Reprinted by permission from the Grand Traverse Womans Magazine Oct 08 issue
I have always had a wicked sense of humor. I get that from my
dad. On Sept 18, 2007, when I was told, "It's cancer," I didn't
know how my sense of humor and my favorite game, hockey,
would get me through perhaps the greatest challenge of my life.
Immediately I saw the irony in my breast cancer. I
had just participated in the American Cancer Society's
Relay for Life a couple of months before and now I
was a cancer survivor.
My primary care physician broke the news and,
since I had basically just met her, it was dubious at
best. I remember she told me and then her voice
sounded like the adults in the Peanuts cartoon. After
that she made an appointment for me to see a surgeon,
Dr. Brown. I immediately pictured Doc Brown
from Back to the Future. If he starts talking flux
capacitors and screams 1.21 jigawatts I am so out of
there, I thought. Fortunately he is nothing like that.
We discussed my options and decided I would get a
lumpectomy. "You could get a mastectomy so you can
be sure the cancer doesn't go into the other breast" he
said. Well I am all for preventative medicine but let's
not get carried away. To quote one of my favorite TV
shows, Seinfeld: "They are real and they are spectacular."
I decided to keep both of them.
Dr. Brown did two surgeries, one to remove the
lump and one for the port. He told me the surgery
would only take about a half hour. I got to the hospital
around 10 a.m. Surgery was scheduled for around
noon. I couldn't have anything to eat or to drink after
midnight. I was waiting in a private room, watching
the video about my port. The time ticked by and soon
it was 2 o'clock and I was still waiting. I happened to
spy the doc walking by my room and yelled out, "So
what did you do, forget about me?" He had some kind
of cardiac emergency to take care of and told me I was
next in line. He said "You must be pretty hungry, huh?"
I was and said, "Yeah you owe me a pizza." He said
OK. As I was being wheeled into the OR the surgical
nurse said, "OK now the doctor will be right in. He is
just ordering your pizza."
"Haha," I thought, "Funny joke to play on someone
who is just about to be put under." Sure enough when I
woke up from surgery a Jet's pizza was waiting for me.
Having cancer is not easy, and telling people is just
as difficult. Some people I could tell right away, while
others would have to wait. It is exhausting enough just
having the disease, let alone rewinding and replaying
the story for my friends and family. So how do you tell
people? "Hey!! Haven't seen you in a while, how ya
doin'? I have cancer. How are the kids?"
I never thought I wouldn't be OK, even after I lost
weight. People who didn't know that I had cancer
said, "Wow, you look great!!"
"Yeah," I said. "That cancer is the best diet ever!"
Even after my first chemo treatment made me so
dizzy and nauseous for three hours, I still knew I was
going to be OK. No wonder I don't drink. Chemo gave
me the worst hangover I ever had. Even after I had my
stylist shave my head because the chemo was making
my hair fall out I had to laugh. My mom wanted a current
picture of me and, as it turned out, I got my head
shaved on her birthday. Happy Birthday Mom!! My hair
is growing back, and she is still waiting for that picture.
I really didn't have the side-effects that many people
do, with the exception of the first chemo hangover
bedspins. I am convinced that working out to get ready
to hit the ice really helped me battle this disease.
All this was going on around the beginning of hockey
season, something I look forward to. I am the captain of
the Petoskey women's hockey team and I always work
out my hardest to get ready for that, and, because of
my job at WMKT, I was able to go to the Red Wings
Training Camp. I was diagnosed on the last day of training
camp. The Wings save their best game for the last
day. Unfortunately I did not make it to that game.
Since I am a huge hockey fan, it really meant
something special to me when the Red Wings won
the Stanley Cup. The Wings will hoist the Stanley
Cup banner on Oct. 9. One year to the day of my
lumpectomy surgery.
I use hockey as an analogy to fighting cancer. If
you are on the ice and someone knocks you down,
you don't stay down. You get up and keep skating.
That is what I will do. I will keep skating.
|
|
