Column: My response to Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Every December I faithfully had my mammogram appointment, and it was always negative. Until one December, it wasn’t. A second, more specific test was ordered. It confirmed something was abnormal, and further testing was necessary.

At this point, with no further ado, I referred myself to our daughter Elizabeth, who worked in inpatient oncology at The James Cancer Hospital at OSU. On Jan. 10, 2011, we went to our daughter and husband’s home to stay overnight. She was nine months pregnant and having her labor induced the next morning.

That evening, instead of focusing on the arrival of their second child, she completed a document about my medical history to date. The next morning Glenn and I met Dan and Elizabeth in her room at OSU. She already had started having her labor induced, was wearing a hospital gown and was using her laptop computer, making connections and appointments for me with a cancer surgeon, an oncologist and a plastic surgeon.

This was 14 1/2 years ago. The next thing that happened was Glenn drove back to Coshocton Hospital in the snow to get copies of my films to be able to take on the 12th for my needle biopsy and other appointments. He made it back to Columbus before Cohen was born on Jan. 11, 2011.

My needle biopsy on the 12th was the only appointment Elizabeth was not able to accompany me, but Glenn did.

I did receive the diagnosis of invasive ductile carcinoma. Since it was in a low stage of growth, I chose to have a lumpectomy. The morning of my surgery, we four held hands in prayer in their living room.

The next Sunday in church, when I announced the good news that there was no cancer in my lymph nodes, the whole congregation clapped their hands.

That lumpectomy was followed by a second one, then a mastectomy. Back in spring 2011, there were many options for treatment of breast cancer. There are even more options available now, 14-plus years later. I chose an eight-hour surgery and a three-day hospital stay. My reason was I had to get to Maine that summer. Everything would be better if I could just get to Maine.

That first night at The James after my long surgery, I was sore, wrapped in bandages, had two drainage bulbs and was attached to an IV pole. Obviously, sleep was out of the question. My blessing that night was having two nurses who took turns spending time with me, just to talk, one on one.

Three days after coming home, we returned to The James Cancer Hospital, where Elizabeth received an Excellence in Nursing Award. Before the ceremony I told Elizabeth I wondered if Dr. Schuler would be there. He was head of The James and also had been Glenn’s doctor. She said, “No, he won’t come here for that.” Guess what? He did! He recognized us and talked with Elizabeth.

Back home there was one time I had a big cry. Having breast cancer is a major emotional event. I can see now that it is another way God has allowed me to be able to relate to more people — like the time I started talking with another breast cancer survivor at the dump, properly called the Nobleboro Transfer Station. She was wearing a bandanna over a bald head. I told her I’m a breast cancer survivor. She told me about her experience, which was a lot more involved than mine. Then I told her about mine. We ended up hugging each other, two strangers at the dump.

Back to my big cry. It wasn’t because of pain or soreness. It just got to me to see my husband of almost 50 years, who went to all my appointments, except the time he was recovering from having knee-replacement surgery. It was what he was doing for me: emptying my two drainage bulbs, carefully measuring the output and recording the amounts of each one. How fortunate I was to have a husband who would do that for me.

This story is to be continued. My next letter will get to the good part. One month after the mastectomy, we headed for Maine. That’s where the blessings started happening, although they continued after that summer.