?” Despite this guilt, I have used my cancer diagnosis and journey to become stronger both mentally and emotionally. I have unashamedly shared images on social media and written stories that have been published in the hopes to inspire others and to be an advocate for those who don’t feel like they have a voice. Yet, I don’t pretend to know everything. I still have questions that remain unanswered. How likely is my cancer to come back? Why do I keep losing so much hair? Why am I always so tired? Despite having the “good” type of cancer, there is nothing that great about it. Although I never had symptoms, I still went through two surgeries and a radioactive iodine procedure, which had its own side effects.

As a result of what I went through and my never-ending passion for helping others, I believe that my diagnosis happened for a reason – to lead me to a career in patient advocacy. I have a background in health administration, policy, and communication. I have worked at doctor’s offices and hospitals. I feel I had an advantage in having the knowledge that I did/do, and access to physicians. However, I still get confused when I ask my doctor a question, and I receive an answer that’s in medical jargon. I think, “I can’t be the only one who feels lost, who feels confused.” Plus, I know that there are patients who are going through worse situations than I did. There has to be a way to mend the physician-patient relationship that is currently suffering. There’s not enough time dedicated to each patient, to hear what they’re going through each day. Physicians also need to make sure that what they’re saying/explaining makes sense to the patient, especially when it comes to taking medication(s) (patients with chronic conditions usually have multiple, which can be hard to keep track). There are solutions coming to the forefront, such as pill packs, patient portals, and support groups. But I believe this is just the beginning. Every cancer is different. No two patients are the same – indifference is ignorance. It’s time to combine research, health literacy, and ultimately, compassion for a patient’s story, to provide the best care and create better health outcomes.

Singing Through Cancer Helped Me Survive

I was not very curious about the nuances of singing and producing pitch during my younger adventures in a choir. A solid chorus member, I enjoyed the demands of music acquisition, the camaraderie, and the chance to conjure my inner diva, when appropriate.

My perspective changed when I heard the words “You have cancer.” That year, those four syllables cracked me and my beautiful, imperfect, 45-year-old life wide open and handed me the dramatic role no woman desires. I found myself memorizing not Latin and French lyrics, but malignancy’s bewildering status symbols: grade, stage and node, hormone reception and recurrence. I donned drafty hospital gowns instead of costumes or robes, and summoned the diva, not to perform, but to confront a relentless, faceless villain. When offers of support poured in, I learned “Yes“ and “Things will be OK” were the only lines I needed.

I completed my transformation, from ordinary woman to infiltrating breast carcinoma patient to survivor, in just eight months. During the harrowing passages, I felt scared, boxed-in, smaller than before. Carrying the role of cancer patient sometimes left me gasping and utterly out of tune. And I’m one of the lucky ones.

Facing a life-disrupting disease didn’t give me special gifts, but it reminded me that strength and healing come from unexpected places, and it deepened my appreciation for the restorative powers of singing and music. I’ve never regretted the nights I showed up to sing when I was too weary to speak or even stand.

– – –

Singing in perfect pitch tests professionals and amateurs alike. It’s an acoustical feat of mathematics, physics and human anatomy. We climb musical scales powered by our vibrating vocal folds. The higher we go, the faster the vibrations. Those frequencies are measurable, but how our ear perceives pitch is subjective and more complex as we approach our voice’s upper limits. It’s tough for one accomplished soloist to stay the course. That challenge expands exponentially when many differently gifted vocalists attempt the crossing together.

Diabolical phrasing, chords that don’t resolve, inadequate breath control, nerves and the winter’s chill lead us astray. Sorrow enters our rehearsal spaces, announcing itself with drooping shoulders and sagging tones.

When the choir drifts off-key, directors “tune” our voices with exercises to improve pitch accuracy. We might vocalize in sections over a major chord or focus on creating an elusive, well-tuned third and then, at the director’s signal, migrate to a lower one. Interesting things occur as we’re sustaining our notes. Vibrations collide, blanketing us in an exhilarating cloud of sound that helps us recognize if we’re hovering under or over so we can recalibrate. If our tone flattens, we brighten it together, modulating up in barely-perceptible increments until all singers land on a near-perfect third or triad.

The instant when 10 or 20 choir members lock into magical harmony to sing as one voice defies description, like a ballerina’s floating, a perpetual string of fouettes. It isn’t buzz, scream, or reverb, but when an ensemble gets it right, the air celebrates with us.

– – –

I was hitting my mid-life stride when those four syllables knocked the wind out of me. I had a loving husband, amazing sons, good friends, interesting work, and meaningful volunteer pursuits. I’d even forged a delicate peace with painful childhood circumstances that bled into adulthood, and I was envisioning my next chapter.

In the lead-up to Thanksgiving, I came under bombardment. Dad and I were saying reluctant goodbyes. We knew he was running out of options and precious time. Many afternoons, I held his hand, saw his battered body succumb to cancer’s onslaught. I returned home at dusk to quietly plot my own body’s defense amid an escalating campaign of biopsy and MRI results and five-year survival projections. I had just reassured Bob and our kids (and myself) that, after my treatment, things would be okay when we were called to gather at Dad’s hospice.

On his final night, Dad’s chest labored with every subsequent breath until we watched him draw in and hold onto his most important one. The air patiently awaited permission, then transported my father to his next home. Dad died of cancer four days before my surgery; I attended his funeral, in a haze, five days after.

Amid the pandemonium, I refused to abandon the singing and ballet that anchored me in other storms, but my positive outlook didn’t spare me the progressive toll of chemotherapy, radiation and estrogen-destroying medications. Cellular warfare punished my stamina, spirit, and untrained, lyric soprano. Amid brain fog, hobbling myalgia, crushing fatigue and disappearing hair, my suffering soprano seemed like cancer piling on. What was clear and steady became temperamental and prone to croaking or evaporating mid-larynx. The diva went into hiding.

I smiled when people said, “You’re so strong.” Making peace with vulnerability was harder; it required a system override or an existential re-tuning.

I noticed the subtle, curative powers of music-making, how it awakens emotions and gently moves us into community. I soaked up the beauty of silences and admired how we stagger breathing in torturous passages to support the sound and one another and how a lush, alto line sends descants floating to wondrous heights.

There were some bruising remarks and sour notes. One regretful solo I should have refused, accomplished with sleep-inducing quantities of antihistamines. Yet I mostly recall how gracefully my musical community tuned me. Changing seats to accommodate scary side effects. Steadying arms when emotions overtook me. The kind diva passing me missing choreography, instead of scowling, when I accidentally trampled on her solo.

Friends raising a glorious roar when I could barely chirp, reminding me we belong to something mightier than any hardship or disease.

Singing through cancer punched up my playlists for the blessedly ordinary and terrible days and taught me to treasure songs that speak directly to our broken places. I count on the haunting, intersecting supplications of Renaissance master Victoria and Bach and Coldplay to calm the MRI chamber’s mayhem. It’s Prince, Bowie and Jackson Browne inviting me to dance in my kitchen. I memorized those melodies that carried hope and faith back to me when they went missing for a spell.

– – –

I’m still okay. Gratefully, still a lucky one. I reclaimed my diva and, shortly after our move to Connecticut, joined a lovely women’s chorale. I’m discovering anew how routine vocalizations can realign not only discordant notes, but our anxious minds. At a recent rehearsal, I could almost see all our invisible burdens yielding to the room’s overtones, then evaporating in the swirling, ephemeral soundscape.

I believe the best choirs accept our offerings of exacting diction, buttery timbre and angelic tones, along with our heartaches, to grow something of honesty, tenderness and majesty. Sing long enough and you’ll one day find yourself harmonizing with and holding up someone who’s making her way out of a dark or lonely valley.

