It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…
As for the best, in 2004 I was happily married to a man who just wanted to make me happy. I had three great kids off at college or finishing high school. My career was quite satisfying as a solo family physician working with the best group of Christian women I could ever have as my staff. I was busy at church organizing another mission trip to my beloved Jamaica with 50 participants of all ages and skill sets going to help alleviate hurricane suffering and damage.
But then there was the bad. In March I had gone for my annual mammogram. In those days you could, as a physician, call and get your own results even though the gynecologist had ordered it. (In case you
are wondering, it really is impossible to do your own PAP smear no matter how many you may have done or how good you are at yoga pretzel twists.) My result showed an area of atypical (not normal) changes in the left breast and the report recommended further follow up. I let it go and waited for someone to call me and tell me what to do. The call never came. And so starts my Tale of Two Persons: the doctor me and the regular woman me.
In May I was in a significant car accident and I shattered 8 of the little bones in my left foot and fractured a vertebrae. As I lay in the CT
scanner, which was processing information about the state of my
foot, one of the radiologists came in to chat with me. I asked her what the protocol should be concerning the abnormal mammogram I had had a couple of months before. The color drained from her face and she asked who I would use as a surgeon if I needed a biopsy. The next day that surgeon called and scheduled a stereotactic biopsy. The suspicious area is located with a special mammogram and a biopsy needle shoots in to grab a sample from its target.
Since it takes a few days for results to come back, I headed for North Carolina to visit with my daughter at college. While there, I got more
disconcerting but not definitive news when I called in to the doctor’s
office. Up until now I had had this love/hate relationship with my breasts: I knew they were big enough to attract my husband and even he would tell you they were his favorite part…They supplied quality, cheap nourishment for our 3 kids…But sometimes they would pop out of
the cute clothes I wanted to wear, no sports bra held them tight enough that I could comfortably run, and now this biopsy business was getting to be less than amusing. I was scheduled for an open biopsy where they put you to sleep and they get a bigger, hopefully more accurate sample of tissue.
It was now August. It had taken awhile for me to coordinate my schedule with the surgeon’s. And he was leaving the day after my biopsy for a long vacation. Other than wearing a tight bra, I had no restrictions so I went back to work. It was the end of the day on a Tuesday and I was just about to go in and do a minor surgery on one of my patients when I got the phone call. It was one of those frozen in time kind of moments, like it was going really fast and really slow at the same time. My secretary said there was a phone call from my surgeon’s partner. I took the call and he simply said, “Heidi, I am sorry but you have cancer.”
I remember saying thank you, I think. Why would I say thank you for
something so life changing? Why would I say thank you for the blunt way the information was delivered? There was nothing more really. I took a deep breath and went in to see my patient. After all life goes on, right? I could fold or I could forge through. I pasted a smile on my face and went in. The biopsy I was doing on my patient was of a funky looking mole on his back. No big deal… Power on…He couldn’t see my face as I chatted with him about the weather or something. I prepped the area and took my scalpel to make the cut. My hand started to shake. Keep going…The room was warm. The mole was quickly off and in the little jar of formalin… but I had cut my finger too. I didn’t really notice any blood until I took the glove off. It was just a nick. My patient was fine. He didn’t even know what happened. But I had just learned I was human. I bleed.
I was going to have to deal with this cancer thing.
In the next 36 hours or so I read everything I could find on my particular diagnosis and the current treatment recommendations. Of course I told
my husband but minimized it to my kids, parents and friends. I had this surreal need to take control of this situation. Cancer was not going to control me. I called my surgeon’s office. He was still on vacation but I coerced his office manager into scheduling me for one of his OR slots. I cleared my office schedule for 3 weeks - the amount of time I was giving myself to recover.
I met with the plastic surgeon. I had decided on a more radical approach - a double mastectomy with reconstruction and I wanted this done in as few steps as possible. I didn’t have time for this. I scheduled an appointment with my hairdresser for 2 weeks after my surgery, having decided if I needed chemo, I wanted to color my hair bright red. My thought was, if I hated it, it would be easier to have it fall out.
