Chapter Eleven: Marilyn—A Stem-cell Survivor

Chapter Eleven: Marilyn—A Stem-cell Survivor

            My name is Marilyn and I’m married to Stephen, a clinical psychologist. We have three children who at the time of my cancer were all teenagers. I work part-time as a media aide at an elementary school. I was diagnosed with infiltrating ductal carcinoma in June of 1995. I was 41. The following is my attempt to record my experience for my life history and to help my children understand things from my viewpoint.

            Infiltrating Ductal. I can still see those words as they glared at me from a post-it-note stuck on the doctor’s tape dispenser. I had been reading everything I could get my hands on about breast lumps ever since the previous Thursday when I had gone in for a routine physical. It was kind of ironic. I had almost canceled the appointment because I had felt so pressed for time. My son was only two weeks away from going on his Mormon mission to Taiwan. I still needed to get ready for the farewell and open house and wanted to spend the little remaining time with him. But I knew that if I canceled the appointment I wouldn’t be able to get in again for several months. I figured it was only going to be an hour or two out of my busy week.

            I got my first suspicion something was wrong when the doctor kept going back to a spot on my left breast during my exam. He finally asked me if I had noticed this thick spot on my breast. I had and also that my breast was larger than it used to be, but I had attributed it to putting on some extra pounds. (I thought I was finally getting cleavage for the first time in my life.) He then had me feel the spot and compare it with the right breast. The spot felt huge! He told me it probably wasn’t anything to worry about and left the room to ask his nurse to schedule a diagnostic mammogram for later that day.

            At first I didn’t think too much of it because my doctor is known for being cautious, but the more I thought about it, the more worried I became. While I stood waiting for the phone call to schedule my mammogram, I got light-headed and had to sit on the floor. I wasn’t able to get an appointment for that day but was told to come the following Tuesday. I went home and continued feeling anxious. I didn’t think I would have breast cancer. That was something I had never worried about before. I didn’t have any of the risk factors and no family history. This spot didn’t feel like a grape or jellybean which I always thought was what you needed to look for. I had never been very good at doing monthly breast exams because I figured I was so under endowed that any lump would be obvious. I was wrong. My whole life changed on June 1, 1995. It was the beginning of the hardest time of my life and yet one of the most spiritual times.

            I left my doctor’s office and went straight to the library where I checked out everything I could find on breast lumps. The following day at work I received a call notifying me that an appointment had become available for a mammogram that afternoon. I went to the hospital feeling nervous but still thinking the odds were in my favor. I remember sitting on the table watching the technician tape an “x” on the spot on my left breast. I had to wait while the radiologist read the films and felt a tremendous rush of relief when the technician came back and said the films looked fine. She left to call my doctor because the plan was for me to go to his office for a fine needle biopsy after the mammogram. She came back and told me my doctor wanted me to have an ultrasound. I went into the ultrasound more curious than worried.

            The ultrasound just looked like black splotches to me. The technician called in the radiologist. He looked at the ultrasound pictures and then examined my breast. He told me it felt like regular dense tissue, but there was one spot on the ultrasound film that looked suspicious. He told me that it probably wasn’t cancer because people my age don’t get cancer very often. I told him I was forty-one which surprised him.  He thought I was in my twenties. That made me feel good for a few seconds anyway. The radiologist then left to call my doctor to report the ultrasound findings. I lay on the table wondering what in the world I was doing there. I still had so much to do. The whole situation seemed unreal.

            The radiologist came back and said he had suggested to my doctor that a needle core biopsy be done while I was there. It would take the place of the fine needle biopsy my doctor was planning to do and be more accurate. It also would save me the time and expense of having the surgical biopsy I would probably need. I agreed to go ahead with the procedure.

            The doctor numbed my breast with several shots of Novocain and brought out a huge gun-type thing with one of the longest needles I had ever seen. The process was pretty interesting. The needle had one side with an indentation. The doctor used the ultrasound to guide the needle into the right location. He then “shot” the gun that caused a sheath to go down over the needle. The tissue that was in the indentation was sliced off and removed with the needle. He did this about six times. One time, the needle sliced right through the base of the nipple. That hurt! After this was finished I got dressed and was told I would get the results the following Wednesday. I went back to work and fell apart talking to some friends. One of them said she had found a lump and had to have a biopsy when she was my age. Her lump was benign which gave me hope.  Nevertheless, I spent a sleepless, anxiety-ridden weekend. It was horrible.