The fragile heart and unpredictable, faithful voice rising with the descant (and missing an entrance or two) were once my own. People said I inspired them by sharing my voice while my body was so visibility under siege. It was uncomfortable, almost as unnerving as cancer itself.

Looking back, I think that was the point.

Patient Profile: A Follow Up with Meredith Cronin

Meredith Cronin

Breast Cancer

You may remember Meredith Cronin from our three-part breast cancer series in October. She shared her experience of being diagnosed with and treated for breast cancer seven years ago at the age of 37. She had three young children at the time and remembered being grateful that she was so busy with her family that she didn’t have time to become weighed down by her illness. “Attitude is everything,” she told us. Meredith wanted as much time as possible with her family so she did everything she could to combat the cancer and make sure it wouldn’t come back. She had a double mastectomy, she did chemotherapy and radiation, and she got a second opinion from a research hospital. When her treatments wrapped up, her doctors told her they didn’t expect her back. She was cancer free.

Coincidentally, the same week Meredith shared her story, she had surgery to investigate a lump she’d found under her arm. The lump was malignant. Her cancer came back. Needless to say, her doctors were all very surprised. The lump was in a tricky area near blood vessels, nerves, and scar tissue. She had a second surgery to make sure the margins were clean and then she began, what will ultimately be, 30 radiation treatments. The radiation is precautionary and preventive. “The doctor says I’m cancer free at this time,” she says, but Meredith and her doctors want to be sure the cancer is gone for good this time and doesn’t come back again. She goes for treatment every day and twice on Fridays so she can have it finished by the end of this month.

Despite the intense radiation, Meredith says she is feeling good. She doesn’t have a lot of fatigue and her skin is holding up. Her two youngest children have even been able to come to treatments with her. She says it helps them to see that she’s okay so they feel better about what’s going on. Her recurrence was pretty upsetting for all of them, but they’ve been able to keep a positive perspective. She says her husband summed it up pretty well when he said, “The short term sucks, but the long term looks good.” And, so far the kids all seem to be focusing on the long term and supporting their mom. “They like to wear their pink,” says Meredith.

Much like her first round with cancer, Meredith is being thorough and aggressive in her treatments. In addition to radiation, she is eating well and working out every day. This week, she is going to a research hospital for a second opinion on whether or not she should add more therapies to her current treatment. “The second opinion is more about doing chemo or if they have another suggestion,” says Meredith. Her doctors now aren’t recommending chemotherapy due to the risks associated with it. Long term effects of chemotherapy can include lung, heart and kidney problems as well as the risk of developing a second cancer.

Meredith has also started taking injections to force menopause as another preventive step. Once in menopause, she’s able to take a more effective medication than the one she has been taking. She says she doesn’t know what to expect from menopause, but she’s willing to do whatever she has to in order to keep the cancer from coming back. She’ll do the injections until maybe spring 2019 when she’ll have a hysterectomy and possibly an oophorectomy, where both ovaries are removed. That’s always been part of her preventive plan someday. “I’ve been putting it off for years,” she says. “I’m kind of kicking myself now.”

Vigilance about staying on top of your health is the message that Meredith most wants to share. Even when you’ve been told you’re cancer free, you have to check out every lump, every change that comes along. “Stay on top of it. Keep following up with it,” she says. Meredith says she’s learned that even though her cancer is gone, she still has a lot to do to make sure it stays that way. She’s cancer free, but not necessarily free from cancer. “I’m just going to keep doing what needs to be done,” she says.

You can find the three part series on breast cancer featuring Meredith and five other women on the Patient Empowerment Network blogPart IPart II, and Part III.

Nancy’s Lung Cancer Journey

No one is ever prepared to hear the words “You have cancer”. Even though (from asking for an x-ray that morphed into a CT scan) I knew there was a large tumor in the middle of my chest, I still wasn’t ready. And the pulmonologist was so kind in delivering the diagnosis. He went down the hall with the needle aspiration from my left clavicular lymph node and returned ½ hour later with a tri-fold paper towel on which he had drawn my lungs with the locations of the tumors – upper right lobe (T1), central lymph nodes of the mediastinal area (in total, about 2” x 5”), and one on the lymph node at my neck. And he said “You have small cell lung cancer (SCLC). There’s good news and bad news. The bad news is that it is extremely aggressive. The good news is that it is extremely responsive to treatment. If you are deemed to be “limited stage” (there are only 2 stages for SCLC – I call them good and bad), you have a 30% chance of long-term survival – a normal life.” In mid-August, I thought I’d be dead by Christmas. I spent about 2 minutes on the internet – what I saw was enough to tell me not to look further.

Doctors matter. A lot. I was treated at an NCI-designated Comprehensive Cancer Center by several exceptional doctors. What made them exceptional? Their listening and observational skills first and foremost, their dedication to staying current with research, and their caring. I was lucky – I didn’t have to search for them. These women – my primary care physician, my oncologist and my radiation oncologist kept me alive. They made me part of the 30%, even though my diagnosis said I was borderline extensive stage. It only took 5 months of chemotherapy (cisplatin and etoposide) and twice daily radiation during some of those 5 months, along with an episode of sepsis (broad-spectrum antibiotics, 2 blood transfusions, and a week in the hospital), to have me declared “No evidence of disease (NED)” by early December.

While my friends and family celebrated, I didn’t feel like celebrating. My life had been turned upside-down, I felt wrung-out and fatigued all the time, had lost so much weight that nothing fit, and had lost all my hair. And I knew that in January, I had to have 10 days of prophylactic whole brain radiation to kill any errant lung cancer cells (I was pretty sure it would make me stupid!) And that’s when my doctor prescribed an anti-depressant, which helped.

What did I do during this time – besides visit doctors and hospitals?  I walked – a lot. It was the easiest way for me to exercise, and my boxer was happy to help in that regard. I ate well – meaning lots of fruits and vegetables. And I meditated with guided CDs designed for cancer patients. And I kept up with my friends – often meeting one or more of them for lunch downtown. That not only passed the time but kept my spirits as up as they could be – a distraction if you will.

And when it was over, and I was deemed “cured”, I got angry. Angry that no one talked about the number one cancer killer. Through my doctor, I got in touch with the National Lung Cancer Partnership (now merged with the Lung Cancer Research Foundation), got involved in advocacy, and haven’t stopped. For me – it is healing to try to do something – anything – to prevent more people from going through what I went by raising awareness and research funding.

I have also learned that some treatments don’t let you forget that you had them. I had a CT scan every 90 days for the first 5 years after diagnosis. In the 4th year, they saw that my left ventricle was enlarged and referred me to cardiology for cardiomyopathy (heart failure). It was bad – so I went from surviving the #2 killer to facing the #1 killer! But with treatment from a cardiologist who specialized in heart failure from chemotherapy, I now have an implanted medical device, low-dose daily medication, and a nearly normal heart function. There’s also the foot neuropathy I’ve learned to live with (it’s not so bad) and some balance issues (likely from inner ear damage from cisplatin). But I’m alive!! Alive certainly beats the alternative.

Patient Profiles: Breast Cancer Part III

This is the last installment in our three-part series profiling breast cancer survivors. In Part II, the women gave insight into the importance of their mental health and their own attitude as critical components of care. They also shared some of the ways in which they coped with cancer. Today, the women talk about the possibility of recurrence. So, we pick up with the final stage of Shannon’s preventive measures. Based on her history, she knows her cancer can come back, but she wanted to do everything she could to prevent it.

