One Year Cancerversary: Love, Life, Lessons

June 6th hasn't ever been that great of a day for me. It's the day in 1986 that cancer finally killed my beautiful, vibrant, witty, intelligent mother. It didn't get her without a fight, but it did get her. And it got a piece of me along with her.

Fast forward to June 6th last year. I was sitting in the waiting room of an outpatient surgical clinic in Ogden. I was there because only a week before a spot had come up on a routine mammogram of my left breast.

That had happened many times before, and as I sat in the waiting room for my turn to get my biopsy, I wasn’t worried. I took my daughter Sara's hand in mine and enjoyed a rare moment of quiet with her.

As I sat reflecting, I was somewhat startled to realize suddenly that the day was the anniversary of my Mom's death. Almost instantly afterwards, the thought came to me that I was the same age that she was when she died of cancer.

And it was then that I knew. I came crashing into my being with all the certainty as if the building around me had just collapsed. I knew, I just KNEW, that I had cancer.

There are really no words to describe the icy fear that shoots through you when it becomes a reality that you might die. I looked at my beautiful daughter sitting next to me and as the terrifying fear sank in all around me, I suspected our lives were about to go on one hell of a roller coaster ride.

And I was right. I was so right.

I had the biopsy and a few days later I got the news that I did indeed have cancer. Although we find it difficult to schedule time together in the daytime hours, my girls happened to be standing behind me when I got the news on the phone. I could only imagine the silent looks that they exchanged with each other as they heard my voice say, "It IS malignant? What kind? How big is it? Has it spread? What are my options?"

I wish that I had something profound to say right here about the whole experience. I really don't. But I did learn that cancer, like anything else in life, is an able teacher. Oh, and the miracles, the miracles.

Lessons learned:

The conventional medical establishment, the staff, and the process get an F-. The lack of compassion, basic competence, and even working office systems is so shocking you never could have convinced me if I hadn't experienced it myself.

Cancer never leaves your head. Once you have cancer, you always have cancer. Going to the doctor for the simplest things is traumatic now and often I need somebody to go with me to hold my hand.The things that people say. Everybody means well and that is the good news. But let me share a quick tip. Don't, I repeat DON'T launch into a story about how your great Aunt Mildred had the same thing and bla bla bla. DON'T say, "Oh my God I am so sorry." People with cancer don't want to hear your stories and they aren't sorry so you shouldn't be either. "What can I do for you now?" is a great thing to say.

I spent a few days contemplating dying. This was before I knew conclusively that my cancer was in one place only and that I would recover fully. That took 3 months to find out. That was a wicked 3 months. Ever looked death in the face? You know it if you have.

I began to notice the most amazing vibrant details in things. I became more peaceful, more plugged into now. I stopped working so hard and allowed myself to feel all the emotions. I took afternoon naps if I needed the time alone or the rest. I got a housekeeper and yard people to do things I was too weak to do. I noticed the insides of flowers and the soul in people's eyes. I still do all of that - treasured gifts that cancer gave to me.

I had never been a good one for amputation. As it turns out, my choices were to remove my breast or to go through a series of chemo and/or radiation lasting for months. It was a very, very difficult decision, but I finally chose amputation. I just wanted my life back. A few days before my surgery, I Goggled "Mastectomy pictures" and let me tell you, a massive freak-out ensued. I had doubts about my decision even as I was being wheeled into the operating room. For the first time in my life, I was not confident about what to do. Yet it had to be done because there was no more time to wait. I learned that ...

Cancer is messy. To a person who ties up ends neatly and normally has all her ducks in a row, that is was a hard one. But I learned that it is indeed survivable, even pleasurable, to leave some things undone now and again, and instead go out and enjoy the world.

It was difficult being a cancer patient AND a Mom. A Mom's instinct is to make everything okay for your kids. But I knew I couldn't make it okay for my daughters. And so, the cancer patient not only suffers, but they get to watch their sun and moon suffer too. It was very difficult to be the patient. However, I do know it was a gift to my kids that they were there, nurtured me back to health, and watched me survive a battle with the beast. I couldn't have done it without them, but to this day I RAGE inside that cancer hurt and scared them so much.

I underestimated my clients. I was afraid to tell anybody that I was battling cancer because I was afraid that they would think I was weak and sick, fire me as their listing agent, and find someone else. Eventually I had to come clean to each one of them for various reasons. I could not believe how kind and caring everybody was. My clients Bill and Nancy came into town a few days before my mastectomy to look at ranches. When they heard what was going on with me, they were supportive, and yet still expected me to work hard for them. I so appreciated that, that when I got home I cried with relief. All I really wanted was to get my life back. My clients who trusted me throughout were critical to my rapid recovery. I knew you needed me to heal and get back to work for you. Thank you so very much.

My neighbors were unbelievably kind to me.

I did not like being the “sick kid.” I serve on the South Ogden Planning Commission and I never admitted to them that I was battling cancer or that I was having surgeries. I just wanted one place where I could go and be as “normal” as everybody else there.

I still wonder today what happened to my breast. Morbid, maybe, but that breast fed my babies and was an active part of my life for 48 years. Did they throw it away after they tested it? Why would they not offer you your own body part back? Like in cremated form? It was a good breast and it didn't deserve to end up in the garbage out back.

I lost friends over cancer. Yes, I did. Don't know why. Maybe they couldn’t handle it. But I made so many more that it was worth the trade.

I recovered and I am okay. My scar is 10 inches straight across my chest, just like what you see on Google. Everybody says the surgeon did a good job. It is what it is. I am planning on several reconstructive surgeries this summer and expect to do well through those and be fine.

I saved the best for last, and this will make me cry as I type it. I found early on, a forum called Crazy Sexy Life where people of all ages from all across the world hung out and discussed their cancer and all issues related to it openly and honestly and with words of such strength and truth and integrity that it was hard to imagine it was real. I became a part of that community and literally those people held onto me for dear life as I rode the choppy and bewildering waters of cancer. My love and gratitude to my friends there can never be overstated. I love you guys more than you would ever know. You see, YOU are the gift that cancer brought to me. You funny, goofy, caring, loving, wise, silly people. Please live for a long time for me, and I will for you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

So, happy one-year cancerversary to me. I miss you Mom. I'm hanging in there for the both of us now.

Have an awesome day. I’m going to.