This year in my life was overall a blur, so I will do my best to recall it in full for this story needs to be told. Not only for the person who overcame, but for everyone who will fight, who is fighting and who has lost the fight.
In August of 2003 my mom started bleeding from her nipple. Once she called her doctor my parents were seen at eight the next morning. She was given a mammogram were the radiologist who read it told her she was fine and to have another one six months from then. If it wasn’t for her doctor and my father she wouldn’t be here, they both insisted that she see a surgeon. When she did, he told her she had breast cancer. An aggressive form of invasive duct carcinoma, stage three, with two tumors that had metastasized into the lymph nodes. My parents recall hearing that was like being run over by a semi-truck.
I was in third grade, eight years old. My sister was four years old. It was easy for me to escape to school for the day or to friend’s houses but my sister didn’t have that. She was a “mommy’s girl," always was and always will be. Yet she did not understand what was happening.
My mother had surgery and then had dense dose chemo treatments. The treatment was called “The Red Devil," the nurses had to wear two pair of gloves when hanging the IV because if it got on their skin it would burn them. They still put it in my mom. My mom lost every inch of body hair. My dad shaved my mom’s hair and then joked she looked like his best friend, maybe she did. She had a wig but it wasn’t worn much because she couldn’t go out.
We all vividly remember my baby sister banging, screaming, crying outside my parent’s bedroom door for my mother while she was trying to sleep off the chemo treatments. My mom slept for about six months. My mom loves to sleep and she’ll tell you so but this sleep was to escape the reality of chemo treatments. I can’t imagine what she felt like or honest what went on inside the close door of my parent’s bedroom.
My dad was great, doing what he could when he was home. Our church family fed us almost daily and my grandparents loved us through it all. People gave and gave and gave. But being the oldest I still felt that I should fill my mother’s shoes. It was like trying to fill the biggest shoes in the world. I never could. I would make toast for dinner and trying to entertain my sister, at least that is what I remember. I tried to pretend my mother wasn’t sick and that none of this bothered me.
My mom had her good days, the week in between chemo where she kept doing laundry and cooked still. Somewhere in between all of this we gave her a mascot, Kim Possible. My mom’s name is Kim and it was possible for her to beat this cancer. She was going to conquer this monster (spoiler alert: she does!).
My mom would joke that she would beat cancer but would be an alcoholic because she would have half a bottle of beer in the morning and finish the bottle that night. My mom barely drinks so a drink a day was odd for her, but taste was hard and it was the only thing that tasted good to her.
Her chemo treatments where finally over, but it wasn’t over because radiation began. My mom received “four tattoos". This was for the nurses to position machine easier with each return visit. Radiation burns your skin, it’s painful. None of her treatment was easy, from losing her breast, burning skin, to puking her brains out because of “The Red Devil”. However spring of 2004 my mom was declared cancer free.
There is much more to this story, fights with doctors about which medication was best for my mom with her risk factors my father advocating for her. There was also a team of doctors who actually cared working together so a family could have their wife and mother back. Then God, the one who gave them the knowledge, wisdom, and technology to heal my mom.
Some things you never forget like finding your mom crying in the basement by the washer. That image is stained into my mind forever. You never out grow hearing the word cancer and your mom in the same sentence then jumping to the conclusion that the cancer is back.
Breast cancer has become a common story and so sadly too. I wouldn’t wish the possibility of losing your mom (or either parent) on anyone. But each breast cancer story is unique with something to learn from each fighter.
My mom taught me:
You are stronger than you look, stronger than you think you are.
Every day that my mom got up to do the laundry or to watch TV with us was a triumph. Every day that she didn’t let cancer win, she grew stronger.
You are beautiful, no matter what.
My mom may have lost all her hair. My mom may have given up what sometimes seems to define us as women but she did that so she could be here today. That is beauty.
Follow your gut. Advocate for yourself.
My mom had a unique set of risk factors and some doctors did not want to take that into account. She did not let them bully her into medication she did not feel comfortable taking. She stood up for herself and her health.
You can only do what you can do.
I tried to fill her shoes and that was silly of me. I was only nine! As she grew stronger and recovered I realized that it wasn’t my job to be the “mom”. It was my job to be the big sister; I could only do what I could do.
Each person who fights against any kind of cancer is a conquer, you can overcome. You can beat cancer. I’m so proud of you and all you have done already.
And mom. I love you. Thank you for being alive and making all the hard choices you made. My mom is a survivor, 12 years cancer free.