Shannon’s treatment didn’t stop at reconstruction. She opted to have an oophorectomy, which meant she had her ovaries and fallopian tubes removed. Remember, her moms’s cancer had returned and been terminal, so Shannon wanted to take every preventive measure she could. “My fear and my worry is that hers came back 16 years later and she died at 65. If the same thing happened to me, I would die before I’m 60,” says Shannon. Her breast cancer diagnosis meant she was at higher risk for female cancers and she wanted to do whatever she could to have as much time as she could. “I’m relatively young,” she says. “I wanted to give myself as long as I could.” In order to have the procedure, Shannon had to take medication that would put her into menopause and the side effects that came with menopause affect her quality of life, so she says she goes back and forth on whether or not she would do the oophorectomy, if she had it to do all over again.

Although she did have melanoma a couple of years ago, Tina has been 27 years without recurrence of breast cancer. “I didn’t really feel safe until five years out,” she says, but adds that you never really know if it’s coming back, and that you should always be vigilant about checking for lumps. There is a risk of late recurrence, i.e. breast cancer that comes back more than five years after diagnosis and treatment, and it is more likely if it was later stage when first diagnosed, and if the cancer was HR positive.

Like Tina, Betty also had a second cancer. Her colon cancer was discovered in 2009 and her doctor estimated that it had been growing for ten years, but because of where it was growing in relation to the colon wall, the tumor was able to be cleanly removed and no treatment was required. Because her breast cancer was ductal and not in the tissue, and her doctor was able to get very clean margins, Betty says she doesn’t worry about it returning. “I’m more afraid of the colon cancer returning,” she says.

Diana has been nine years without recurrence, but she says, “My guard is always up.” Maybe it’s because her mother and grandmother both had breast cancer, and, despite being BRCA negative, she believes her cancer is hereditary. Shannon feels the same way and says she believes 100 percent that her cancer is genetic. The genetic testing available is limited compared to the number of genes in the human body so, Shannon says, “There’s a long way to go.” And, while it’s early for Shannon to think about recurrence, she can’t help but consider it. “I don’t want to spend every day thinking about cancer. I don’t want that to be my life,” she says, “but it is in the back of my head.” Not knowing how the cancer might come back makes Shannon especially uneasy because she doesn’t have a plan for it.

When Meredith finished treatment, her doctor said he didn’t expect to see her back for recurrence. The odds were in her favor that she would remain cancer free. Meredith, like Betty, says she got the best cancer to get if you’re going to get cancer, but unlike the other ladies, Meredith was not expecting to get cancer. She didn’t have the same family history. Her only red flag was that she had an aunt that had ovarian cancer and she thought maybe her grandmother had breast cancer when she was 90. Meredith was young, she had three small children, and breast cancer was not on her mind. In fact, she was so sure she didn’t have it, that she took her 18-month-old daughter with her when she got the results from her lumpectomy. But, Meredith, who is also BRCA negative, did have cancer, and while her cancer was ductal, it was bigger than it should have been, and there was also a spot on her other breast that needed to be watched. Wanting to be proactive Meredith opted for a double mastectomy with reconstruction. She also had chemotherapy, because the cancer was found in a lymph node, and she lost all her hair. While she possibly could have gone without radiation, she opted for it. Again, she wanted to be aggressive and as proactive in her treatment as possible. She wanted to make sure her cancer was gone.

About a month ago, Meredith found another lump under her arm. She had a scan that was all clear except for the spot where the lump is located. She and her doctors are hoping it is just scar tissue, but she’ll have a lumpectomy this week and then she’ll wait for the biopsy results, which she is guessing will take several days. “The waiting is the worst,” she says. Liz, as a caregiver, felt the same way about waiting, “The worst part of all of it was waiting for the results.”

Tina, who also had young children at diagnosis, recalls that she just wanted to live long enough to raise her children. She says she found it difficult to accept the idea that she might die before her kids were grown. That thought is clearly on Meredith’s mind as well. “I remember saying, ‘Just give me five more years,’ and now it’s been seven years, and I’m saying, ‘Just give me seven more years,’ but no amount of time is enough,” she says. You can hear in her voice that she’s trying to be brave, and she says, “Hopefully, it will all be fine,” but it’s scary because, even though Meredith got the best cancer you can get if you’re going to get cancer, it is still cancer.

Anxious to hear Meredith’s results? We are, too, and as soon as she gets her results, she’s promised to follow up with us. We’re hoping for good news, and we will let you know as soon as we can.


Sources:

https://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/understand_bc/statistics

https://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/diagnosis/hormone_status

https://www.breastcancer.org/research-news/20080813

http://www.who.int/cancer/events/breast_cancer_month/en/

https://www.cancer.gov/types/breast

https://www.cancer.gov/about-cancer/causes-prevention/genetics/brca-fact-sheet#q2

Patient Profiles: Breast Cancer Part II

In the first part of of this three-part series, you were introduced to Betty, her daughter, Liz, Shannon, Tina, and Diana. You learned that women who are diagnosed with breast cancer are not really all that surprised to get a diagnosis. They are often expecting it. Having breasts is a risk factor, and women have breasts. In today’s installment, you’ll meet Meredith. She wasn’t expecting to get breast cancer. But, before we meet her, we’ll pick up where we left off in part one: the matter of hair loss and chemotherapy.

Whether or not a survivor lost her hair during cancer treatment, it’s one of the first things she says about her experience. Shannon even lost her eyelashes and they never came back. She says she knows it’s a little thing, but it still bothers her. Betty, didn’t lose her hair. Like a growing number of women, she did not have to have chemotherapy. She says avoiding chemo made a huge difference in her experience. At the time, Betty was receiving treatment at a research hospital, and there was a test available to her that would determine how beneficial chemotherapy would be in treating her cancer. She was told that if she scored between a one and a 19, she would not need chemotherapy. Betty scored an 18. While she had to pay for the costly test out of pocket and wait for insurance to reimburse her, she says it was worth it. “It was so helpful,” she says. “Because of what chemo does to your body, you don’t want it unless you need it.” Side effects from chemotherapy can include anemia, diarrhea, fatigue, fertility issues, hair changes/loss, memory loss, neuropathy, menopause and menopausal symptoms, mouth and throat sores, nausea, vaginal dryness, vomiting, bone loss/osteoporosis, heart problems, and vision problems. The test Betty had is now being more widely used and, as you may have read on the Patient Empowerment Network blog in the June Notable News here, researchers have learned that 70 percent of women don’t need chemotherapy when they have the most common type of early-stage breast cancer, with low and moderate risk of recurrence. The test looks at cells from a tumor biopsy to determine what is known as a patient’s recurrence score. Patients are scored between zero and 100, with zero being the lowest risk of recurrence. Researchers now know that women who score less than 25 do not necessarily need chemotherapy.

Betty also did not need to have a mastectomy. She had a lumpectomy followed by intraoperative radiation therapy, a 30-minute procedure that involves surgically placing a ball of radiation in the spot where the tumor had been. The procedure meant that Betty only had to have a single radiation treatment, and it helps reduce the side effects of radiation. Betty was eligible for that form of radiation in part because of the size of her breasts. She says she told the doctor, “I’ve been lugging around these big things my entire life and they are finally paying off.”

The intraoperative radiation was another benefit of being at a research hospital. At the time of Betty’s treatment, the procedure wasn’t being widely used and wasn’t available through her local doctors. Receiving treatment at a research hospital also made a difference in Diana’s care. She recalls going in to her local doctor’s office for her test results, and no one in the office would make eye contact with her. Then, when the doctor came in to see her, he told her she had breast cancer, that he wanted to treat it right away, that he’d see her next Tuesday, and then he left the room. Diana says she was left there shaking. “He has a heart, but he didn’t show it,” says Diana, who then went to a research hospital for a second opinion. Her new doctor was much better, she says, and adds that the shoulder of his lab coat was always dirty from the smudge of make up left behind after his patients hugged him.

