For the Life of Me: 'We each survive for a purpose'
Tuesday, December 2, 2008 11:45 AM PST
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E-mail this articleThe following essay earned an honorable mention in The Daily News contest for essays on living with cancer.
‘We each survive for a purpose’
By Linda Kelso, 72, of Longview
Gee, God, I know I needed to lose weight, but isn’t this a bit drastic?” A D-cup breast must weigh — what? Two pounds?
Chemo affects one’s appetite, but in my case not enough. Thirty-two years later, I’m still the same size — too fat — but still alive. I can choose what size prostheses to wear, so I can be any size on top that I want to be.
Back in the dark ages of the mid 1970’s, chemotherapy was fairly new. The dosage was not so strong, but it went on longer -- 18 months of weekly visits to a lab to have blood drawn, to the doctor’s office for shots and daily doses of a large pill.
From time to time, the white blood count was not what it should be so there would be a break.
My mother died of breast cancer in 1943 at age 33, leaving three small children. Radiation was then a fairly new treatment. She endured it for the few months she lived after her surgery, and perhaps some bit of good was learned. My maternal grandmother died of breast cancer, I am told, making me a likely candidate. So I was not so surprised and shocked when I found a lump at age 40, and it was diagnosed as cancer.
The breast came off, and six months later, I went into the hospital for a biopsy on the other one. My own doctor, Dr. L. was gone so one of his colleagues, Dr. B., a European, said something to the effect that if the breast tissue was found to be cancerous then I’d have another modified radical mastectomy while still under the anesthesia.
“Uh, uh,” I told him. “We find out what it is, then we decide.”
He was not happy with me. A nurse mentioned that he was muttering as he wrote on my chart. With the help of Dr. L. and my family doctor, I decided to have the second mastectomy. Dr. L. was going to be gone a day or so after surgery and told me Dr. B would look in on me.
“Now, you be nice to him,” Dr. L. instructed.
I said I’d be nice to Dr. B. if he was nice to me!
I was not routine for a patient to take charge of her own care back then.
I was determined to survive, to not leave my children without a mom. To that end, I followed doctor’s orders, turned my sense of humor on high and carried on with life as though there was nothing wrong with me. I’ll never forget how our three male cats, who normally avoided one another, all curled up on my lap at the same time to give me their affirming love, and the healing power of purring when I needed it most.
Yeah, I did conk out on a backpacking trip north of Mount St. Helens one time, and cried when I could find no nice dressy dresses that were not very low cut or what I call “mother-of-the bride.”
Never have I hesitated to tell people I’ve had cancer. If my story can motivate one woman to do a breast self-exam or get a mammogram and follow up to do what is necessary based on the results, it is worth talking about It.
Today, a diagnosis of breast cancer is not a death sentence. At best, the treatment is inconvenient. At worst it makes you sick. If chemo costs you your hair, you can choose from among fashionably bald, an assortment of beautiful wigs (of course you always wanted to be blond!), or all sorts of cute hats and scarves.
If losing the breast(s) nature gave you makes you feel less feminine, you can have breast reconstruction (to any size you like).
It would be trite to say cancer doesn’t change who you are. Most of us find our priorities reordered. But the real you is still there. In my case, the cancer jump-started me to make needed changes, changes that made life more satisfying and less stressful.
Some of us learn to assert ourselves more, others become more considerate. People who are long-term survivors find that having cancer is a life-changing experience, and most say the change is for the better.
As the years passed, thoughts of cancer faded. The prostheses were, and are, just part of my daily routine I rather like high-necked clothes, and there are more choices these days.
I moved to Longview in 1993. A year or so later. Dr Binder suggested I attend a local survivors group. I brushed it off, because I didn’t need it. But evidently, some younger, more recently diagnosed ladies needed me. I am happy to be there for them, even though all I do is say, “I’m a 32-year survivor. If I can do it, so can you.”
Clearly, there is a reason I am still alive. Someone else needed me, too. Two years ago I helped to found a pet rescue group, and working together, we have saved the lives of more than 1,100 precious dogs and cats who might otherwise have been killed at an animal shelter.
We each survive for a purpose, and today my purpose is giving back to cats as cats gave to me.
Related links:
Winning essays: 'Every day, I go on'; 'The Serendipitous Secret'; 'Heaven Can Wait'; 'The Race Set Before Me'
Honorable Mention: 'Trusting in the Great Physician'; 'The Magic Paw'
Honorable Mention: 'Listen to your body'
The Fighter: Lorie Hutton whips cancer three times, faces fourth bout at 79
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