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Noel Reitz: A Mother's Day Letter
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 My 20 year old daughter Shelby, wrote the most beautiful letter for a Mother's Day contest at her college, Georgia Southern University. She did not win the contest, but won my heart, even though she'd done that 20 years ago the day she was born. I feel compelled to share it with everyone, as I was so touched, and want her lovely words to be heard. Here is her Mother's Day present to me:
"I have the greatest mom in the entire world for a number of reasons. It is simply not possible to express my love and admiration for such a wonderful woman in a short
essay. Not only is she the most compassionate woman I know, but she is the strongest, most understanding mother and best friend. She would do anything for anyone, never expecting a thing in return. She has a heart that one can only love, and a drive for life that you could only dream of.
A woman of true strength, her courage and determination has withstood the test of time. This past year my mother received some of the worst news any woman can fathom.
Just one week before I was scheduled to move away from my comfort zone that is my home, my world came to a screeching halt and crashed into a million pieces. The
doctors had diagnosed my indestructible mom with breast cancer. It seemed as if my life was over. Could she beat it? If not, how would I survive without her? How could our
family go on? Should I give up my dreams of college to be with her? If you knew her, you would not be surprised to learn that she insisted that I go to school, while she took
on the battle of her life. After six months of grueling chemotherapy, radiation and surgery, my mother was finally declared to be in remission. Thankfully, she is a "survivor".
Throughout the most trying time in her life, she remained solid as a rock, insisting on working regular days and stopping at nothing to beat the demon. Frankly, I have never
seen anyone overcome a hurdle quite like this with such grace. Not a single day went by where she ever pitied herself or doubted the outcome of her ordeal and her desire
to triumph. It was as if nothing was wrong.
She has taken this astonishing victory and fortunate title of "survivor" and found yet another way to amaze and inspire me. She single-handedly organized a local Bowl for
the Cure, which she hopes will become an annual event, and raised a whopping $3,400. All of the proceeds went directly to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation,
which will enable further research for a cure and hope for countless others.
As I grow into womanhood I can only hope to become half the person my mother is. To possess her beauty, spontaneity, intelligence, and strength would be a dream come
true. But to have her heart...now that would be a prize worth having. Thanks to my mother, my best friend, I will never take a day for granted. I will always hold my head high,
especially when things get tough. And I will work hard to own my future with a smile and positive attitude.
My mother's name is Noel Reitz. Her motto is "Live, Love, Laugh." Her legacy isn't just for me, it's for everyone.
Thanks mom! I love you...MORE!!!! XOXO"
Thanks Shelby. I love you more than you'll every know, until you have your own child.
Noel Reitz
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LESLIE VAN DALSEM: ROLLING THE DICE FOR CANCER RESEARCH
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 I am the "poster child" for getting mammograms when you are supposed to. I had just turned 40 and I had my doctor's mammogram order pinned up on my bulletin board. Since I was young with no family history, I really wasn't worried about it and just wanted to get it over with to check it off my list of things to do. By nature, I am a rule follower and knew I had to do it.
When I was told that I had breast cancer by my husband, who is a physician, I was in complete shock and my life suddenly took a huge detour. Luckily, the cancer was in a very early stage and had not spread anywhere else. The cancer, however, was too large for a lumpectomy so I underwent a unilateral mastectomy and reconstruction surgery. Since the cancer was contained to my breast and I had the mastectomy, I did not have to undergo chemotherapy or radiation. That was a huge relief for me since I was very concerned about taking care of my 3 boys and the effect this ordeal would have on them. I had no idea how timing and early detection could be so critical and have such a huge impact on the outcome of my health.
I am one of seven children in a very close-knit family and they are ready to take on cancer and do something tangible. On February 7th, 2009 my parents, sisters, brothers, and many friends are hosting the 1st Annual Bunko for Breast Cancer in Camarillo, California. There will be a Bunko tournament with a silent auction and raffle along with prizes, food and drinks. As horrible as cancer is, this is a positive collaboration of love, hope and determination to raise money for research, to heighten awareness about breast cancer and to promote early detection.
Today, I am two years cancer free and two years into being very grateful for going to get my mammogram at 40 years old. If I hadn't, my life could be very different today. So many people don't bother or put it off because they are fearful, uncomfortable or just don't want to know. Cancer doesn't wait until you're ready; it hits you when you are not looking. We need to battle it with proactive and preventive measures. Please go get your mammogram. It may save your life!
If you're interested in learning more about the 1st Annual Bunko for Breast Cancer, or you'd like to register for the event, please go to www.bunko4breastcancer.com. All proceeds will go directly to The Breast Cancer Research Foundation.