The importance of good doctors that you are comfortable with seemed to be one of the critical components of care to all the women.They all talked about how much they liked and appreciated their doctors. “A really good physician realizes psychological and spiritual care are just as important,” says Tina, who sought the services of a psychologist after her treatment. She was struggling with anxiety and depression and found that the counseling really helped her to work through her emotions about having cancer, which emphasizes another, perhaps the largest, critical component of care during treatment: emotional and mental support and health. Diana says she found support online and emphasized the importance of staying positive through treatment. “Count your positives,” she says. “That is the key.” Along the same line, Betty says, “The number one thing is attitude.” Actually, she and Liz say “attitude” in unison, and Betty adds, “I think attitude is a big piece of it.” Meredith Cronin who was diagnosed at age 37, says “Attitude is everything.” Meredith, who had three children under the age of six when she was diagnosed, says she understands how easily you could get depressed as a cancer patient. “I always say that I felt blessed that I was young and so busy that I didn’t have time to be depressed.”

Shannon, who was accused of being negative because of her detailed planning to get breast cancer before she actually had breast cancer, says she wasn’t negative; she was realistic and it was that take on it and her preparation and planning that helped her maintain emotional balance.“It didn’t affect me emotionally as much as I think it would have,” she says. Shannon coped through research and attention to details, and she describes her experience in the kind of detail that makes you think she’d just had it done yesterday rather than three years ago. Betty used a different method of coping and says she’s been able to let a lot of the experience go. “I don’t dwell in that place,” she says. She and Liz also found a lot of humor in the experience. The clickity-clack of someone’s shoes, Betty’s preoccupation with cutting out recipes from a magazine, or the ridiculousness of what must have been an excruciating procedure, were all fodder for coping. It’s not that Betty doesn’t take cancer seriously, but she was better able to cope with the diagnosis by finding humor in the situation. “We laughed through our tears,” she says. Liz says that early on in the experience, they imagined the worst possible scenario, which made handling what really happened more doable. The ways of coping with cancer are as varied and vast as are the treatment options.

Next time, in Part III, recurrence.


Sources:

https://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/understand_bc/statistics

https://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/diagnosis/hormone_status

https://www.breastcancer.org/research-news/20080813

http://www.who.int/cancer/events/breast_cancer_month/en/

https://www.cancer.gov/types/breast

https://www.cancer.gov/about-cancer/causes-prevention/genetics/brca-fact-sheet#q2

Patient Profiles: Breast Cancer Part I

Female breast cancer awareness, with its pink ribbons, and Save the Ta-tas t-shirts, and fundraising 5Ks, sweeps into October each year with the same prevalence as pumpkins. No other cancer has managed to garner as much support, attention, or money. But, even without the pink campaigns, the prevalence of breast cancer is not a secret. An estimated one in eight women is diagnosed in our country, and there are about 1.38 million new cases worldwide each year. You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn’t know a breast cancer survivor. This month, in a three-part series, Patient Empowerment Network is taking a closer look at five survivor stories and one caregiver. These women represent the more than 3.1 million women in the United States who have a history of breast cancer. In today’s installment, you’ll be introduced to five of the six women, and you’ll learn that getting a breast cancer diagnosis wasn’t really a surprise to any of them.

Breast cancer survivors are interlaced through all of our lives, and there is something very endearing about how openly willing they are to share their stories. They freely talk about their diagnosis and treatment, but more than that, they talk about their darkest moments alone in the hospital, or their need for counseling after treatment. They discuss the lengths they will go to endure invasive treatment that may prolong their lives, and they share their prayers to live long enough to see their children grown. They are so deeply candid that it’s as if they are inviting you to be a guest for the day in their exclusive club.

Only it’s a club you don’t really want to be a part of, says Betty Abbott, who was diagnosed five years ago. She was 72 at the time, and her cancer was ductal and non-invasive. She says it’s the kind you want to get if you’re going to get it. But, is there really a kind of cancer any woman wants to get? While the death rates for breast cancer have been decreasing since 1989 thanks to increased awareness, early detection, and advances in treatment, breast cancer is still the second leading cause of cancer deaths in women in the United States, second only to lung cancer. In 2018, approximately 40,920 women are expected to die from breast cancer.

Cancer is cancer, no matter the stage, the type, or the form. “That’s the thing about breast cancer…it’s still cancer,” says Liz Abbott. She’s Betty’s daughter. The two are very close, and Liz was with Betty every step of the way through diagnosis and treatment. Liz hasn’t had breast cancer…yet, but she fully expects to get it. She knows the statistics. Even though less than 15 percent of people who get diagnosed with breast cancer have a relative diagnosed with it, a woman’s chance of getting breast cancer nearly doubles if a first degree relative (a mother, sister, daughter) has had it. So many women get breast cancer, so many families of women, that for some women it’s no longer if they will get it, it’s when. Since her mom’s diagnosis, “our new realities are very different,” says Liz, who can’t help but worry if breast cancer is her own daughter’s path as well.

It was the path for Shannon Knudsen, who was diagnosed three years ago, when she was 43. Like Liz, Shannon was very close with her mother and walked with her through diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer. Shannon’s grandmother and great grandmother had breast cancer as well. So, for Shannon, breast cancer was never an if. “I never thought I wasn’t going to get it,” she says. “It was always a matter of when.” So Shannon wasn’t surprised by the diagnosis, but she says she was angry. You see, while she was prepared and had a plan, cancer still managed to throw her what she calls “an interesting little twist”.

Since she watched what her mom went through, being diagnosed at 49 with recurrence as leukemia 16 years later that was ultimately terminal, Shannon was diligent about staying on top of cancer research, and as soon as she learned that genetic testing was available, she looked into having it done. She was absolutely positive that her family carried the BRCA gene mutation. The BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes produce proteins that help repair damaged DNA cells. When either of the genes has a mutation and the genes don’t produce the protein or function correctly, DNA cells are more likely to develop changes that can lead to cancer. There are specific mutations of the genes that increase the risk of female breast and ovarian cancers. People who have inherited the mutations, which can come from the mother or the father, are more likely to develop breast and ovarian cancers at younger ages.

As soon as Shannon’s insurance covered the testing, she had it done. Fully expecting a positive result, Shannon was prepared to have a preemptive double mastectomy with reconstruction. But, Shannon’s results were negative. She doesn’t carry the BRCA 1 or BRCA 2 mutations.“I was shocked,” says Shannon, and she feels like the results gave her a little false security. That’s where the anger came in, because in August 2015, when her mammogram and subsequent 3D testing showed a black and jagged spot of concern, she knew that meant she was bound for chemotherapy, and that was something she had always planned to avoid by having preventive surgery. “I was 100 percent prepared to do that, and it didn’t work out that way,” says Shannon. Cancer, as it often does, had other plans.

Cancer had other plans for Tina Donahue as well. “It was a really, really difficult time in our lives,” says Tina of her diagnosis in 1991. It’s not that Tina wasn’t expecting to get a diagnosis at some point. She also had a family history of the disease, her maternal aunt died from breast cancer, and Tina was a nurse so she had a keen understanding of her risk, but when she was diagnosed at 44, she had just been promoted to an executive vice president position at work, and she had three young sons. She was also in school to get her MBA. Cancer was not part of her plan, and she thought she was going to have to quit school when she was diagnosed. However, thanks to the support of the other women in her study group, Tina didn’t have to quit school. She says the women rallied around her, told her not to quit and helped her, encouraged her, and tutored her through.