            On Monday, June 5, I was at work when I got a phone call from my doctor’s office asking me to come in at 10:30 for the results of the biopsy. When I arrived I was not put in an examination room but rather in the doctor’s office. My charts were on his desk so I went through them carefully to see if I could get any idea of what he was going to say. There was nothing there. I sat and looked around again feeling like the whole thing was unreal. I had been praying and praying for everything to be all right. Then I saw the post-it-note. My heart sank as I realized it must have come off my charts. I kept trying to think of reasons why it might apply to someone else. Maybe someone else had just been there and was told she had breast cancer. It couldn’t be me. But I knew it was. I had been reading Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book all weekend and had pretty well figured out that I either had what is called a pseudolump or infiltrating ductal carcinoma by the way the mass felt and by the way the pattern on the mammogram looked—radiating like a star.

            When my doctor came in I pointed to the post-it-note and asked, “Is this me?” “I’m sorry to say it is,” he said. “Now what?” I asked. He told me that I probably would need a lumpectomy and radiation. I don’t remember asking very many questions mostly because I was so shocked and disbelieving. I asked how big the tumor was. He answered, “About 2 centimeters.” I finally broke down, and he just hugged me until I could get control. He asked me if I had a surgeon and I said I didn’t. (I did have an oncologist I wanted.) He said he would arrange everything. I left his office and went back to work. I was so numb and in shock that it seemed the best place to go. I remember my friend, Margaret, was there. She looked at me and asked if everything went okay. I told her bluntly that no, it wasn’t okay, that I had breast cancer. I think I put her into shock also.  Little did she know at that time the impact my cancer was going to have on her future plans!

            My boss saw me and said, “Oh good, if you’re back, everything must be okay. I had to tell her too. I spent the rest of the day in a daze. That night I told Steve. Later we told the kids. They all took it pretty hard.  I remember Angie saying, “Oh, great Mom, that means my chances of getting cancer are greater.” Our son, Mike, took the news especially hard because he had a friend whose mother had died from breast cancer.

I got in touch with the surgeon and the oncologist. I wanted to see the oncologist before surgery, but she was going to be out of town for several days. She suggested we come to her house that night. She was wonderful. She explained a lot more about breast cancer and what they look for in a pathology report. She gave me odds and hope.

            Later that evening we saw Steve’s parents. I heard Steve saying something about a lump. I thought he had told them about my cancer. He actually had been talking about something else, but I didn’t realize that. I only had one thing on the brain. I said to them something about my breast cancer. They were totally shocked.  My mother-in-law looked at me with a stunned, horrible, anguished look. I told her not to look at me that way.

            The surgeon gave me the choice of a lumpectomy or a modified radical mastectomy. He said I could have reconstruction done at the same time if I chose the mastectomy. I had so much to do to get Mike on his mission and all I could think about was whether or not I was going to die. It was awful. However, as terrible as it was, I wasn’t as anxious as I had been waiting to find out if I had cancer or not. Once I knew what I was dealing with, I could start doing something about it.

            I decided on the mastectomy and reconstruction. I went to a plastic surgeon. He told me the pros and cons of implants versus a reconstructive procedure called TRAM flap. In a TRAM flap procedure, the surgeon takes a wedge of tissue and fat from the abdomen to shape a new breast. I was surprised to find there were so many decisions to make. I thought when the doctor found cancer, you were rushed to the operating room and told what needed to be done. Instead, here I was facing multiple decisions on something I was clueless about. It was a confusing time. I found the best way to find the answers to my many questions was to keep reading and talking to other women who had been through it. I finally decided to have a modified radical mastectomy with immediate TRAM flap reconstruction. I had to wait an extra week so that both the surgeon and plastic surgeon would be in town. I was a basket case with anxiety by then. I got a prescription for Xanax, which helped me calm down some. I also tried visualization and relaxation techniques, which helped me tremendously. A friend gave me a tape of ocean sounds, which helped relieve stress and relax me enough to fall asleep at night.