I let the people on my Jamaica team know my diagnosis and made it clear I expected them to go with or without me. Outside of my family and my office staff, they would become the first in an expanding ring of prayer that started to surround me. The body of Christ is an amazing thing. I would eventually be prayed for and over by people around the world, many of whom didn’t personally know me and I will likely never meet. And that mattered. I often tell people I share with that this thing “cancer”, well I would never wish it on anyone and would beg to never deal with it again. But this thing “cancer” was a kind of gift, one of being humbled and loved and cared for in so many small but magnificent ways that I never wish I hadn’t experienced it.
The day of my surgery came. My husband and I shared a special goodbye to “the girls”. As I was in the holding area, my friend/spiritual brother/surgeon came and, as is his usual habit, he asked if I wanted him to pray with me. He held my hand and prayed a short prayer and for the first time in this whole ordeal I allowed myself to cry 2 or 3 tears. Although it was a relatively new procedure at the time, I had insisted on having a sentinel node biopsy done at the time of my mastectomies. In this procedure, a radioactive tracer dye is injected into the breast near the cancer a few hours before the surgery. During surgery, a Geiger counter type instrument is used find the lymph nodes that correlate with this part of the breast so that one can have fairly high confidence that, with taking out just these few nodes, they are actually screening the right ones to know if the cancer has metastasized. My doctor could not find any evidence of this dye when he sampled the nodes. My belief is that God had heard the prayers of His people and graciously walled off the cancer in my breast so it didn’t travel any farther.
I woke up to a bandaged chest with drain tubes coming out of everywhere. Honestly, I know many women who have suffered so much more than I did in their recovery and I salute them. But I hated those drains. They became the new focus of my negative energy. I was frustrated that I didn’t get better faster and have more energy sooner. Day 14, I finally cried again. God prompted a dear friend from Iowa to call me at that very moment. She was exactly 10 years ahead of me in her breast cancer battle. She gave me flesh and blood perspective, and renewed and hope. There were more hurdles but I never felt defeated again in the next year of my recovery.
I would sum up the last 9 1/2 years by saying I would not be so brazen to say breast cancer is a blessing but then neither has it been a curse. It has
stretched me in ways I never dreamed possible. It has given me a greater
appreciation for family, friends and my church. It totally changed my
understanding of God and who He is and I can without reservation say His grace is sufficient. I wish I could tell you I have maintained that level of intimacy with Him over time, but I know it is only me who moves away. Writing these words and remembering His goodness...now THAT is the blessing.
*****
Now, about you.
One woman in eight will develop breast cancer in her lifetime. Most of
those will not have a family history of breast cancer. There are new
recommendations and vigorous debate over when to start and how often to repeat mammograms. Everyone agrees that by age 50 you should have your first one done. I was 45 when my cancer was found on mammogram so I am biased toward earlier mammograms starting at age 40.Self breast exams are not actively encouraged anymore as they, and the baseline mammogram at 35, have been found to lead to excessive and unnecessary breast biopsies. That said, breast cancer that develops before menopause is usually more aggressive and the earlier it is diagnosed, the better the outcome. If you find a lump while showering or dressing, don’t ignore it. Go have your doctor check it out. Be your own best advocate and follow up to make sure you have the results of any test that is done. As you can see from my story, sometimes information falls through the cracks causing valuable lost time.
Don’t ever be afraid to know the truth. One other thing I would like to emphasize is that, for the most part, now we treat breast cancer as a chronic disease rather than a guaranteed death sentence. And women have choices about treatments. Please know that I do not think the road I took is the right one for everyone. But if you find yourself having to make some of these choices, get information, consult your doctors, share the burden with friends and family and then don’t second guess yourself on the choice that you make.