When it came to treatment, Tina and Shannon, though diagnosed more than 20 years apart, had very similar methods. “I just wanted to hit it as aggressively as I could and give myself as much life as I could,” says Shannon. She told her surgical oncologist that hers would be the easiest consultation ever. She had done the research, she knew the risks, she knew exactly what treatment she wanted. Tina, who also wanted to treat her cancer aggressively says she told her doctors, “Give me everything you’ve got.” Both women had a double mastectomy and reconstruction with silicone implants. Tina says her implants lasted 23 years before she noticed they started getting folds in them, which was a sign that both implants, though contained, had burst, and she had to have them redone. Shannon’s implants are a newer technology called gummy bear implants and are designed so that they won’t burst. Tina says the silicone felt and looked more natural, and Shannon says that was important to her as well. Tina also says that if she hadn’t been a nurse who had seen a lot of recurrence in women who had had a single mastectomy, and if she hadn’t been witness to her aunt’s experience, she may not have opted for the double mastectomy.

Diana Geiser did not opt for the double mastectomy, but now says she wishes she had. Diagnosed at age 50, Diana says she struggled with the decision at the time and remembers feeling like she wanted to keep part of herself. “Now I wish I’d done both,” she says explaining that one of the draw backs is that her natural breast gets bigger or smaller with weight fluctuations, but her reconstructed breast does not.

Regardless, all three women had four rounds of chemotherapy. They all had clear lymph nodes, and were hormone-receptor-negative (HR negative), meaning that it was likely that hormonal therapies wouldn’t work for them. Tina, still wanting to treat her cancer aggressively, says she wanted to kill everything and had low dose chemotherapy. She lost some of her hair, but not all of it. For Shannon and Diana, the pathology reports came back showing their tumors were aggressive, Shannon’s highly so, making chemotherapy necessary. They both lost all of their hair, which is something that must be incredibly pertinent to breast cancer survivors, because whether they did or they didn’t lose it, they all tell you about their hair.

Next time, in Part II, meet Meredith.


Sources:

https://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/understand_bc/statistics

https://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/diagnosis/hormone_status

https://www.breastcancer.org/research-news/20080813

http://www.who.int/cancer/events/breast_cancer_month/en/

https://www.cancer.gov/types/breast

https://www.cancer.gov/about-cancer/causes-prevention/genetics/brca-fact-sheet#q2

Patient Profile: Jennifer Maxfield

Patient Profile

Jennifer Maxfield

Cervical Cancer

Jennifer Maxfield describes herself as a very private person. It’s hard for her to share her story. It’s emotional and it’s out of her comfort zone, but she’s starting to get a little more comfortable with it because she likes the idea of helping others. “That my story may be beneficial for someone else down the road is kind of cool for me,” she says.

If heeded, her story really is likely to help others. Hers is a cautionary tale, because her cancer is one that may have been preventable. She was diagnosed with cervical cancer in 2016. She’d gone to the doctor on her lunch break for a routine gynecological check up and during the exam Jennifer recalls the doctor saying, “Whoah. That’s strange.” Her doctor brought some colleagues in to confirm her hunch and Jennifer was immediately referred to a cancer specialist.

A runner and avid tennis player, Jennifer was young and healthy and never expected a cancer diagnosis, but, “I’m healthy,” she says, “not diligent.” You see, it had been a few years since Jennifer had been to see a doctor. It had been long enough that even her boss noticed and it was at her boss’s suggestion that she’d gone for her exam that day.

The good news was that it was a relatively slow-growing cancer and it was isolated. Jennifer’s doctor felt positive that after treatment there would be no recurrence. She wouldn’t need chemotherapy and radiation, but she would need a radical hysterectomy. “It was the absolute recommendation,” Jennifer says. There was another surgery option, but due to the size of her cancer, the success rate was compromised and the cancer was likely to return and then spread. Neither Jennifer nor her doctor wanted to take that risk. Her surgery was October 2016, three months after diagnosis.

But, here’s the thing, Jennifer was 33 at the time she was diagnosed. She hadn’t yet had children and a hysterectomy meant she would not be able to get pregnant. That’s where it gets emotional for her. “That was the scariest moment when all my family left, when the doctor left and I was there coping with this drastic change,” she says. “It was a high price to pay.”

Jennifer doesn’t want anyone else to have to pay that price. She stresses the importance of going to the doctor for regular check ups, but she also emphasizes the need for awareness about the the human papillomavirus (HPV) which is the likely cause of her cancer. “It’s something kids can get vaccinated for,” she says. “You can prevent it.” Jennifer says she knows the vaccinations aren’t right for every family, but she hopes people will talk to their doctors and ask about the risks and possible prevention options for HPV.

Every once in a while the magnitude of what she had to give up strikes her, “but I don’t let myself get weighed down by that one thing,” she says. In fact, she says she feels really lucky and thankful for her family and her support network and she’s looking forward to her twin sister starting a family. “I’m hoping my sister gets pregnant,” she says. “I’d love to be an aunt.” She also hasn’t given up on motherhood. She and her sister are adopted so that feels like a very real option for her at some point.

In the meantime she sees her doctor every three months. At the two year mark she’ll do check ups every six months. She’s returned to running and tennis, she’s gone back to school, and she’s moving forward. “I just love my thirties,” she says. “I’m grateful for every single thing.”

Patient Profile: Cali Trepkowski

In March 2015, 8 year old Cali Trepkowski vomited on the way to school. She stayed home from school that day, but she seemed to be fine as the day progressed. A few weeks later she vomited again. This happened three more times so her mom Carrie called the pediatrician who determined it was allergies and put Cali on an allergy medicine. But the vomiting continued. The pediatrician said Cali might be lactose intolerant and advised Carrie to take all dairy out of Cali’s diet. But still Cali vomited. In June the pediatrician said to remove all the sugar from Cali’s diet, but the vomiting continued. By July Cali was vomiting every three days. A visit to the emergency room resulted in a gastric diagnosis and a follow up with a gastroenterologist. The gastroenterologist scheduled Cali for an endoscopy on August 14th, but by August 1st she was sleeping all the time and still vomiting so they went to the ER again and Carrie, who was no longer willing to wait to get results, insisted the endoscopy be performed immediately. The endoscopy didn’t provide answers so the ER doctor scheduled a brain MRI for August 14, the original date for the endoscopy. The morning of the MRI Cali woke up and stumbled into a wall. “Her gait was off,” says Carrie who had become increasingly worried about her daughter. The scan revealed that Cali had a 4.5 by 5 centimeter tumor in the back of her brain right up against the brain stem. Cali had cancer — Medulloblastoma, the most common form of malignant brain tumor in children.

Cali was immediately transported to a hospital in Miami, Florida where her surgeon put a drain in her brain to reduce the swelling. It was the swelling that was causing Cali to vomit. On August 17th Cali’s surgeon was able to remove the entire tumor. It was very literally not a day too soon. The surgeon told Carrie that miracles do happen and if they had waited one more day they would very likely have lost Cali.

Four weeks after surgery Cali underwent proton radiation — which Carrie learned is a type of radiation that causes less tissue damage. She says that with traditional radiation all of Cali’s major organs would have been vulnerable but with proton radiation only the top of her kidneys were affected. Then Cali had nine rounds of chemotherapy over 11 months and more than 20 transfusions. In addition, she began speech, occupational, and physical therapies and therapy with the Special Equestrians that helped Cali recover her strength and helped with her balance.

“She truly is a miracle,” says Carrie of her daughter who has some lasting side effects such as slow processing speed, and abstract learning, attention, and balance issues, but overall has had a remarkable recovery. “In the cancer world we’re the lucky ones,” says Carrie who is all too aware of how easily it could have gone the other way for them. “Once it becomes part of your world you see it everywhere. You have to give hope to others going through it.” she says. “I am very adamant about sharing her story and helping others.” Carrie stresses how important it is for parents and patients to press for answers from their doctors. “I knew something wasn’t right,” she says. “I don’t care what a doctor tells you. demand the testing. Don’t wait. Just because they are doctors doesn’t mean they are all knowing.” In Cali’s case so many of her symptoms were overlooked because the doctors she was seeing were not familiar with her type of cancer and because it doesn’t show up in normal blood work. Carrie now knows that when a child throws up in the morning, if it’s not a flu or other virus, it’s a sign of a brain tumor and she wants other parents to know that too.