            Preparing for the surgery was unreal. I felt I was on stage playing the role of the cancer patient. We were all saying lines according to a script. Finally one night, Steve and I talked about the surgery and the day to day details that he would have to take care of while I was in the hospital. Steve broke down and took me in his arms saying, “I don’t want you to lose your hair. I don’t want you to lose your breast, and I don’t want you to die.” It was then we were able to deal with what had been on both of our minds. We finally faced the fact that eventually one of us would die and leave the other alone. It was very difficult. I was amazed though, at the calm that came over me, and the feeling that all would be well.

            The surgery was long. I had a small complication with the TRAM flap. Because of previous surgeries, the plastic surgeon wasn’t able to do a normal TRAM flap. Instead he had to do a free flap where the blood vessels are cut and then reattached. While he was finishing, a clot formed; so he had to reopen the incision to remove the clot. I was in surgery for about eight hours. I had only been back in my room for a few hours when a nurse discovered I had developed a hematoma. I had to go back into surgery around midnight.

            The morning after, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I couldn’t move because of all the drains connecting me to the wall. There were pumps on my legs, the catheter, and the IV. The room had to be kept at 80 degrees because of the graft. The door had to be kept closed. I didn’t have a roommate. I was completely alone and helpless. I also felt abandoned by God. It finally hit me that I really did have cancer. I had faith that because of the many prayers which were said for me, and because of the peace I had felt that the doctors would discover they had made a mistake, that I really didn’t have cancer. When I realized that I was in for a long, difficult time, I felt angry and betrayed. I became agitated and paranoid. I could not go to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw dancing skeletons or old ladies at funerals. I was certain I was going to die. I regretted having the TRAM flap because I thought I only had six months anyway, so why spend my last days recovering from unnecessary surgery? I became terrified that something was going wrong and that if I went to sleep I would never wake up.

            Since I had been in surgery for so long the previous day, Steve and I decided to have the nurses hold all calls and turn away all visitors. Big mistake. I would have been so much better emotionally if I had arranged to have someone with me during that day. Because I was helpless and terrified, every little thing became insurmountable. My nurse was on her first day back after breaking her wrist and seemed unavailable most of the time. If I rang for her, often 15-20 minutes would go by before someone answered. If something went wrong, I was sure I would die before I got any help. Later that day, the IV came out of the vein but was still inserted in my arm. Instead of just clamping the IV off, I panicked and let it keep running until my arm was swollen like a balloon. I was frantically pressing the nurse’s button and yelling for help. I’m sure I must have driven the nurses crazy, but at the time, I was convinced they would kill me if I didn’t closely monitor everything.

            That night, after being awake all day, I was again feeling very strongly that something was wrong. I had been pleading the Lord to please help me sleep. I even took some sleeping pills. Nothing worked. Every time I started to drift off, I felt an almost electric jolt that would jerk me wide-awake. I thought I was going nuts. Finally at 2 a.m., feeling overwhelmed with despair, I realized I couldn’t get through this on my own. I stopped demanding that the Lord help me sleep. Instead I honestly admitted that I was not handling the situation and that whatever was His will was okay. I just needed his help to deal with whatever was in store for me. I then asked the Lord if there was a reason for not being able to sleep. I immediately got a strong impression that I should call the nurse to check my flap again, even though she had just checked me two hours previously. I called and she discovered another hematoma. If I had gone to sleep and waited until morning, the swelling would have shut off the blood supply to the graft which would have died. The resident opened up the stitches to relieve the pressure before I even left my room.

            I had a very interesting experience coming out of the anesthesia from the last surgery. I heard my name called and saw myself walking down a hallway with lots of corridors. Everything was white. I finally came to a room and there sitting on a white table was a little girl with long blondish brown hair. The table was the only thing in the room. The girl was dressed all in white and was barefoot. I realized that she was me.  She looked up at me when again I heard my name called. I took her by the hand and we walked out of the room. Above the door was a sign that said, “Cancer Victim Survivor.” I felt that this was very important and that I should never forget it. The next thing I knew I was waking up on the recovery table. I’m not sure what this experience means but it has brought me a lot of peace.

            The next day my doctors decided that my paranoia and morbidity were related to the morphine; so they changed my medication. I did feel a lot better. We also arranged to have friends take turns staying with me so I wouldn’t feel so helpless. I was able to sleep and did not need any more surgeries. I also knew without doubt that I was in God’s hands and He was there with me no matter what was in store.