As for the best, in 2004 I was happily married to a man who just wanted to make me happy. I had three great kids off at college or finishing high school. My career was quite satisfying as a solo family physician working with the best group of Christian women I could ever have as my staff. I was busy at church organizing another mission trip to my beloved Jamaica with 50 participants of all ages and skill sets going to help alleviate hurricane suffering and damage.
But then there was the bad. In March I had gone for my annual mammogram. In those days you could, as a physician, call and get your own results even though the gynecologist had ordered it. (In case you
are wondering, it really is impossible to do your own PAP smear no matter how many you may have done or how good you are at yoga pretzel twists.) My result showed an area of atypical (not normal) changes in the left breast and the report recommended further follow up. I let it go and waited for someone to call me and tell me what to do. The call never came. And so starts my Tale of Two Persons: the doctor me and the regular woman me.
In May I was in a significant car accident and I shattered 8 of the little bones in my left foot and fractured a vertebrae. As I lay in the CT
scanner, which was processing information about the state of my
foot, one of the radiologists came in to chat with me. I asked her what the protocol should be concerning the abnormal mammogram I had had a couple of months before. The color drained from her face and she asked who I would use as a surgeon if I needed a biopsy. The next day that surgeon called and scheduled a stereotactic biopsy. The suspicious area is located with a special mammogram and a biopsy needle shoots in to grab a sample from its target.
Since it takes a few days for results to come back, I headed for North Carolina to visit with my daughter at college. While there, I got more
disconcerting but not definitive news when I called in to the doctor’s
office. Up until now I had had this love/hate relationship with my breasts: I knew they were big enough to attract my husband and even he would tell you they were his favorite part…They supplied quality, cheap nourishment for our 3 kids…But sometimes they would pop out of
the cute clothes I wanted to wear, no sports bra held them tight enough that I could comfortably run, and now this biopsy business was getting to be less than amusing. I was scheduled for an open biopsy where they put you to sleep and they get a bigger, hopefully more accurate sample of tissue.
It was now August. It had taken awhile for me to coordinate my schedule with the surgeon’s. And he was leaving the day after my biopsy for a long vacation. Other than wearing a tight bra, I had no restrictions so I went back to work. It was the end of the day on a Tuesday and I was just about to go in and do a minor surgery on one of my patients when I got the phone call. It was one of those frozen in time kind of moments, like it was going really fast and really slow at the same time. My secretary said there was a phone call from my surgeon’s partner. I took the call and he simply said, “Heidi, I am sorry but you have cancer.”
I remember saying thank you, I think. Why would I say thank you for
something so life changing? Why would I say thank you for the blunt way the information was delivered? There was nothing more really. I took a deep breath and went in to see my patient. After all life goes on, right? I could fold or I could forge through. I pasted a smile on my face and went in. The biopsy I was doing on my patient was of a funky looking mole on his back. No big deal… Power on…He couldn’t see my face as I chatted with him about the weather or something. I prepped the area and took my scalpel to make the cut. My hand started to shake. Keep going…The room was warm. The mole was quickly off and in the little jar of formalin… but I had cut my finger too. I didn’t really notice any blood until I took the glove off. It was just a nick. My patient was fine. He didn’t even know what happened. But I had just learned I was human. I bleed.
I was going to have to deal with this cancer thing.
In the next 36 hours or so I read everything I could find on my particular diagnosis and the current treatment recommendations. Of course I told
my husband but minimized it to my kids, parents and friends. I had this surreal need to take control of this situation. Cancer was not going to control me. I called my surgeon’s office. He was still on vacation but I coerced his office manager into scheduling me for one of his OR slots. I cleared my office schedule for 3 weeks - the amount of time I was giving myself to recover.
I met with the plastic surgeon. I had decided on a more radical approach - a double mastectomy with reconstruction and I wanted this done in as few steps as possible. I didn’t have time for this. I scheduled an appointment with my hairdresser for 2 weeks after my surgery, having decided if I needed chemo, I wanted to color my hair bright red. My thought was, if I hated it, it would be easier to have it fall out.