Cali is 10 now. She’ll be 11 in February. She has an MRI every three months and while she currently has no evidence of disease, the highest chance of relapse is two years post treatment. After five years with no relapse Cali will be “cured” and will have a brain scan once a year for the rest of her life.

Going forward, Carrie says Cali will see an endocrinologist to address the hormonal side effects that accompany treatment. Carrie, who is very proactive in her daughter’s care, suspects a growth issue. “She hasn’t had much growth in two years,” she says. “Children will stop growing when there’s a brain tumor.” Carrie is concerned that without supplemental growth hormone Cali won’t reach a height of five feet. “Your whole world becomes taking care of your child and finding the best treatment,” she says. “I just want her to feel normal.”

As for the rest of the family, things are starting to become what Carrie calls a new normal. Carrie is extremely dedicated to supporting other families in the cancer community, and raising money for cancer research and the Make a Wish Foundation. She and her husband are both teachers and have three other children who Carrie says “didn’t have a mom” while Cali was undergoing treatment and Carrie was focused on caring for her. “I’m finally starting to be able to enjoy things again and I have these other kids here who need their mom,” says Carrie.“We do things differently now. We are building memories. Making as many memories as we can. We do as much as we can and enjoy it. We enjoy life.”

Patient Profile: Dana Oakes

Dana Oakes

Breast Cancer

Her diagnosis came in October 2011 during a routine mammogram. She says that when the technician came in for more pictures she knew immediately she had cancer. A biopsy confirmed malignancy and without any “debate or deliberation” Dana Oakes opted for a double mastectomy. Her surgery was scheduled for the next month. “I didn’t have a lot of of fear,” she recalls. “I said let’s get it out and get rid of it.” Oakes wasn’t interested in letting cancer get the best of her. After all, she had only recently recovered from a decade-long, debilitating battle with Lyme disease.

“It totally disabled me for many years,” she says of the Lyme disease that forced her to spend up to 20 hours a day in bed and go from full-time to part-time employment. Lyme brought with it other ailments that included burning pain in her hips, pain in her joints, profound fatigue, and flu-like symptoms. She describes the treatment and recovery as intense and says that, in a lot of ways, she feels that her chemo and cancer treatment were easier.

“I feel like I sailed through,” she says of her cancer treatment which did not leave her bedridden as her Lyme disease had. She credits an oncology team who made it as easy as possible and her husband Don who utilized the Family Medical Leave Act so he could be by her side every step of the way. But, it wasn’t all smooth sailing for Oakes. “With every doctor visit my prognosis seemed to get worse,” she says. “I was 62 years old and I had a fifty fifty chance.” Her treatment was aggressive. A month after her surgery she began chemotherapy which continued through April of 2012. She began radiation two months later, but there were several complications along the way.

Within weeks of recovering from her initial surgery she had to have an emergency appendectomy and she learned that, due to her Lyme disease, she would not be a candidate for breast reconstruction. Then during chemotherapy she got phlebitis and had to have a port put in. She also had to skip a week of chemo because her white blood cell count was too low. In addition, a heart issue developed due to side effects from one of her medications and she developed neuropathy which caused a stinging feeling in her ankles and calves that she equates to being attacked by yellow jacket wasps.

Fortunately, her heart issue was resolved within a year and, although it seems to be permanent, her neuropathy is controlled by medication. Oakes says she doesn’t miss her breasts at all and found an added bonus in that her cancer treatment may have also tackled any residual Lyme disease. “I found the chemo came as close to finally knocking it out as anything else,” she says.

This year, Oakes has graduated to seeing her oncologist only once a year, she has had no recurrence, and she lives with no evidence of disease, or NED. “I prefer to not say I’m cancer free because we never know,” she says. “But I like NED. I like him a lot.”

Introducing Darla Brown: An Empowered Patient

People with cancer who actively participate in their fight for recovery along with their physicians and healthcare professionals will improve the quality of their lives and may enhance the possibility of their recovery. Combining the will of the patient with the skill of the physician – A powerful combination.” ~ Harold Benjamin, PhD, 1982

In 2010 I became very sick. I was losing weight, had excruciating pain in my pelvis, and had extremely heavy, abnormal menstrual bleeding. I went to a doctor to get help. Unfortunately, that was just the beginning of my healthcare saga. I went through several late nights in emergency rooms (often sent away with painkillers), to more ultrasounds than I could count, to countless specialists, and yet the pain and other symptoms only worsened.

The first doctor I visited assumed the culprit was an ovarian cyst and each subsequent doctor I saw took her word for it.  I should admit something at this point in my story. Up until this point, I tended to be passive about my health care. I didn’t question diagnoses or treatments. When so many doctors agreed on my diagnosis, how could I question them? However, when I eventually became “patient active” (a term that I later learned), it actually saved my life.

One sleepless night, I woke up on the floor of my kitchen. The anemia (a result of the abnormal menstrual bleeding) had caused me to pass out while getting a glass of water and I had hit my head.  I went back to the doctor the next day and insisted more tests be done.  I implored, “Please don’t send me home again without a real diagnosis.” I demanded something be done. This was my first step to becoming an empowered patient.

Empowered patients realize that they have to make the healthcare system work for them. Through my experience I realized:

  • It is too easy to get passed around from doctor to doctor in our healthcare system. This wastes valuable time.
  • It is easy for doctors, who can be overburdened, to focus on the most squeaky wheel and forget about passive patients.
  • Had I been empowered sooner in my healthcare journey, I would have gotten to a diagnosis sooner and my cancer would not have become life threatening. My cervical cancer symptoms were actually evident from the start and yet I went undiagnosed for several months.

I was finally diagnosed with stage 2 cervical cancer and found a wonderful healthcare team at Cedars-Sinai Cancer Center. I didn’t have insurance at the time (I was too sick to work and this was before the ACA/Obamacare) but I did qualify for a California state run program called the Breast and Cervical Cancer Treatment Program (BCCTP).

By the time I actually got into treatment, the tumor had grown and had positioned itself inside my cervix so that surgery to remove it was no longer an option. Instead, I went through two months of daily external radiation, weekly internal radiation (also known as brachytherapy), and weekly chemotherapy treatments. I am so grateful that it was treatable, and I am thankful for the healthcare system that made it so. However, had I been properly diagnosed and treated earlier on, I would have required less invasive and less expensive treatments.

Since my diagnosis and recovery, I have spoken to many patients about their experiences and I am honored to be invited to share those stories and lessons in future blog posts.

5 Lessons Learned from an Ovarian Cancer Survivor

Editor’s Note: Blog written by MyLifeLine.org founder and ovarian cancer survivor, Marcia Donziger. She shares 5 of the lessons learned after she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at age 27. 


marcia-photo

Marcia Donziger

In 1997 I was 27, happy, free, and traveling the world as a flight attendant. Newly married and ready to have a baby, I felt strong and invincible. My future was unfolding just as I expected it to. Until the symptoms appeared ever so subtly. Squeezing cramps around my waist. It hurt to pee. After a few weeks, I marched my invincible self into my doctor’s office, told her I diagnosed my own bladder infection, and may I please have antibiotics.

She decided to investigate a little further. After an ultrasound, she discovered a grapefruit-sized tumor growing on my left ovary. “Could it be cancer?” I asked. “No,” my doctor assured me, “you’re too young to have cancer.”