The pathology report was frustrating. The surgeon only was able to get six lymph nodes from under my arm, and five were positive for cancer. Five out of 15 or 20 would have sounded so much better than 5 out of 6. They discovered that eleven of thirteen sections of breast tissue had some cancer involvement; so my decision to have a mastectomy had been right. My doctor told me I would need chemotherapy and should meet with the bone marrow transplant (BMT) team. I was freaked. My friend Glenna had gone through a transplant, and I remembered being afraid that she would die. I thought transplants were used as a last resort.  I also figured my insurance would probably not cover the huge expense. I left the hospital glad to be home but depressed about what was still ahead of me.

            I had my first bone scan two weeks after surgery. I was afraid it would show the cancer had spread.  Once again, waiting was the worst. The scan showed two “hot spots,” one above my left elbow and the other on the left side of my head. Neither turned out to be a sign of cancer. Dr. Peterson of the BMT unit told me the results and talked to me about the high dose chemotherapy/stem-cell rescue treatment. I was surprised to find they were doing stem-cell transplants on women in earlier stages of cancer. I was classified at late stage 2 or early stage 3 and was considered to be in the category of having ten or more positive nodes because of the widespread involvement of the breast tissue. I left that meeting feeling like a stem-cell transplant was my best chance for cure. I was assigned a coordinator who would work with my insurance company to see what they would cover. I was so grateful for her. After having to make so many decisions on my own about the mastectomy and reconstruction, it was nice to have someone there to handle the many details of the transplant. The decision was for me to have two chemo treatments of CAF (Cytoxin, Adrimiacin, and 5-FU) then start the stem-cell procedure.

            I was apprehensive about my first chemotherapy treatment. Luckily, Glenna took me, answered my questions, and gave me support. I was pleasantly surprised at how upbeat and cheerful the nurse in the infusion room was. I was expecting to see all these sick and dying people. It was nothing like that. It reminded me of going to a hairdresser, except no one had any hair. I reacted to the chemo pretty well with no vomiting and only mild nausea. I lost my appetite. I was also extremely tired, but I think this was the effect of the Ativan and Compazine I was taking to prevent nausea. I mostly slept for three days after each chemo treatment. I found myself craving watery foods like celery and watermelon. I developed a rusty tin can taste in my mouth, and a lump in my throat that made swallowing difficult. I was pleased that I was able to get through chemo with so few side effects. Dry crackers and mild foods were the easiest to eat. I avoided meat.  Cooking smells were hard to take; so I was fortunate to have many friends and neighbors bring meals.

            My insurance company confirmed my fear. They would cover only a small portion of the stem-cell transplant expense. That day was one of the lowest times of my whole cancer experience. I felt strongly that the transplant would help, and yet I knew there were no guarantees. I worried that if we went into debt for the transplant, I could leave Steve not only a widower but bankrupt as well. Then I found out that the hospital requires 80% of the money up front, or at least a guarantee of such. We were doing okay financially, but there was no way we could come up with $88,000.00 in three weeks. We would need to take out a second mortgage on our home and borrow up to our eyeballs. We already had a lot of bills from the mastectomy. It seemed impossible. I decided to have one more chemotherapy treatment to give us more time to try to come up with the money. During this whole time, I again kept having a peaceful feeling and assurance from the Lord that I didn’t need to worry about the money. We decided to contact the Organ Transplant Fund (OTF) in Memphis, Tennessee, which helps people raise money for transplants.

            Deciding to fund-raise was very difficult for Steve and me. We have always prided ourselves on being self-sufficient and doing things for others. To admit our need was very hard. But we could see no other way, and we felt we were being guided by the hand of the Lord. Soon my friend Margaret agreed to co-chair my fund raising effort. I had a whole committee in place with plans to hold rummage sales, breakfasts, dinner/auction, and other events to help raise the money. OTF sent a man who was trained to motivate my committee. He was surprised to find everything in place when he got here. I truly experienced a miracle with the fundraising. We raised $150,000.00 in six weeks.

            I will never forget the incredible support from family and friends. I received so much support from people I had never met who read about me in the newspaper. Many gave selflessly of time, talents, finances, and love.

