Last Wednesday, I attended a breast cancer support group. As I got ready to go to the cancer center for my treatment that day, I wasn't thinking about support groups, let alone attending one. But I have always believed that people, things and events randomly pop into our lives to keep us on the path that God is laying out for us.
As I checked into the cancer center, a piece of paper on the registration desk caught my eye. It was an informational flyer for the monthly breast cancer support group that is held at the hospital. It was the last flyer, and I noted on it that the meeting was scheduled for that evening at 5:30. I have seen those flyers so many times over the years and never gave them a second thought. This time though, I found myself wondering if I should go.
"You should go Kim; you haven't been to one in years" (nine to be exact) I thought to myself. I wasn't facing a new issue that I needed support for, nor had my treatment or health changed recently. But the feeling didn't let up to attend. It certainly wasn't going to be easy to fit into my schedule that day - I had Herceptin treatment that would last all morning, then straight to work (I work part time at a darling little boutique - Lyn Evans For Potpourri Designs and at a really unique toy store - The Toy Chest, in West Hartford). Could I make it back to the hospital for the meeting? "If it's meant to be, I will" I thought. Needless to say at 5:15 I was flying down the highway, and as if to validate my effort to go, God gave me a beautiful pink sunset to drive through.
I walked into the conference room about five minutes early. The facilitator warmly welcomed me and I sat down on the RIGHT side of the table. There were about seven women already seated and others were expected to trickle in. I took a mental inventory of the women - hats, scarves and the pallor that a person has while enduring chemo. One women had a sleeve on her arm - obviously dealing with lymphedema, a nasty complication that can arise after having lymph nodes removed to check for cancer progression. Most of the ladies seemed to know each other and were chatting among themselves. I had a brief feeling of 'what the heck am I doing here'? The reason I felt that was because these wonderful women were new rookies to the game of breast cancer, I was the veteran player. The odd thing about that dynamic though, is that I was the youngest person at the table.
Each person took a few moments and gave a brief history of their diagnosis and where they were currently in their treatment. All of the women had gone through surgery, whether a lumpectomy or mastectomy. Several were in the process of reconstruction. All were having or had received chemotherapy and many were also going to be having or already had radiation. We covered the whole spectrum as a group. So many memories came back to me while I listened to these brave women. Did anyone have that terrible metallic taste in their mouth from chemo? Would I get feeling back near my incision? How do I deal with the fatigue? What foods are good to eat while battling nausea? Questions that I had myself once asked, and eventually found answers to over the years. I had forgotten (or maybe chose to forget) how overwhelming those initial weeks of living with cancer are.
As it got closer to my turn to speak, I got nervous. How do I sum up ten years of cancer in two minutes without scaring the heck out of these newbies? Then I had a jarring thought come to my mind: "I am on the OTHER SIDE of the table".
When I attended my first breast cancer support group nine years earlier, I walked into the room with a bald head and carrying my 3 month old son in a carrier. The room was crowded and I found a seat on the LEFT side of the table. I was 34 years old and the youngest person there. I was a very enthusiastic participant. The women were very complimentary to me about how I was juggling a newborn, a toddler, and chemo. At that time, I thought 'big deal, it's almost over - a couple more doses of chemo, get my new boobs and this chapter of my life is done'. A woman across the table from me caught my attention. She was probably in her early to mid fifties and was wearing a scarf on her head. She was assisted by a cane and also had portable oxygen with her. I felt a mixture of sympathy and fear when I watched and listened to her. She had Metastatic Breast Cancer - it had spread to her bones, she was a Stage 4. All of those terms I had briefly scanned over in my 'bible' - The Breast Book by Dr. Susan Love. Those were the chapters at the back of the book that 'other" women had to deal with - not me. I then realized that most of the women sitting on her side of the table had metastatic disease. It seemed to me that there was an invisible barrier between 'us' (the non-metastatic) and 'them' (the metastatic). I felt very relieved that this dance with cancer was going to be a short one for me, and felt very sorry for those women that were still dancing. I had so much I had to do in this life,as they did also, how do you do it when you have Stage 4 cancer? As I left, I am ashamed to say I put those women out of my mind. It was just too scary to think about. I was going to stay seated on the LEFT side of the table.
So here I was last week, sitting where I never thought I would be. But if I had been attending that group for all of those years, I would have been sitting on that side of the table for a LONG time. That was a realization that made me smile. When it came my turn to talk, I could tell that the women were shocked that I have been fighting the fight for ten years. I am sure that because of my age and my 'chemo style' haircut (see previous blog Where Oh Where Is My Hair, for details!) they thought that I was newly diagnosed. I told them about discovering my lump while pregnant, about my bilateral mastectomy and the many attempts at successful reconstruction. I told them about radiation and infections. Then I told them about the two separate metastasis, more chemo, radiation and surgeries. But I also told them about running a 5k race, then a 26.2 mile marathon, and walking 60 miles for breast cancer awareness. I also told them that my newborn was now 9 and that my beautiful toddler is now 13. I told them that I had received Herceptin that morning, worked that afternoon and was going home to cook dinner for my family. I told them that I was LIVING.
And I think that was what God wanted me to do when I picked up the flyer that morning. Maybe I was able to break that invisible barrier on that table and show that you can indeed live a very full (crazy) life with cancer, no matter what stage. At the end of the evening, I was very thankful and proud to be sitting on the OTHER SIDE of the table.
Maybe at our next meeting, we can sit at ROUND tables!
KG
1 comment:
Kim, I was referred to your blog by a friend of mine, Barbara Puffer. I am still chocking back the tears. When my mother died at 43, I never connected to exactly how young she was. Of course I knew that she was 43 - I was 19 and my sister was 13 - and it was sad and I still miss her everyday, but now that I am turning 42 this month and close to 43, I realize how young she really was - not so much in age, but in what she had left to do, particularly with those around her. I pray every night as I have done for the past 23 years, please God let me live until my children turn 18 - having reached that age, it some how seemed that I was ready to take on the world even though my mother wasn't here. Now that I read your story, I realize that it is really about living, each moment and never stopping. Whatever life brings us and at whatever age, we must stay strong, keep our spirits high and constantly touch those around us with love. My sister and I were touched by a wonderful and loving mother and have successful lives and families of our own. So although I pray for a long life, I also pray for a life where I am able to reach those around me like you have done. You are really a hero.
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