|
Linda
I Didn’t Know. Would You Have?
The entire winter of 1998, my left breast, and particularly the nipple, itched. I told my
friend. She said, 'Mine itches, too. It must be the dry heat.' When my golden retriever
cuddled up, my breast hurt. I told my mom. She said, 'I’ve read that breast cancer doesn’t
hurt - that if your breast hurts, it is probably fibrocystic disease.'
In January 1999, I
had a chest x-ray because I had bronchitis. The technicians repeated it because they
thought they saw 'something.' After the second x-ray I was told my lungs were okay, but
that I should go get a mammogram. 'What do they know about breast x-rays at a minor medical
clinic?' I thought. I did nothing.
The next month I was walking on a cobblestone surface in the rain. My toe caught, down I
went, and I bruised my breast. It took a good while for the bruise to fade, but I bruise
easily. My mom is a redhead.
In April 1999, I was sweeping the sidewalk with a shop broom.
It stuck in the crack of the sidewalk, and this caused the handle to poke into my breast.
Ow! I nearly passed out. I called to get a diagnostic mammogram, but I was told I would
have to wait 3 weeks for an appointment. I didn’t press the issue; I waited.
Meanwhile, I asked the librarian for some information on breast cancer. She copied a couple
pages and sent them to me. H-m-m-m. One symptom is an inverting of the nipple. I hadn’t
noticed before, but one of mine did look very different from the other. Discoloration and
thickening of the skin were two more symptoms - Uh-oh; not good.
As I waited for the day of
my appointment I was pretty sure the news I would get would not be good. A friend met me
at the Women’s Health Center for moral support.
May 19, 1999, the day came for me to have my mammogram. I thought it was going to kill
me - it hurt so badly! As I sat and awaited the results, I was called back to repeat it.
Shortly thereafter I found myself lying on a table in a dark room having an ultrasound.
As
the technician silently scanned my breast, she found what she was looking for. I could see
it on the screen. Then she moved to the underarms. That’s when I lost it. 'Diagnosis:
Breast Cancer' would not have surprised me, but I had not prepared myself to hear that it
was already in the lymph nodes, that it had metastasized, or that I was already Stage 4.
Little tears escaped.
The doctor, a very recent breast cancer survivor herself, came in to see the ultrasound.
Then she, my friend, and I went into her office. She showed us the films, and she explained
what she saw. I, indeed, did have a tumor, but more seriously, I also had outward
indications of inflammatory breast cancer.
I hadn’t had any idea that the itching I had
experienced 7 months prior was my first of several symptoms of one of the rarest, most
aggressive, and deadliest of breast cancers! Would you have? That day my life changed
forever.
Linda
Memphis, Tennessee
* * * * * * * * *
September 2, 2000
In 1997 my friend, Benja Arnold, was diagnosed with recurrence of breast cancer after
having been disease-free for 7 years. Because of her, I participated in Race for the Cure
for the first time ever. I remember finding out where to go to register, registering myself
and a teacher friend, picking up our tee-shirts, and buying a static decal for my window on
my door at school.
The whole experience left me feeling rather 'noble'..like I was doing
something really important for 'women.' I felt like I was contributing in some small way to
this 'greater sisterhood' thing that I got a sense of for the first time. I was proud to
be a participant, and when I raced I wore a pink sheet of paper on my back that said, 'IN
CELEBRATION OF..BENJA ARNOLD.' I kept that paper, and we talked about the race afterward.
In October ’98 a series of personal family crises culminated in the Race for the Cure month.
My only race run that year was in continuous circles. I don’t think there were any
'winners.'
In October 1999, 4 ½ months after beginning treatments for inflammatory breast cancer, I
again 'raced' for the cure. But, this time, when I walked into the registration
area - one- breasted, bald, bloated, and facing stem cell transplant the next week, my whole
attitude was 180 degrees changed. I wanted to go up to every chic Germantown woman who was
registering and thank her for running for ME.
I was not feeling noble or proud; I was
feeling broken, humbled, and indebted. I remember when I was offered a pink Survivor cap
and tee-shirt - I truly didn’t know whether I was supposed to accept them. In my mind I
wasn’t a 'Survivor' yet. Embarrassed, I took the items, went to my car, put my head on my
steering wheel and wept.
The day of the race, I once again wore Benja’s name as I
'walked' the race with 13,000 other participants including some students, teachers and
parents of our school who walked in my honor.
On October 21, 2000, on my back will be a pink sheet of paper that will say, 'IN MEMORY
OF..BENJA ARNOLD.' I won’t be racing FOR her anymore. She lost her fight August 14th. It’s
too late for her. Maybe it’s too late for me. Only God knows. But, I pray it’s not too
late for my mother and my sister, for the young ladies in my school that I have the
privilege of working with each day. I pray it’s not too late for you.
Maybe we can perfect
the vaccine that’s in the works - so they won’t have to experience what I’ve experienced - or
at least, find 'kinder' and more effective treatments.
I have never participated in any of the many local cancer support groups. I also knew I was
not going to be a cancer volunteer and hang out at the clinic with a blue 'volunteer' apron
trying to make people feel better. In fact, my thinking all along was, 'When I emerge on
the other side of this tunnel of treatment, I’m closing this chapter of my life. I am going
to get stronger, and I am going to get on with living the rest of my life. People will
once again ask about my family and my dog; not my health.'
But, I’ve learned what so many others have learned before me - that the 'cancer chapter' never
closes - it continues to be written. Some days it occupies only a few sentences of my time;
other days maybe a paragraph or a page, but there is always a 'p.s.' - never a period.
And, I’ve found that that’s not all bad.
To have each day colored by my ibc experience is
to profit from some major lessons. I want to never forget the lessons I’ve learned from
cancer, including how precious the relationships are with which God has blessed me and the
fact that there are no longer any 'ordinary' days in my life or any 'routine' tests.
There’s a heightened awareness of others and their needs - that sometimes their need to be
ministered to is more important than my need to be 'right.' Imagine that.
I know that
there are worse things than getting up at 5:30 a.m. and going to work...NOT GETTING UP and
going to work, for instance. I learned that the worst day at school is still better than
the best day in a hospital. For these reasons, and many others, I want to never forget to
educate others about breast cancer and about ibc in particular.
Please read about Inflammatory Breast Cancer which involves the lymphatic system and often
doesn’t have a lump. Be aware that this rare and aggressive form of breast cancer is often
undetectable by mammogram and is, therefore, too frequently misdiagnosed as a breast
infection.
Race for the Cure if you can and ask someone you love to race with you. Most of
all, take care of yourself!! Don’t do like I did and neglect getting a regularly scheduled
mammogram even though I had pain and itching, classic ibc symptoms which I did not recognize
as 'cancer.' My car and my teeth NEVER missed an appointment. Are they more important
than my health?
Thank you for your prayers. I appreciate your allowing me this
opportunity to be at least a small part of the Solution by getting the word out.
God Bless You,
Linda
One Year Survivor
P.S. This year I will also be racing in 'CELEBRATION OF..JUDY HOGUE,' Briarcrest teacher,
diagnosed 8/00..detected early because of a routine mammogram!!
| 