            I began the work-up for the transplant on September 11, 1995. I went to the hospital every day for two weeks to have blood tests, CT scans, another bone scan, a bone marrow biopsy, two lines placed in my chest, and injections of a growth factor to increase the number of white cells in my blood. The work-up in my case took longer than usual because my insurance coverage limited the charges to $1,000.00 a day. So instead of doing all the CT scans in one session, I had to spread them over several days. The only painful procedures were the surgeries for the lines and the bone marrow biopsy. When I was in the operating room to have the lines placed, the surgeon got on the phone and called my coordinator. I heard him say, “I have never put one of these in before.” It scared me to death until I realized he meant that particular brand. The bone marrow biopsy was the worst. I felt like I had been kicked in the hips for several days afterwards. It hurt to sit down, lie down, and walk. If I stood perfectly still I felt okay. I would not like to repeat that very often.

            The stem-cell harvest was another interesting experience. The phoresis process does something to the calcium in your body. My lips, then fingers, then whole body began to buzz like I was on a vibrating bed. I ate Tums like crazy. They also made me a milk shake, but I was wishing I had consumed more calcium before the test ever began. Luckily my counts were high enough that I only needed one day of harvesting instead of three.

            Along with tests, I had meetings with the social worker, pharmacist, dietitian, head nurse, home care specialist, and other members of the BMT team. I was very scared about having a transplant. I thought about all the things that could go wrong. Talking to Glenna and the transplant team made me feel a lot better. The members of the team were competent and compassionate. I felt I was in good hands.

            I entered the hospital on September 29, the same day my father had died from colon cancer eleven years earlier. I was hooked up to the pumps and was started with a drug to protect my kidneys. The actual chemo drugs were started several hours later. The drugs—Thiotepa, Carboplatin, and Cytoxan were given for ninety-six hours. I felt fine and was able to eat the meals they brought. The only problem was I had to go to the bathroom every fifty minutes because of all the fluids I was receiving. I developed a whopping case of diarrhea after several days, but still felt fine except for being tired, probably as much from interrupted sleep as anything. After five days I was released to the nearby medical apartment where my sister Patti stayed with me as my caretaker.

            I don’t remember very much from the apartment stay. A home care nurse came every morning and evening to take blood samples and do a physical. We had to measure everything that went in or came out of my body, which was a bothersome task. Patti brought a ton of movies and we had visitors. Steve and I went for a drive one Saturday afternoon, which was nice. We even stopped at home briefly. Mike came and stayed with me the first night in the apartment. I now feel sick when I remember the food I ate then, including milk shakes made with sweetened condensed milk and fried potatoes with bacon and lots of cheese. The purpose was for me to consume lots of calories. I again had the horrible rusty taste and the lump in my throat; so nothing tasted good or was easy to swallow. Luckily I never had to go on the IV nutrition supplements.

            I received my stem cells back on October sixth. There is a smell and taste that come from the preservative used to store the stem cells. It reminded me of bad shrimp scampi. Sucking on Jolly Ranchers and other strong flavored candies helped with the shrimpy odor and also the rusty taste.

            I felt pretty well until my immune system bottomed out. Then I began to feel tired, weak, and cold. A week after I had the stem cells transplanted I had to go back into the hospital because I developed an infection under my arm. I had noticed a little red bump but hadn’t worried about it. Before I knew it, I was spiking a fever and the little red bump had sent raging red lines clear to my elbow. I had a serious case of septicemia complete with total body blotches. I was so tired. I just wanted to be left alone. If Patti hadn’t been with me, I would have just gone to sleep and could have died. The doctors put me on heavy antibiotics and kept me in the hospital for another five days until the infection was under control and my stem cells had grafted. Once the cells grafted and my immune system started functioning, I was amazed how quickly I felt normal again. I even got on the exercise bicycle in my room that I thought was there just to look good in the brochures.

            Coming home from the transplant was probably harder for me emotionally than anything I had gone through physically. My friends had come over and had given my house a thorough cleaning. I thought I would die from embarrassment. I hadn’t done any major house cleaning for four months, and I wasn’t sure what they would find living in the corners. My friends were great and no one has tried to blackmail me yet.

            I also felt like I didn’t belong. My family had functioned without me for three weeks and had a routine established. I felt in the way. I was constantly being told to go lie down or to take it easy. I realized that everyone was afraid to visit because no one wanted to give me a germ that would kill me. It was hard. I have always been a social person, and the need to stay home from church and other public places was difficult. I had to wear a mask and people stared at me as if I were carrying bubonic plague or something. Small children would see me and cry. One child looked at me and said, “Look, Mommy, a clown.” That made me laugh. It was finally easier just to stay home. The mask, the wig, and the hot flashes were just too much. I felt so unattractive. I had lost nearly every hair on my body. One morning my father-in-law looked at me and said, “Well, Marilyn, I guess if you had ever thought about a sex change, now would be the best time.” I know he was referring to my baldness, but I thought of the chemo-induced menopause and my reconstructed breast and felt like he was right. I felt neutered.

