My Story - CIBC Run for the Cure

On October 2008, I was invited to be the survivor speaker at the CIBC Run for the Cure.

What follows is most of my speech that morning…

“On April 26, 2006 I received the news that most women dread to hear. The results of my biopsy were positive for breast cancer. I remember how strange that moment felt.

Although nothing had yet changed… in an instant everything had changed.

My story is like the stories of many others standing here this morning but for each of us it is a personal journey and my journey started with an unsettling feeling. Despite everything I had read and heard about breast cancer I really didn’t know much about the road ahead.

Telling my family was the very difficult first step in my journey. No one ever wants to bring suffering to their family. I felt sad to have to do so. They of course didn’t see it that way at all. I’m forever grateful for their love and support.

Breast cancer is a world of non-invasive, invasive, stages, grades, ER, PR and Her2. I was overwhelmed with the decisions. What surgeon, lumpectomy vs. mastectomy, localization, sentinel node biopsy, lymph edema, chemo, radiation, white blood cell counts, wigs, scarves and/or hats.

There were definitely days when I ascribed to the philosophy “if I put my hands over my eyes then no one can see me”…it offered only momentary comfort… reality was never far away.

As with most journeys I also learned things. I learned to gather information so I could make decisions. I bought every book at Chapters on the subject and read and read. I was afraid of making a wrong decision and often didn’t feel brave enough to make any decision.

 

I was blessed that I knew others willing to share their stories with me. Gerry Rogers and Ann Marie Anonsen, my lymph nodes owe you a debt of gratitude. Julie Bettney, your very encouraging words and the book you sent helped me to keep my sights on the light at the end of the tunnel.

Now I make an effort to “Pay it Forward”. I take the time to talk with newly diagnosed breast cancer patients.  I lend my books and my 5 years of Golden Girls on DVD because to laugh throughout this journey is sometimes the very best medicine.

My journey took me through surgery, (a mastectomy), a sentinel node biopsy, pathologies were; stage 2, high grade, triple negative, invasive breast cancer. The surgery had gotten all the cancer with good margins.  Treatment was chemo and only chemo; six treatments of three drugs including the infamous “red devil”.

I struggled with the decision to do the chemo treatments. I had read so many stories of people opting out of chemo and wondered if I could follow that path. However; after much soul searching I agreed to move forward with the chemo.

To make chemo as bearable as possible I was often joined by family and close friends. We sometimes created a little chaos at the chemo unit. A big thank you to each of my chemo buddies. You rock!

Then I flunked chemo!!! I can say that now and smile but living it was something that I would rather forget.

Treatment 1 & 2: Routine…no surprises except the rapid hair lost!

Treatment 3: I began to struggle.

Treatment 4: Not good at all. Even though my blood work was exactly what we could expect. My general health was not so good and I began to consider not continuing. This decision was the most difficult but in the end I signed on for the fifth chemo treatment.

 

That fifth treatment was October 5^th, 2006. It seemed routine enough but 5 days later on October 10^th, I collapsed in my driveway. A CT scan later revealed a blood clot in the left artery to my brain and the right artery had been dissected during my fall.

The damage was significant. My right leg didn’t want to cooperate at all, I experienced vision reduction in both eyes and the hearing in my right ear was crackly. Core strength, balance and hand-eye coordination were greatly reduced.

It was a lot to absorb. The good news was that there was every expectation that these symptoms would reverse as the blood clot dissolved and the dissection healed but in that moment of time I was again faced with “now what”.

Well, no more chemo!!! The risks now outweighed the benefits.

I came home a few weeks later to personal care, a walker, eye patches and headaches that never went away.

The next several months were the darkest of my journey. After a few weeks I was well enough to not need 24 hour care but not well enough to get back to my life. I was struggling with a combination of disappointment and anger.

I think that being a survivor is more than surviving the disease but surviving the incredible changes that comes along with the disease, the physical and mental changes, financial and social changes. I remember fighting back the tears when the cashier at Costco insisted that the person on my card wasn’t me.

By August of 2007 I made a decision to dedicate all my energy to reclaiming “me”. It was a great decision.

A good friend helped me find someone who was willing to design a rehab program specific to my needs.

Two years later I feel privileged to be speaking to you at this amazing event.

Why are we here…well…a recent stat reports that: In 2008, it is estimated that 360 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in Newfoundland and Labrador. More than 22,000 across the country!

It is only through research that we will develop better treatments, a cure and ultimately prevent all women from the threat of breast cancer.

Have a great run…”

My island home

I remember skipping stones. Getting that stone to skip more than 16 times was my personal best. I would watch the rings grow larger and larger until they would melt into the surrounding water. Could my life be any better? I sure didn’t think so. I had what many children could only dream of — a quiet peaceful existence in the most beautiful of surroundings. My little island home in the North Atlantic created for me the most pleasant of childhoods.

There were times when adventure tourism took on a whole new meaning. Copying from ice pan to ice pan required careful precision and a misstep not only meant a chilling bath in the bay but you could also count on a darn right scolding in the porch when you got home. Warmth came quickly, though, as many nights ended with a song and a yarn around the kitchen table surrounded by family and friends.

Twillingate or Toulinquet as it was known in the 1600s was my playground, my home, and for much of the time I believed, even then, it was my personal paradise. It was on that little island iced-in for much of the winter that I learned to love our great province of Newfoundland and Labrador. Then again what wasn’t there to love? As a kid I watched the slow train of icebergs, all shapes and sizes, pass by every summer from the end of June to mid-July. I followed the dance of the Northern Lights through the skies on a crisp September night — light shows occasionally interrupted by the regular flash of the beam from the lighthouse at Long Point.

One of my favourite memories is fishing for tomcods off the rocks beneath Mr. Bath’s flake — except, of course, for the time I jigged my cousin Randy. He had to have the hook cut out of his hand at the hospital and my mother suspended my fishing license for a spell.

I didn’t really know how much I loved this place until I had to leave. Jobs in the mid-1970s were scarce and after finishing college so off I went to the mainland in search of work. The streets of Toronto were a long ways away from the rocky shores of Twillingate but I quickly adjusted. Like many other displaced Newfoundlanders, I found more of my kind to gather with, to share our songs, our stories and our common bond of missing home.

Newfoundland and Labrador was always at the centre of my heart and going back never far from my mind.

It took me 11 years to find my way back. I can still remember the excitement of crossing the Gulf and when the ferry docked in Port aux Basque I immediately announced “ I’m home” even though home was technically several hours away. I knew then I was here to stay. My travels still take me around the world but no matter where I go or for how long am away I’m always the happiest when I am here where “the paths of whales and icebergs cross”.

I no longer live in Twillingate but have made my home in St. John’s. Still, there is the occasional iceberg that makes its way past The Narrows and just last September I watched the Northern Lights put on a marvelous show. I’m constantly reminded of how right I was to return. More than that, I’m constantly reminded of how important it is for me to help in any way to create a place here for my children’s children.

That might seem like a lot to hope for but I’m very motivated. In recent years I’ve helped to build businesses here in this place where “the paths of whales and icebergs cross”.

Today I feel a lot like I felt many years ago in Twillingate when I learned to skip beach stones. I feel a little like the kid who missed the edge of the ice pan for the first time — totally excited and terribly anxious. Could my life be any better? I sure don’t think so.