November 25, 2018 - a continuation of my story from 2 years ago.
The last three months of my life have been absolutely harrowing. This word is an apt descriptor, because it refers to an experience that is extremely distressing and often associated with suffering. During the past three months, I have experienced every emotion possible, along with physical pain, making day-to-day living quite intense. It started with a phone call: “You have Stage 0, Grade II, ductal carcinoma in situ.” Why do medical terms have to be so complicated? In plain English, they were saying I had moderately aggressive early-stage breast cancer. I was numb and in shock. Every morning when I woke up after that phone call, the first thought in my head would be, “Oh my gosh, I have cancer. I am just 49 and I have cancer. What do I do?!? What do I do?!?” There is no history of breast cancer in my family. Then the logical, reasonable side of me took over. “Elaine, you just need to call The James Cancer Hospital here in town at The Ohio State University.” I had taken my mom there during her battle with multiple myeloma. Though my mom died 4 years ago, I was very impressed with the doctors and staff. My mom was 23 years older than me, though. Why do I need an oncologist already just 4 years after her death? How is this happening? Why is this happening? I was supposed to be gearing up to have deep brain stimulation surgery to help with some of my Parkinson’s symptoms. This surgery would involve implanting two wires in my brain to help control my erratic, stiff muscles. Needless to say, that surgery was put on the back burner. The Stefanie Spielman Comprehensive Breast Center, part of The Ohio State University, is the facility I decided to call first. Within minutes of speaking to one of their coordinators, I knew I had made the right decision. In just 24 hours a patient coordinator had me scheduled with a surgeon, a plastic surgeon, and a radiation oncologist. I had a plan of action in place. I did not know what the outcome would be, but knowing we were going to attack this problem in an organized fashion gave me some peace. Let me just say, The Stefanie Spielman Center is amazing. The building is impressive and the staff absolutely phenomenal. It makes me sad that Stefanie Spielman died of breast cancer at the age of 42, with four young children. But this facility is the epitome of something wonderful arising out of a tragedy. Her legacy has helped thousands of women already, and I feel very fortunate to have access to such excellent medical care, which is just 15 miles from my house. I have learned that most medical conditions entail exhaustive medical testing and long wait times between tests. From the first mammogram to my biopsy, 3 ½ weeks elapsed. Another 2 weeks would pass before I saw the first doctor to devise a treatment plan. From there, it would be another 6 weeks of appointments and pre-op testing before I finally made it to surgery. Currently, one in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. My situation is far from unique. Those who have already been through it know the agony of waiting and wondering. The internet and Google searches. The wishing for answers while continuing to wait. The imagination snowballs to a point one becomes positive – and terrorized - about having the most aggressive, invasive cancer possible. It would be 11 weeks from my first mammogram until surgery. My emotions pinballed from one extreme to another. Angry. Bitter. Sad. Distraught. Confused. Terrified. Resentful. Defeated. As those 11 weeks ticked down, the closer I got to surgery, the more overcome with fear I became. What if the cancer was more invasive and had spread since the day of the original biopsy? Would I need chemo or radiation? I was about to get answers to these questions, knowing full well they might not be the answers I wanted. So I prayed. A lot. I’ve had Parkinson’s for nearly 21 years. I have soft bones that have been spontaneously breaking for 18 years. Now cancer too? “I’m only one person, God! I cannot do this! How do You expect one person to get through this??” Then I realized He didn’t expect me to get through everything alone, that He and I could and would get through this together. Once I came to that realization, I was confident that I would make it through this scary cancer experience, both physically and mentally. That’s not to say that as the surgery loomed closer, I wasn’t still nervous, because I was. God knew how we were going to get through this, but He wasn’t letting me in on His plan. I continued my dialogue with Him. “You have the power to rid my body of this sinister growth inside me. You can keep this cancer contained, so the surgeon can completely cut it out of me. Please give my surgeon the wisdom to know what to do and how much tissue to remove. Please guide her hands. Please give my husband and daughters the strength to watch and help me through another recovery.”
On the morning of surgery, I awoke overwhelmed with complete peace and calm. I realized that no amount of worry I could muster would change the ultimate outcome. Once at the hospital, there was a delay to get into an operating room that morning, resulting in me waiting several hours in the pre-op area. Our pastor sat with my husband, Terry, and me during this stretch of time. Feeling completely engulfed in an air of serenity, I was unphased by the wait. When it was finally time for my surgery, I jumped off an enormous cliff. Metaphorically, that is. I stood at the edge and told God that I was going to swan dive off the cliff, and I needed Him to catch me. The situation was completely out of my hands, and I trusted He wouldn’t let me fall. As they wheeled me into the operating room, I stepped off solid ground and let go. Then I woke up in recovery. Over three hours had passed. I was awake and realized God had gotten me through a long surgery and anesthesia. I was no longer free-falling through the air. I didn’t hit the bottom, but, instead, had been lifted back up to solid ground. When I finally saw Terry, after surgery, he was calm and confident. He was absolutely sure the cancer was contained and completely removed. He said he just knew everything was going to be okay. I would recover for 10 days at home before my follow-up appointment with my surgeon. Fear and worry managed to permeate their way back into my psyche. For those 10 days, my brain was on a continual loop, replaying all of my doctor’s appointments from the last 21 years. “Your brain scan is consistent with Parkinson’s, Elaine.” “Your left hip is broken, and you will need to have it surgically repaired.” “The pin and plate we put in 3 years ago to repair your hip is starting to damage your hip, so we need to go back to surgery to remove it.” “Your genetic testing confirmed you have Parkinson’s.” “You have two more broken ribs.” “Elaine, you need to have surgery to stabilize your back to stop the numbness in your feet.” “We need to repeat the back surgery, because the first fusion completely fell apart.” I had become accustomed to receiving bad news. Was this new health issue going to be just more of the same? Terry was a rock for those 10 days. He kept telling me he was certain everything was going to be fine. He just knew. How? How could he know everything was going to be okay? My surgeon breezed into the exam room with a stack of pages that were my biopsy results. She sat down across from me and looked me squarely in the eyes. I braced myself for the results, unable to even breathe. These biopsies revealed that the cancer had remained Stage 0 and not become more invasive. All of the cancer had been removed, as the surgical margins were clean. All five lymph nodes she biopsied were negative for cancer. I would not need to have any more surgery, chemo, or radiation. I sat there stupefied and astonished. I usually don’t get good news. But this was the best possible outcome. This is what I had prayed for. I took a very deep breath and suddenly felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted. It had been three long months, and I felt liberated and free. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. In that moment, my faith grew to a point I didn’t know was possible. I had been asked to trust. I did trust. WE made it through. Thank you, God. Life is getting back to normal now. All five of our daughters made it home for Thanksgiving. We are preparing for Christmas. I am looking forward. I want to get back to ballroom dancing and exercise. And I pray daily, several times a day. Thank You, so very, very much.
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