Saturday, September 5, 2009

My Story

The following is an article I wrote for the Montgomery Advertiser for a series called "The Faces of Breast Cancer," to be published in October 2009 for breast cancer awareness month.

My Breast Cancer Story
Diane Foresee, age 50, resident of Montgomery, AL
Patient Account Representative for PhysioTherapy Associates, Inc.

My story began with a simple itch. There was no lump, no pain, no symptoms at all - just a simple little itch. My mammograms had been regular and I had no obvious reason to be concerned. But there was something about that itch, and somehow I just "knew." I was diagnosed with a common type of breast cancer, invasive ductal carcinoma, in the fall of 2001, at the age of 41. I underwent a lumpectomy to remove the tumor and a sentinal node dissection to remove postive lymph nodes. By the beginning of 2002 I had begun a long regiment of chemotherapy and radiation. The prognosis was good, and the shock and fear of the previous weeks slowly turned into acceptance and then optimism over the next year as tests showed that I was responding well to the treatment plan. It was a difficult time in my life for many reasons. My husband and I were separated and I was the mother of two teenagers, one of whom was a foster child, and both of whom I was caring for completely alone. The three of us - Meredith, Joseph and I found ourselves in a world that was surreal at times. They were frightened that I would die, and I was frightened that I would not live to see them into independent adulthood. I tried to keep their lives as normal as possible and did everything I could to make sure that the cancer that was "in" my life did not "become" my life. I had a great deal of support from outside our home, but on the inside it was the three of us in this fight together, and we bonded in a way that no other experience could have resulted in. That was the first thing that helped me through this difficult time. The second thing was the outpouring of love and support from my families - first, my mom, brother, sisters and extended family who live in Tennessee; and secondly, my church family at Landmark Church of Christ. There is no way to adequately describe the experience of being surrounded by enough love to carry you when you cannot carry yourself. I learned to be a receiver of such great love, and I learned how to be the giver when the shoe was on the other foot. Thirdly, I met a precious group of ladies who gave me one of my lifelong dreams; they taught me how to quilt. The ladies of the Hons Quilting Bee (Marzee Tew, Beth Cline, Ruth Taylor, Julia Godwin, Jewel Spivey, Joann Norris, Nancy Mustin) welcomed me as a temporary visitor in their Thursday afternoon group while I was on medical leave from work. They taught me how to quilt, as they would say, by osmosis. They also gave me peaceful afternoons in their gentle presence, encouraging me, applauding my small accomplishments and distracting me from the world of cancer for a few hours each week. Most of them have no idea to this day what they "really" did for me or what they still mean to me. And on top of all of that, they gave me the gift of quilting which has become my most passionate hobby.
In May of 2006, having been in remission for four and one half years, I was eagerly approaching a milestone which all survivors are familiar with - the five year mark, when the odds for long term survival increase. Unfortunately, the tide turned and, for me, that milestone has not yet been reached. Tests revealed a recurrance of breast cancer in the rare and frightening form of Inflammatory Breast Cancer, usually considered incurable, in both breasts. IBC is different in that instead of being a lump or tumor on the inside, it forms in larger sheets in the skin. This makes it more difficult to contain and results in faster spread through the lymph system. The rate of survival is much lower; still only 40% for five years and 25% for ten years, according to the M. D. Anderson IBC Center in Texas this year. "Oh boy," I told myself, "here we go again." I remembered something a friend and breast cancer survivor had said to me back in 2001, "It's no picnic, but it's do-able." And indeed, after all was said and done, it had been do-able. I knew that it would just have to be "do-able" again and immediately went to work learning all I could about the disease while my doctors, both at the Montgomery Cancer Center and UAB's Kirklin Clinic went to work on the best treatment plan for me. "Do-able" was more difficult this time. I was diagnosed at stage 4 which was later changed to 3B, and it was inoperable. I began a very aggressive regime of chemotherapy immediately with the specific goal being to try to reduce the area of cancer as much as possible and pray for the best. The team of doctors I saw at Kirklin Clinic for a second opinion were not at all optimistic in terms of survival