Surgery was scheduled to remove my “benign tumor.” I was excited to get it over with, so I could go on with my life and have babies. After 5 hours of surgery, I woke up in the recovery room, my body uncontrollably thrashing in pain. My doctor hovered over me and broke the news, “I’m sorry. You have ovarian cancer. You’ve had a complete hysterectomy. We took everything out.”

What I heard loud and clear was “Cancer. You can’t have children.”

The diagnosis came as a shock. Stage IIIC ovarian cancer had taken over my abdomen, resulting in an emergency hysterectomy that I was not prepared for. The intense grief hit immediately. The loss of my fertility was most crushing. I had always wanted to be a mom.

Halfway through chemo treatments, I celebrated my 28th birthday, but there wasn’t much to celebrate. My marriage was dying. Cancer puts tremendous stress on a couple. Some couples can handle it together like champs. We didn’t. We divorced 1 year from the date of my diagnosis.

After treatment ended, I looked in the mirror to see what was left. I was 28 years old, ravaged physically and emotionally, divorced, and scared to date as a woman unable to have children. Who would love me now?

Now, almost 20 years later, I feel strong again (although not invincible).

With the benefit of time and perspective, I’ve distilled that traumatic cancer experience into 5 life lessons:

  1. Trust grandma’s reassurance, “This too shall pass.” As an ovarian cancer survivor herself, my grandma is living proof of this timeless wisdom. Stressful events don’t have to be permanent. We don’t have to be victims. Although cancer is extremely painful and unwelcome, the bright spot is we are forced to build character traits such as resiliency, emotional courage, and grit.
  2. Create your own joy in the midst of crisis. There are ways to uplift yourself during the chaos of cancer treatment. For example, I took a pottery class throughout my chemo months to find solace in distraction and art, which helped soothe my soul and ease the journey. What would make you happy? Do some-thing just for you.
  3. Stop doing what you don’t want to do. If you were doing too much out of obligation beforehand, try to change that. You are only obligated to make yourself happy. No one else can do that for you. The key is to use this wisdom to prioritize your time and honor yourself, so you can be healthy for others. Drop what doesn’t serve you. Drop the guilt. Life will go on.
  4. Connect with others. The emotional trauma is hard to measure in a medical test, but it’s real. Anxiety and depression can go hand-in-hand after cancer—it did for me. In response to the emotional challenges I experienced, years later I founded MyLifeLine.org Cancer Foundation to ease the burden for others facing cancer. MyLifeLine.org is a cancer-specific social platform designed to connect you with your own family and friends to ease the stress, anxiety, and isolation. Gather your tribe on MyLifeLine. You are not alone.
  5. You are lovable after cancer. No matter what body parts you are missing, you deserve love just as you are. Cancer tore down my self-esteem, and it took significant effort to build it back up. I am dedicated to personal and professional growth now. Look into your heart, your mind, your spirit. Try fine-tuning your best character traits, like generosity or compassion. Never stop growing and learning. We are not defined by the body.

To wrap up my story—I learned that when one door closes, another opens. Today I am the proud, grateful mother of 11-year-old twin boys. Born with the help of a surrogate mom and an egg donor, my dream finally came true of becoming a parent. Where there is a will, there is a way. Never give up on your dreams!


About MyLifeLine.org: MyLifeLine.org Cancer Foundation provides free websites to connect cancer patients with family and friends so patients feel supported. To learn more about how MyLifeLine.org can help you or someone you know affected by cancer, please visit www.mylifeline.org.

Real Stories of Lung Cancer

Real patient experiences shared privately at www.TreatmentDiaries.com. Read more, share if you like or join in the conversation. Making sure you feel less alone navigating a cancer diagnosis is important. Connecting you to those who can relate and provide support is what we do.

Caregiver 1: Female caring for Male with NSC Lung Cancer

My husband’s last scan was terrible. Everything that had once been invisible on previous scans had grown dramatically, and there are new nodes and tumors. He will get a port for Christmas, and start 2 new types of chemo by Jan. 1.

This is difficult to deal with for everyone. It was like we were able to live in a form of denial for quite some time. Not anymore….

He was diagnosed with stage IV non-small cell lung cancer a little over 2 years ago. He will start on a Carboplatin/Taxol combination. He will have a port installed just after Christmas, and begin the New Year with his 1st round of 6 cycles. So far, he hasn’t had radiation because it everywhere, so they have been trying to get it under control systemically.

I am so blessed to have a husband who, despite all he is going through, still tries to make life as easy for me as possible. I am so thankful for a wonderful family.

Patient 1: Female (USA) Lung Cancer

I have been thinking of making a journal about my health issues and here it is. This is great. I had cancer surgery almost 15 years ago and I have been cancer free and relatively healthy ever since. This last Oct. my illusion came to an abrupt halt. My lung specialist said I had a mass in my left lung and it needed to come out. Ah you said what??? He sent me to a Thoracic Surgeon and he was ready to sign me up for the next opening. I felt my stomach turn and I said I needed to see my Primary Care physician. I saw her a week later and told her I wanted to wait and see. She agreed and told me about a blood test that would screen for cancer. I had the test and it says I don’t have any Cancer in my system. I decided to get another opinion this time at UCSF. This is where I had my Lung Cancer surgery done in 1996. I am waiting for my appointment. It is in the middle of Jan. I don’t understand how well respected and learned doctors can do this. I have had two Dr. and a blood screening say they were wrong (and I’ll eat my hat if they’re right) but they insist the mass is cancer. I hope everyone gets second and third and fourth opinions. Well we shall wait and see. Thanks for the opportunity to say my peace.

My Cancer fears were gone once I had my surgery in 1996. I really never gave it another though. I did have yearly CT scans and they were consistently the same. I was well aware of the scar tissue present but I was a smoker. I was a hairdresser, used a lot of chemicals that are labeled dangerous. And I was a sun goddess and a swimmer and lifeguard. Again not very good conditions if you want to be cancer free. For any cancer!

I returned home from UCSF with the same old story. Let’s watch and wait. I will get another CT scan in 6 months and just go from there. Other than that I sure enjoyed being in San Francisco. I really love that town. I am feeling good and I will be doing life as usual for now. I started doing square dancing once a week and I will rejoin the gym. I hope everybody is feeling well and continues to have happy thoughts for their new year. 🙂

Well, I have missed the last two weeks of SD. I keep running a fever and feeling sort of sickish. I don’t want to be a rabbit out of the cage and push myself. I’m not in a race. I will rejoin the gym ASAP. I still haven’t heard from my doctor as to what she thinks is the next plan. I’m not too sure I will keep her as my primary Dr. She is way to controlling and this freaks me out. She works for me. I think more doctors need to remember they are working for their patients and any decisions need to be mutually agreed upon and that they are not the ultimate authority. I feel like she wants me to do everything her way and that I’m not her… Oh well, I did my will today and that went well.

Patient 2: Male (Malaysia)

Diagnosed with Stage 4 Non-Small Cell Lung Cancer, hv chemo treatment with Carboplatin + Taxol (6 cycles)2008 ; Tarceva (21/2 months)2008/2009 ; Cisplatin + Alimta (3 cycles) 2009; Alimta only (3 cycles) 2009 ; Alimta only (2 cycles) 2010.
Have experience Lung collapse and drain out fluid from lung in 2010.
Treatment not manage to reduce the quantity and size of tumor, but, manage to have it under control with no major changes for the total quantity and size since diagnose until now.

I proceed with chemo and this round I decide to use back the same drug that I use last year, Gemzar and Navelbine.

All went well after chemo I feel good and suddenly, situation changed and I started vomiting for 3 days, thereafter I felt very tired and I started to loss balance while walking. So, decided to proceed to hospital on. With blood test report, doctor ask me to admit hospital, as my Sodium is very low, it’s the cause of tired and dizzy, then my hemoglobin is low too, so, cannot proceed for chemo.