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MARCIE GOLDSTEIN: AN 8-YEAR BREAST CANCER CONQUEROR!
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 Twenty-two years ago, before I was married, a friend introduced me to the work of the renowned research hospital, City of Hope. Although no history of cancer existed in my immediate family, I was inspired by City of Hope's pioneering efforts to conquer cancer, HIV/AIDS and diabetes and was soon volunteering my time to support City of Hope's mission.
Over the next 12 years, my husband Cliff and I spent countless hours organizing fundraising events and meetings in support of City of Hope’s work. Even our children held their own fundraiser, selling lemonade and homemade jewelry to the neighbors. I cannot begin to count the number of tours we led of City of Hope, showing donors, legislators, and other VIPs the everyday miracles occurring on the hospital’s beautiful campus. We often found ourselves in the laboratories of brilliant scientists, peering through their microscopes and studying charts and graphs we could barely comprehend. I learned that most City of Hope physicians not only care for patients, but also dedicate countless hours to research seeking cures for dreaded diseases that affect so many families each year. As an active volunteer, I also learned how fundraising dollars were used to advance specific programs and how those programs lead to cutting edge advances in treatment. For example, City of Hope doctors pioneered bone marrow transplantation, now a standard treatment worldwide.
As much as City of Hope was part of my life, it never occurred to me that I might be a patient there myself. I was certainly too young to have breast cancer; I was 39 years old with two young children to raise. I was healthy, exercised, got regular doctor’s check ups and had already had negative mammograms. I had none of the risk factors. But somehow, when I felt the lump in my breast while showering one morning, I knew the news wasn’t going to be good. After a biopsy, my doctor called to tell me the lump was a malignant tumor. I was shocked, devastated, and frightened. I could barely breathe. My internist immediately sent me to an oncologist at a major hospital near my home. The doctor provided me with a lot of technical information, but little comfort. After my visit with her, I told my husband it was not the right place for me to heal. Everything about my visit that day made me feel worse, both emotionally and physically. On top of that, the oncologist’s preferred hospital wasn’t a National Cancer Institute designated Comprehensive Cancer Center, which I knew offered the very best in cancer treatment. Only three such hospitals are located in Los Angeles: UCLA, USC and City of Hope. Why, when my life was on the line, was I not going to go to one of them? And then I realized how lucky I was; I already knew where to go to get well-City of Hope.
After my first visit to City of Hope as a patient, I left with the belief that I would survive. The City of Hope doctors gave me reasons to believe I would beat the disease, and reinforced that belief every step of the way through my treatment. The support they gave me was extended to my husband and children, relieving some of my anxieties about how they would fare during this period. I experienced first hand how the City of Hope treats not just the disease, but the whole patient, including the patient’s family.
My year long "battle plan" for conquering breast cancer would include a bilateral mastectomy with lymph node removal, chemotherapy and reconstruction surgery. There would be another five years of tamoxifen therapy to prevent any reoccurrence of the disease. During that time, I wanted to keep my life as normal as possible, which included continuing my volunteer efforts for City of Hope. In my heart, I knew I would not be able to maintain my same level of involvement and that I would miss the sense of satisfaction it brought me. But my City of Hope social worker found the perfect solution; I could participate in two studies City of Hope researchers were conducting. One on how to combat fatigue in breast cancer patients and another in which researchers wanted to learn how to better support the children of breast cancer patients. My participation, however small, helped me find meaning in what I was experiencing as a patient.
The love and support of my family and friends were paramount in my recovery. I was also blessed to have a friend who had gone through breast cancer treatment only three years earlier. I found it helpful to talk with someone who could understand what I was feeling and share all of her experiences, feelings and wisdom. And, no matter how bad my news seemed, she’d always assure me she’d gotten worse news and she was just fine and that it didn’t matter one little bit! With her support, my fears would fade a bit and I could move on and do what I needed to do to get well. (By the way, she’s still healthy.)
City of Hope may not have been the closest hospital to my home, and my family internist may not have been familiar with it, but thank God I knew about City of Hope. Eight years later, I am healthy and happy and living proof that breast cancer is conquerable. Today, I look back on breast cancer as a speed bump in my life. The disease slowed me down temporarily, but I’m back cruising through life in my much longed for sports car. It’s a convertible, of course. I enjoy driving topless!
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RHONDA SEEBER: LIVING WITH CANCER
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 First of all, I don't think my story is all that special. Every one of us has a different story to tell, but in so many ways, the stories are all alike. We find out we have cancer, we struggle with the diagnosis, we determine what treatment we are going to get, and then we "Just Do It." We don’t have any other choice.
