Chapter One: The Nightmare from Which I Cannot Awake

Chapter One: The Nightmare from Which I Cannot Awake

On Friday, March 11, 1996 I wrote in my journal. "Found lump in left breast. Went walking with Julie. Told her." About eleven months before, I'd found a lump in my right breast. It was a cyst. So, not to worry, I told myself. I'll just call Dr. Hunt and have it drained.

            I was two weeks past my fifty-second birthday. My husband, Richard, and I have eight children—four boys and four girls. At that time they ranged in age from fourteen to thirty. Four of them were married, and we had four, soon to be five, grandchildren. Since the first years of our marriage, I had been one of the lucky ones—a stay-at-home mom. I was a published author. The morning of the day I was going to find the lump, I had finished proofing the galleys of my sixth book.

            The Sunday after the finding of the lump, I went to my LDS Relief Society women’s meeting. The lesson was on improving communication. To summarize the lesson, the teacher had prepared five or six how-would-you-respond scenarios written on 3x5 cards for the class to practice the good communication techniques that she had just taught. She handed them to different women in the class to read aloud and then tell how they would respond in that particular circumstance. She handed one to my walking partner, Julie, who was the only person other than Richard to know about the lump.

            When it was Julie's turn, she read: "Your best friend has just been diagnosed with cancer. What do you say to her?" My heart froze. Julie was obviously stunned by the question. She didn’t look up and barely gave an intelligible answer. Was it a harbinger? Was I being prepared for something? I felt a nightmare had begun.

            My thoughts went back to a worrisome dream I had several months before. The vivid nature of the dream and the subject matter made it unforgettable—easily the most memorable dream of my life. In the dream I was in a situation where I was going to die. I've tried to remember and can't recall whether I was in a plane or a car or hospital, or what, but I knew I was going to die. As I realized I was about to die, I said, "Heavenly Father, it's okay for it to end this way; I've had a wonderful life." Was the dream a forewarning? I did not feel any dread or foreboding, but still it was an unnerving memory. Now I had a lump in my breast. What did it all mean? Where was I headed? I was standing on a threshold of what I didn't know.

As I went from my primary care physician—to the hospital for a mammogram—to the radiologist for an ultrasound—to finding a second lump—to the surgeon—to the hospital to have the lumps excised—to receiving the diagnosis on April Fools’ Day—to going back into surgery for the mastectomy and TRAM flap reconstruction—to a month-long recovery—to the oncologist—to twelve weeks of chemotherapy—to seven months of having no hair on my body, I thought as each wave of sadness would come: "This is a nightmare from which I cannot awake."

SUPPORT SESSION #1: The Nightmare from which I Cannot Awake

Welcome to your first support session. Each session suggests activities. Do only what you feel will help you. Despite the commonality of our experience with cancer, we are very much individuals. There is no “right” way to get through it. The purpose of these support sessions is to give you courage and comfort and to prepare you for the next phase of this unplanned adventure you are taking. The analogy of being on vacation is in point here because vacations begin and end, as does cancer. Through each stage of your cancer excursion, take lots of photos, gather souvenirs, write in your journal, make a scrapbook because when it’s over it’s over. You can’t go back to Egypt and take pictures when you are safely back home.

1.     If you would like to make a history of your cancer, begin by purchasing a 3-4 inch loose-leaf binder which holds 8 ½ x 11-inch paper, lots of blank paper (colors if you like), and plastic cover sheets. (You could use a blank, bound journal, but the loose-leaf will expand to hold your souvenirs, photos, and written history.) Then make a title page for your history. Title it anything you desire such as: My Experiences To and From Cancer; From Victim to Survivor; The Education of My Life; The History of my Cancer.

(The loose-leaf type history described above worked then, but twenty years of technology has changed the ability to make books. By 2016, I’ve made fifteen or so books using several different online publishing companies. The books are hardbound and have many glossy, colorful pages, and it is really quite easy to assemble one. I scanned the photos and dragged them into the software provided by the company and typed the text. One word of warning. You will make some mistakes in your first book. So if you are purchasing multiple copies, I suggest you purchase one, use it as a learning situation, make the corrections, and order again.) 

2.     I wrote the history of my cancer and finished it before my first anniversary. This was my reasoning: History is what happened in the past. When I completed the history and put it on the shelf, it was past history. Also, writing while it was fresh in my memory made it more accurate.

3.     If you feel like writing about the discovery of your lump(s) or how you found whatever type of cancer you have, do so. If you don’t feel up to it right now, make a list of key words and important facts to remind you of the detail so that when you do feel like writing, you’ll be able to include dates, places, people involved, and your thoughts. Get copies of pathology reports, doctors’ and hospital statements, etc. Have someone take pictures of you before you begin any treatment. Paste all these items on 8 ½ x 11 papers and protect them in plastic coversheets.

4.     Read chapter ten in this book about Patti, Joanne, and Helen. They belong to your support group and have come to your home to tell you about their cancer experiences. Here are descriptions of Patti, Joanne, and Helen to help you visualize them and “hear” rather than just read their words. 

            Patti is 5’2” tall with a petite athletic build. She received her breast cancer diagnosis when she was 42. She is a divorced mother of three, an elementary school teacher, and a good tennis player. She has lots of dark curly hair and a youthful face.

            Joanne stood at almost six feet tall when she was young, but at age 70 she is quite bent over. She is bald and won’t mind showing you. She wears a variety of stylish blond and silver wigs. She is married but never had children. She is witty and clever and very optimistic about life. She is on her second recurrence for ovarian cancer and has had chemo three times. Because of her precarious condition, she has had to have chemo every month for the past two years. Her chemo experiences are relevant.

            Helen is 5’4” with dark hair and a gentle face. She was also 42 when she was diagnosed. She is married and the mother of six. She is tailored and sophisticated in her appearance. She is extremely compassionate with a soothing melodious voice. It’s been sixteen years since her diagnosis. Patti, Joanne, and Helen are proud cancer survivors and happy to share their experiences with you.