expectancy. I can't even bring myself to say at this time how short that expectancy was, except to say that I have already surpassed it. After three months of chemo at the Montgomery Cancer Center, I returned to the Kirklin Clinic for the tests that would tell me if anything had been accomplished by the chemo. I prayed desperately for results which showed any reduction at all. When the results were faxed to me three days later I was afraid to look. When I did look, I had to look again: the tests revealed that most of the cancer cells were gone; the diagnosis had upgraded to operable. Once again I was in shock, but in a good way this time. I knew that prayers were being answered. My treatments were continued throughout the fall, including the infusion of a newer drug called Herceptin which, for me, has been life-saving. In January 2007 I had a radical bilateral mastectomy and removal of many lymph nodes. This was followed by several weeks of radiation to both sides of the chest and both underarms. Because I had previously had radiation on one side, and because this time the radiation targeted the skin instead of internal area, it ended up being the worst thing I had to endure. It was damaging and painful and almost more than I could bear. In fact, I could not endure the last two radiation treatments and voluntarily stopped two treatments short of completing the recommended number, against my radiation oncologist's advice. There was only so much a human could endure and, although I would not advise anyone else to make the same decision I did, I knew I had reached my limit and chose to leave the rest up to God.
I once joked that the Montgomery Cancer Center was my home away from home, and it truly was. I am still a frequent visitor as I am still having the Herceptin treatments every three weeks and am currently seeing my oncologist every six weeks. I still have quarterly scans to measure heart function as treatments can cause damage to the heart, and I am still checked and monitored more closely than a baby making regular trips to a pediatrician. I am still dealing with side effects of both the chemo and radiation. On the more positive side is the fact that I am still here to make those frequent visits, and that the MCC and all of the wonderful doctors and nurses there are making it possible for me to live a normal life. There are no adequate words to describe how much easier they have made this journey, aside from the obvious medical treatment. When I initially went to the Kirklin Clinic at UAB for a second opinion I was given exactly the same advice that I had been given at the MCC. The doctors at UAB knew and were extremely complimentary of Dr. Harry Barnes and they told me that I could not get better care anywhere else than I would get at MCC. The were absolutely correct.
As you can clearly see, my journey with breast cancer is not over. I don't know what the future holds for me, and I don't know how much "future" I will have on this earth. But I do know that far more blessings have come from this journey than you could ever imagine, a testimony to how our loving Heavenly Father takes all of the negatives in our lives and works them out for our good. The biggest and best blessing of all has been the gift of complete peace within myself. I have learned what is important and what is not. I am living my chance to live for what counts and throw out what doesn't. And most of all I have learned to give myself completely to God and "absolutely know beyond a shadow of doubt" that no matter what happens, it is all okay because He is in charge and I can totally trust Him. To those who are beginning the breast cancer journey, I would like to say the following:
1. It's no picnic, but it is do-able. Buck up and do what you have to do.
2. You are not alone. You will be surprised at the people - some that you didn't know cared and some you have not even met yet - who will walk this journey with you before it is over.
3. The journey will bring more blessings than sorrows, though it may be hard to imagine that now. Keep your cup half full.
4. There will be days when you just can't get your cup to the half full point, and that is okay. Let yourself be angry, cry, grieve, or whatever you feel like doing. Tomorrow is another day.
5. Embrace an old or a new hobby. It will give you something positive to do and to think about.
6. During the long hours you may spend in treatment, you will meet new friends; not only nurses, but other patients who will be a joy to get to know.
7. Let God be in charge; He's going to anyway, and you will find sweet relief in trusting Him.
8. Prayer is powerful and it changes things. Do it often, and ask everyone you know to do it, too.
9. We have all seen the T-shirt that says "If Mommy says no, ask Grandma." My T-shirt says "If the doc says no, ask God."
10. One day "your" story will be an inspiration and encouragement to someone else.