After all the paper work, I admitted and taking two bags of blood transfusion, then, follow by dripping of sodium water. On second and third day, they took my blood again, too bad, both show that no improvement on my sodium level, but, lucky that hemoglobin n RBW is getting so much better.

After 4 nights in hospital, I requested doctor to allow me discharge, no doubts I am not recover from short of sodium, but, I feel so much better. Finally doctor agreed and discharge me with sodium tablet.

Since back home, I feel good and I have regain my appetite, I really eat and enjoy.

Life goes on – I don’t think of I will ever rest from Chemo treatment for 5 1/2 months. Beside of the back pain disturb me, some breathless at times, basically, I have no complaints.

lung cancer ribbonI have delay my CT scan since April this year and finally got it done two days ago, and yesterday meet up with doctor to discuss about the result of scan. Overall, not much changes to my brain and bone, consider stable. But, compare with previous scan, tumor in lung show some 30% progression. Doctor advise me to proceed for Chemo by next week to get situation under control. Tentatively scheduled for early next week. Anyway, there are things for me to consider and I pray to Lord to guide me and show me the way for the treatment. My main concern is back pain that disturb me almost every night with the pain moving from one to another place at my back. Life now is with daily pain killer and because of the continue taking pain killer, I often feel tired / weak.

Spoke to doctor about getting opinion from Orthopedics to have some idea is the pain due to my spine, but, doctor told me that it is not necessary.

Well, I will arrange appointment with doctor in another hospital and have fix it on coming Monday, hopefully can have some solution. Life goes on, but, no more normal for the last couple of weeks and I hope that Lord will take away all the pain and restore my body with strength and energy.

No worry be Happy. Believe and have Faith.

 

 

Real Stories of Pancreatic Cancer

Real patient experiences shared privately at www.TreatmentDiaries.com. Read more, share if you like or join in the conversation. Making sure you feel less alone navigating a cancer diagnosis is important. Connecting you to those who can relate and provide support is what we do.

Pancreatic Patient 1: Female (Canada)

This is my first entry. A friend directed me to a related site today, and somehow I ended up here. I was given the pancreatic cancer verdict the end of last year – after months of testing and being told ‘whatever it is, it isn’t cancer’. Ha! So much for the – it isn’t cancer theory. I was referred to a world class surgeon in Toronto early this year who was able to do a Whipple procedure, removing about a third of my pancreas.

Initially he thought he got it all. However subsequent scans revealed the original cancer had metastasized into the liver. So then it was off for chemo. What a nightmare. Again, an excellent oncologist at an excellent facility. I was put on the 5-FU regime (how appropriate is that name!) from May-Nov. Twelve treatments in total. Nearly killed me. I don’t think I have ever felt as ill as I did during the 2 weeks between treatments. Just began to feel normal when it was time to begin all over again. But, by the end of the year my tumors had reduced considerably, and my oncologist considered me his poster girl. We all knew the reality of pancreatic cancer.

However, by the end of February the party was over. The tumors were back. So another hit of 5-FU. This time the drug concoction plus the accompanying steroids, triggered bleeding abdominal ulcers. It was decided to discontinue 5-FU. I am now receiving Gemcitabine, a less aggressive treatment. I feel I’ve been given a reprieve chemo-wise, but only time will tell if this will work for me or not.

I would be very interested to hear from anyone with pancreatic cancer. I am blessed with a wonderfully supportive husband, family and friends. Life is good. But I hate this disease with a passion. Acceptance of it is not in my vocabulary.

Pancreatic Patient 2: Female (USA)

Just found this site and today is my first entry. I was diagnosed the end of June with inoperable pan can. I went through an experimental drug trial for Tnferade in the fall. It was absolutely brutal….and did nothing as far as we know. My tumor has remained basically “stable” since my diagnosis, with my current treatment of gemzar every other week. The gemzar really knocks me down for a few days, but being as I’m still “stable”, I guess it’s worth it. Early September of this year I spent two weeks in ICU, as all of my treatments/drugs created a 5cm duodenal ulcer……Had no idea I had it until it began to bleed profusely…..10 pints of blood later, I’m still here. Back to work now, but only three days a week. Absolutely dreading the winter, having lost 50lbs since this started I don’t have an ounce of fat for insulation!

Feeling so much better since the ulcer was taken care of! I believe it has been a undetected problem for quite some time, but how would you know….I mean was I having a lot of abdominal pain…yes….but I have pan can so how do you differentiate? Best of all I am sleeping better. Prior to the episode, I was usually only able to sleep two hours or so at time! Now my sleep is nearly “normal. I had plans to go to Vegas with my family in October for a family wedding….but of course was side lined by the hospitalization. Was able to rebook my husband’s ticket and mine for the first week of December and am excited at feeling well enough to have a good time…..and have some nice weather, if only for a weekend!!! Of all the compromises this illness has forced upon me, not being able to tolerate traveling much has really been one of the worst things since I got sick. Prior to getting sick I travelled the world extensively. I have plans to celebrate my 50th birthday this March in London…and soooooo hope I will still be well enough to do it!

Hello friends! Still here!!! Have gained back 25-30 lbs. and doing much better! Been off chemo for eight weeks now. The last round has damaged my nerves in my hands and feet. The doctors say they have exhausted all established tx options for me. This is not necessarily bad news, as the reason is more people in my shoes…don’t get this far. My last scan showed my liver mets are nearly imperceptible and the once very large head tumor itself shows a “residual”! They don’t have any idea what this means in the long run, and consider me a “lucky” anomaly. I am far from the person I was physically, before this started…but certainly grateful to still be here. I hope someone reads this post who has been recently diagnosed with inoperable pan can……I know that the odds are so very poor for most of us….but PLEASE believe there are cases like mine out there…..It isn’t always a 3-6 window. When I was diagnosed, I never expected to be here this long…26 months and counting. Not that I was being a defeatist or negative…..It’s just as a healthcare professional myself, I understood the grave reality of my situation. That said….we all MUST remember….ever case IS different and the best advice I can give is to always stay positive!!! Since I the first of the year I have begun to try to resume my life’s passion….regular travels. I have been to London twice, one in March to celebrate my 50th with friends from around the globe, and last month for a music symposium my husband was invited to attend. I plan on getting back to London in a month or two, and to Vegas in September!!! Anyways…thanks for reading…and stay positive!!! XOX

Pancreatic Patient 3: Female Caregiver of Male patient (USA)

Just little background… My husband, 54, was diagnosed with Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer last Sept. We went to have the Whipple procedure and found the cancer had spread to his abdominal cavity. He just completed his 10th round of Folfirinox. The treatment side effects have been continuing to get worse…. he sleeps most of the day and when he is awake he is in pain. His weight has gone from 220 to 150 in the last year and with his appetite gone it continues to go down. We have been holding on to the hope that once he completed 12 rounds of Folfirinox they would do another CT Scan and God willing the spots on his abdominal wall would be gone.

We thought he would then be a candidate for the Whipple. He has a tumor in the head and tail of his pancreas. Today we were told that wouldn’t be happening…. while I understand the reasoning (the lengthy recuperation period, the added weight loss and the overwhelming odds that the cancer would come back anyway) I am heartbroken. I had convinced myself that we were going to beat this. I never let myself think we couldn’t. I’m supposed to grow old with this man, our “golden” years…. we raised three beautiful children together, watched the oldest get married, watched them graduate and go their own ways…. it was supposed to be “our” turn. Our kids are 25, 26 & 30.

Today we had to tell them that time is limited. All I can hope for realistically is another wonderful five years… I really hope I get another 5 years.