I was recently contacted by an inspirational woman who asked to guest post on my blog. It is with great pleasure that I help share her story, may we all take a lesson in just how precious life is as we live our day to day lives and realize that many of our struggles do not compare to those that have literally fought for their lives. I pray that Heather remains cancer free and am humbled by her strength and will to live.
“Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are
starving to death….”
I first heard that line in the movie Auntie Mame, and I laughed at it. It struck me as funny, and I thought it related to me quite well. I liked it so much that I adopted it as my personal mantra and quote for all occasions. What struck me as funny prior to November 21, 2005 took on a completely new meaning after that fateful date. It’s still my catch phrase and favorite quote, but for different reasons.
I suppose being diagnosed with cancer will do that do you. It was November 21st, 2005, and I wasn’t diagnosed with any ordinary cancer. No, I was diagnosed with one of the most lethal forms of cancer known. When I heard the words malignant pleural mesothelioma come out of my doctor’s mouth, my heart stopped beating. I didn’t exactly know what it meant, but I knew it was bad.
Making matters worse was the fact that my only child was just a little baby. At three and a half months, there was no way my daughter could understand what was going on. All the occasions I would miss flew through my head. Her first steps, words, school, dates, driving…I was facing one of my greatest fears and I knew that I had to find a way to beat the cancer. I had to win this battle not just for me, but also for my precious daughter.
With the courage to fight and a spirit that would not be destroyed by the “C” word, I found myself meeting Dr. David Sugarbaker of Boston’s Brigham and Women’s Hospital. He said that there was hope for me. He acknowledged the battle I had facing me, but he supported it. Somewhere along the line I had read that only 2% of people survive past 5 years of their diagnosis. Someone has to make up that two percent, and I was determined to be part of it. I didn’t care what the cancer threw my way, I was going to survive, thrive and raise my precious daughter.
That first year was nearly impossible. My left lung was lost to the cancer, but I still had my right one. What killed me more than the surgery, or the loss of a vital organ, was being 1900 miles away from my daughter. My mesothelioma treatment and surgeries took place in Boston, and it killed me to be so far from my child who was now six months old. I wanted to be with her to watch all those first milestones, and I had to remind myself that being there for her now would be little consolation if it meant I wasn’t there for her later.
Fortunately, my parents kept my daughter while I was fighting for my life. While I was sick from chemo and radiation, my parents were making sure that my daughter was loved and cared for. I was constantly sick from missing her, but she glided through this time without any issues. By the time dear Lily turned a year old, I was nearing the end of my battle and I was winning it. Eleven months after my diagnosis, I was free of the cancer and I was committed to keeping it that way.
This incredible, painful battle for my life happened many years ago. I now refer to that quote all the time. I refuse to take anything for granted, not a beautiful sunset or a moment spent with Lily. Every blooming flower is a miracle to me and I cherish every second spent with my family and child.
I am thankful for the people who helped me along the way. Not only my parents and family, but also the doctors and nurses who helped me fight the mesothelioma, beat it and become a survivor. I not only think of the professionals who help patients fight this disease, but I also think of the people who didn’t win against it. It’s not a name; it’s a disease that takes lives every day.
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