            I had to continue the IV antibiotics for two weeks but was finally done by the first part of November. I thought I was all through with treatments but then found out I would need radiation. It was all too much. I was depressed and feeling like nothing was ever going to get back to normal. I wanted my life back! The radiation turned out to be a good experience. Again, the doctors and nurses were upbeat and supportive. In the waiting room I met a woman named Sally who had gone through a transplant in California a week or so earlier than I did. We had a mini support group right there. She told me she had read about me in the newspaper and had decided if she ever met me, she would talk me into shaving the last mangy looking hairs from my head. She brought her razor to the dressing room the next day. She was full of vitality and energy and looked gorgeous with her new crop of curly hair.  She gave me hope that someday I would look better, too. I have to admit now that I miss the ease of getting ready to go places. When you have no hair, eyelashes, or eyebrows and you are wearing a mask, you can sleep in late and be ready in a flash.

            I finished radiation on December 28^th and looked forward to the New Year, which had to be an improvement over 1995. I had my 100-day follow-up and was told everything looked great. I went back to work and thought I was all through with cancer.

            I was wrong. I am still dealing with the emotional impact those seven months caused. My relationship with Steve has needed some work. I had been so concentrated on getting through all the treatments that I had become very self-centered. It was necessary at the time, but I now needed to learn how to think about others again. I am still dealing with the frustration of hot flashes, lower libido, achy joints, muscle stiffness, sore spots, a numb armpit and various other things. I realize now that my life will never be like it was before cancer, but that is okay. I look back on the whole experience and feel gratitude for what I learned.

            I realize that the only thing in life that matters is our relationships with our family and friends. I was amazed at the way the people around me were a constant source of support and comfort. One friend, who has been through a lot of challenges, brought over a stuffed animal for me to take to the hospital before my mastectomy. I couldn’t believe how comforting it was. That stuffed dog cheered me up and gave me something to hug and to hang onto when I felt alone and off-balance emotionally. Another friend and her daughter made me a bright lap quilt, which I also took on hospital stays. The teenage girls in our neighborhood gave me a nightshirt on which they wrote their names and words of encouragement and love.  I also took one of my favorite get-well cards. It said, “Life is like a roller coaster. Sometimes it makes you just want to Puke.”

            I really appreciated the attempts to make me laugh. A friend gave the book, Anguished English which made me laugh so hard I cried. Other people told me jokes or laughed with me at my own jokes about my condition. I appreciated people who would let me laugh, cry, complain, or do whatever I needed without getting upset themselves. It was hard to be around people who needed me to reassure them that I was going to be okay. I appreciated it when people said, “Let me know what I can do.” I knew they wanted to help and honestly didn’t know what to do. I had many offers to take me to appointments, treatments, shopping, or to lunch. I have no doubt that God answers prayer through people. I don’t know how I could have gotten through this experience without all the love and support from family and friends.

            I am grateful for all the other women who have been through cancer and were willing to answer my questions and offer suggestions. I could see them getting on with their lives, which gave me hope and encouragement. I felt so alone at the beginning and have since realized there is a vast network of women who have been there and care. I hope to be able to help others the way I was helped.

            This is the hardest thing I have ever gone through. Yet I have learned that all will be well. My faith has grown. No matter what happens, the Lord is with me. People ask me if I worry about the cancer coming back.  There are moments that I do, but for the most part, I still feel a calmness and peace. I find I don’t worry over the small things I used to. I have confidence in my body and pride in what I have been able to endure. A friend once told me, “We all live on the edge, but cancer patients know it.” Cancer has given me a chance to step back and look at my life and live it the way it was meant to be lived.

(Update:  Marilyn is cancer-free and healthy and happy in every way. She is back at work at the elementary school library and loving it. She has married children and grand babies to love.)

 

Session #11: Marilyn—A Stem-cell Survivor

• How has your cancer experience differed from Marilyn’s?
• What is similar?
• What do you admire in the way she explains her story?
• Marilyn's cancer came back after 12 years. She fought it again. She is doing well.