Dying of cancer was far from my mind that day in 1987 when the surgeon told me that the tissue removed from my breast looked suspicious. He informed me that a modified radical mastectomy would be the only option if the lump in my breast was malignant.
Focusing on the possible loss of a breast, I entered the hospital. Following surgery my first question was, "Is it gone?" The loss of my breast triggered strong emotions. I was 46 years old, wife and mother of two sons, and worked as an elementary school counselor. The good thought was that I had six weeks sick leave to read all those unread books on shelves in my family room.
The day after surgery my internist told me the lump was malignant, and presented cancer statistics. He didn't think I would need further treatment. My focus continually reverted to my father's experience with cancer. He was in his 30's when he was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease. A course of X-ray treatment kept him in remission for 35 years - pretty amazing at that time.
The first symbol of my mastectomy came in the form of daffodils. They were given to me the day before I left the hospital.
"I didn't want the daffodils! I took them only to be polite.
Daffodils are supposed to be a cheerful ray, a yellow delicate creation.
I wanted to deny them a place in my hands as I left the hospital.
Why hadn't I given them to the old man in the room next to mine?
Why was I taking them home?
Why didn't I ask my husband to carry them?
"They loomed large as I sat in the wheelchair being pushed through the corridor. I considered dropping them in a wastebasket. Surely they were the label that conveyed the message that I had cancer. (--the reason being that the American Cancer Society had a daffodil sale every year.)
My anger told me to slam them to the floor to be crushed under the wheels as we moved through the halls.
At home they sat in a vase.
I hated looking at them and was glad when they died."
These strong feelings were foreign to me and I didn't talk about it with anyone. Two weeks after surgery I was informed that a six-month course of chemotherapy was highly recommended. My father's cancer returned in the form of Lymphoma. He had a year of chemotherapy and then he died. Maybe I would too. I was still recuperating from surgery. How much more could I take? Would I lose my hair? - so much to worry about.
"Planters, flowers and cards are bringing out the anger in me.
I don't want all these reminders of my condition. I don't want my condition.
(Later after mail delivery)
More cards.
"Planters, flowers and cards help me know I am not alone.
I suffer; I'm in pain; but enveloped by a cloud of love, I continue on this journey."
Chemotherapy was hard. It stole my energy and concentration. It threw me into early menopause, and hot flashes became a menace. Losing my hair was traumatic and raised deeper issues of identity and aging. My mother's hair was thinning.
THREE REFLECTIONS
"I look in the mirror. Who am I?
In the reflection I see a curly-headed blond.
Out into the world I go, feeling the wig around my head and wondering who notices.
I feign confidence - trying to forget.
"I look in the mirror. Who am I now?
In the reflection I see a thin-haired old woman. Into my world of pain I hide, aware of the hair loss, telling others it's like a baby's fine hair; trying to deny the real thoughts, the old woman thoughts.
"I look in the mirror. Who am I now?
In the reflection I see a cover-up. Feeling my head getting cold in the comfort of my home, I add a scarf that offers warmth and hides reality. A scarf. And yet, another symbol."
Every day I swallowed pills and every Friday I was given drugs by IV. Every reported pain was taken seriously and led to CT scans, X-rays, bone scans and MRI's. Recurring headaches worried me.
"Yesterday I believed I was dying - dying of brain cancer as I awaited the results of a CT scan because of headaches - headaches that for two months now come and go. I know someone who just died of brain cancer.
"Awaiting a diagnosis can seem an eternity. Do I plan for next week? Next month? or, is the future cancelled - or at least postponed. Do I fear dying or do I fear losing life - or the quality of life to which I am accustomed?
"Today the phone call came. CT scan normal. Cause of headaches unknown. Headaches now seem unimportant - cancer cells are not the cause.
"Will this fear of cancer continue forever? - a curse I relentlessly bear?"
Where was my faith in all this? My God would offer strength and comfort. Yet, my prayers were sluggish - few and far between - seemingly ineffective. Still, knowing I was in other's prayers carried me. When emotions swirled through my being, I wrote or used art as an outlet. Actually, it was through art that my subconscious found the God connections that brought me peace.
Quotations are from the book, Journey Unknown - Focusing on the Emotional Aspects of Cancer, Mastectomy and Chemotherapy Second Edition published 2012. The author of the book is me, the author of this article.
Three final thoughts:
1) Talk, but select your listeners carefully.
2) Ask for help, especially from family.
3) Deal with each aspect of the cancer journey in little bits. The whole is too overwhelming.
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