I let the people on my Jamaica team know my diagnosis and made it clear I expected them to go with or without me. Outside of my family and my office staff, they would become the first in an expanding ring of prayer that started to surround me. The body of Christ is an amazing thing. I would eventually be prayed for and over by people around the world, many of whom didn’t personally know me and I will likely never meet. And that mattered. I often tell people I share with that this thing “cancer”, well I would never wish it on anyone and would beg to never deal with it again. But this thing “cancer” was a kind of gift, one of being humbled and loved and cared for in so many small but magnificent ways that I never wish I hadn’t experienced it.
The day of my surgery came. My husband and I shared a special goodbye to “the girls”. As I was in the holding area, my friend/spiritual brother/surgeon came and, as is his usual habit, he asked if I wanted him to pray with me. He held my hand and prayed a short prayer and for the first time in this whole ordeal I allowed myself to cry 2 or 3 tears. Although it was a relatively new procedure at the time, I had insisted on having a sentinel node biopsy done at the time of my mastectomies. In this procedure, a radioactive tracer dye is injected into the breast near the cancer a few hours before the surgery. During surgery, a Geiger counter type instrument is used find the lymph nodes that correlate with this part of the breast so that one can have fairly high confidence that, with taking out just these few nodes, they are actually screening the right ones to know if the cancer has metastasized. My doctor could not find any evidence of this dye when he sampled the nodes. My belief is that God had heard the prayers of His people and graciously walled off the cancer in my breast so it didn’t travel any farther.
I woke up to a bandaged chest with drain tubes coming out of everywhere. Honestly, I know many women who have suffered so much more than I did in their recovery and I salute them. But I hated those drains. They became the new focus of my negative energy. I was frustrated that I didn’t get better faster and have more energy sooner. Day 14, I finally cried again. God prompted a dear friend from Iowa to call me at that very moment. She was exactly 10 years ahead of me in her breast cancer battle. She gave me flesh and blood perspective, and renewed and hope. There were more hurdles but I never felt defeated again in the next year of my recovery.
I would sum up the last 9 1/2 years by saying I would not be so brazen to say breast cancer is a blessing but then neither has it been a curse. It has
stretched me in ways I never dreamed possible. It has given me a greater
appreciation for family, friends and my church. It totally changed my
understanding of God and who He is and I can without reservation say His grace is sufficient. I wish I could tell you I have maintained that level of intimacy with Him over time, but I know it is only me who moves away. Writing these words and remembering His goodness...now THAT is the blessing.
*****
Now, about you.
One woman in eight will develop breast cancer in her lifetime. Most of
those will not have a family history of breast cancer. There are new
recommendations and vigorous debate over when to start and how often to repeat mammograms. Everyone agrees that by age 50 you should have your first one done. I was 45 when my cancer was found on mammogram so I am biased toward earlier mammograms starting at age 40.Self breast exams are not actively encouraged anymore as they, and the baseline mammogram at 35, have been found to lead to excessive and unnecessary breast biopsies. That said, breast cancer that develops before menopause is usually more aggressive and the earlier it is diagnosed, the better the outcome. If you find a lump while showering or dressing, don’t ignore it. Go have your doctor check it out. Be your own best advocate and follow up to make sure you have the results of any test that is done. As you can see from my story, sometimes information falls through the cracks causing valuable lost time.
Don’t ever be afraid to know the truth. One other thing I would like to emphasize is that, for the most part, now we treat breast cancer as a chronic disease rather than a guaranteed death sentence. And women have choices about treatments. Please know that I do not think the road I took is the right one for everyone. But if you find yourself having to make some of these choices, get information, consult your doctors, share the burden with friends and family and then don’t second guess yourself on the choice that you make.
Read Heidi's great tips on how YOU can help be a healer in THE GOOD NEIGHBOR.
Heidi, a practicing physician at a family practice in Pennsylvania, is a wife of 32 years, a mother to 3 children and a 9.5 year breast cancer survivor. In her time away from her practice, she enjoys travel, watercolor, gardening and making medical missions trips to Jamaica.
