The Metastatic Breast Cancer Journey
Stories of Hope with Action Items for Survival
“Never be afraid to fall apart because it is an opportunity to rebuild yourself the way you wish you had been all along.” ~Rae Smith
After two chemotherapy sessions, I had a repeat breast ultrasound. My tumor was a triple positive breast cancer, and it was not getting bigger with the chemotherapy regime my oncologist had ordered for me. I was very happy with the positive news.
I was 21 years old and still living in Florida when I received the news that my mother had breast cancer. My family had moved to Texas. With the diagnosis came a looming sense of doubt. A shadow of fear, not knowing whether the clock was about to tick down or the sand was about to run out. While this always seemed like an unlikely end to our story, it was still there. As the words were hitting the page I didn’t know if this would be the end of a chapter or the end of a book. With that, I had fear. I was afraid of not knowing whether my mother would see me walk down the aisle, or hold my first child. I never truly knew which way the story would end.
It all converged on Valentine’s Day—my consult with the breast surgeon, my husband’s appointment with his surgeon, and my chemotherapy. So, we jumped into our car dark and early in the morning after our daughter left for school and made a date of it. Well, three “dates” actually.
I still see that “light in my mother’s eyes.”
I remember planning for my mother’s 56th birthday party, and I was so excited to just see her face. My mother told me that no one had ever given her a birthday party. My goal was to make this the best day of her life, filled with fun, family, and friends. The night of her party I saw a light in her that I will never forget.
Breast cancer changed my life in unexpected ways. I’ve always been what I considered to be a fairly “enlightened” husband. When my wife and I first got married, we began our journey by assuming fairly traditional roles. I worked on the outside of the house (e.g. lawn and garden) and she worked on the inside (e.g. cooking and cleaning).
“I will restore you to health and heal your wounds, declares the Lord.” ~Jeremiah 30:17
I am normally a very active person. You know, the one juggling fifteen things at a time: working full time, managing three kids in different sports, and being a pastor’s wife. Busy, busy, busy. And then I was diagnosed with breast cancer and time stood still. Suddenly, I was forced to hand things off to others. Forced to ask for help. Fortunately, I was surrounded by loving friends and family. The question I most heard was, “What can I do to help?” Continue reading “What Can I Do to Help?”
It was the summer of 2013 when my mom got the news that she had breast cancer. We were shocked and concerned since we had no known family history. She and Dad assured us that it was going to be okay; it was small, not aggressive, and could be removed. She had a lumpectomy and then started 21 days of radiation. We live eight hours apart, so we checked in often on the phone to see how she was doing. She was tired frequently, but came through smoothly.
A very dear friend, after hearing about my mother’s breast cancer, told me the difference between successful people and unsuccessful people is in the questions they ask. Unsuccessful people ask: “Why? How? When?” Successful people only ask, “What next?” That really stuck with me. I needed to be successful with my mother who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. A few months passed by slowly. My friend’s words repeated in my head, so I decided to share them with my mom. With this new line of thinking, we continued through the process of doctor’s visits, check-ups, and the works. Things got better.
My story with breast cancer began more than nine years ago when I was hired as the Executive Director for Susan G. Komen in Houston. I was excited to lead Komen Houston because I believe access to quality healthcare is a basic human right. At that point I had no personal experience with breast cancer. Fast-forward six years and I was working at Susan G. Komen in Colorado.
It was the summer of 2013 when my mom got the news that she had breast cancer. We were shocked and concerned since we had no known family history. She and Dad assured us that it was going to be okay; it was small, not aggressive, and could be removed. She had a lumpectomy and then started 21 days of radiation. We live eight hours apart, so we checked in often on the phone to see how she was doing. She was tired frequently but came through smoothly.