My story began in October 2006 with my annual mammogram - I'd been having them annually since age 35. I knew that day there was a problem, as they sent me "down the hall" for another image. I was told the next day that I would need a biopsy, but the earliest they could fit me in was several weeks off. I am lucky, working for a medical school and with resources that many women don't have, so quickly made arrangements to go to our primary location where I was seen three days later. So, step one was at least quick, and for that I was very grateful. I always think waiting for results is one of the hardest things.
The next hard thing was telling my family. My husband, of course, knew what was going on, but my parents and siblings had no knowledge of what I was going through. I had to make a phone call to each one, and go through the process over and over again, then again with my friends and work associates. By the time I had repeated my story a couple of dozen times in one day, it was really real to me, with no chance of denial. I also learned how stressful it could be, having to go over the same story multiple times, and down the road I made sure that I only disseminated information once or twice, and had an official mailing list that it went to.
Treatment. I had it all. First a lumpectomy. The tumor was a large stringy mass, bigger than a lemon, with only a small lump at the core, which is why it hadn't shown up in early mammograms, although the doctors all agreed it must have been there for more than a year based on its size. So, for all of you who think you are safe because you get annual mammograms, yes, they are important, but they are certainly no guarantee! Pathology reported that they didn't get it all, the margins were bad in every direction. I also had 5 positive lymph nodes, and possibly a lesion in one of the bones in my leg. So, one month after the lumpectomy, I was back in the hospital for a mastectomy.
With each surgery I spent two weeks at home with my husband caring for me and changing dressings, then I was back to work, full time after the first week of easing back into things. It was a little awkward, dealing with my healing incisions, a temporary fiberfill prosthesis, no bra, and clothes that didn't fit right, but it was lots better than sitting at home and feeling sorry for myself.
At one of my follow up appointments with my breast surgeon, my husband and I met with an oncologist in the group. After only a few moments, I knew that I would never see him again. While the surgeon was terrific, and I had great rapport with her, I was uncomfortable with everything about this new doctor. His recommended approach to treatment, oral medication only, didn't seem right to me. Why shouldn't I be having chemotherapy or radiation? I felt like he thought I was going to die, and that if I saw him, I truly would.
So, I sought recommendations. Again, I had medical school contacts to help me, and on the next try found the perfect match. This oncologist was the exact opposite. Her first words were "you're young, you're healthy, we're going to be aggressive, and we are going to take care of this." That was exactly what I needed to hear. We were going to work together, as a team, and together, we would conquer this. Yes, her patients were sick, some of them very sick, but the office and all her staff were upbeat, positive, and helpful. I never felt like I was just another set of symptoms.
We agreed on dose-dense chemotherapy, so instead of the normal chemo treatment schedule of once every three weeks, I had mine once every two weeks, for eight treatments. This had two positive features - one, I would be finished with it in sixteen weeks, instead of twenty-four, and two, it would hit the cancer cells over and over again before they could recover from the previous dose of drugs. Of course, the rest of my body also got hit again before recovering, so I had injections to boost both my white-cell and red-cell counts. I showed up for work every day, not necessarily with much energy, but facilitated by the wonders of modern anti-nausea drugs.
Hair loss. I worried and fretted over this. My hair is part of who I am, much more than my breast ever was. But, when the time came, I had my hairdresser cut it all off, then my husband shaved the last bits off for me. My sister had helped me get a wig before I ever started chemo, but I hated it the day I bought it, and hated it through the entire time I was bald. I wore it three times, sticking to a variety of hats, which I decorated to suit my mood.
Next came radiation. Monday through Friday, 35 treatments. It only took a few minutes, so I was in and out on my lunch hour. The first couple of weeks weren't bad, then my skin started burning, blistering and scabbing. By the end, it was difficult to find clothes that I could comfortably wear to work, and I was taking both a morning and afternoon break. I was told that the radiation effects were worse because I had chemo first and hadn't waited very long after it before starting my radiation treatment. But again, I wanted to get done as quickly as possible, and start killing any remaining cancer cells.
July 4 was truly Independence Day for me, as I went out in public without a hat for the first time. With my skin healed, I was also able to go swimming. When my hair was finally over an inch long, I was back at my hairdresser. It was bad enough that I had to deal with "chemo curl," I wasn't going to go around with gray hair! I also started my treatment on an aromatase inhibitor, a daily pill to reduce the possibility of hormones feeding my tumor.
Fall was great, my blood tests and scans were clear, even the spot on my femur was gone. I got back into my normal routine of water exercise. I hated dealing with the prosthesis, as it was awkward when I was swimming laps, and what do you do with it in the locker room when showering??? So, after much consideration and a preliminary discussion with a plastic surgeon, I decided on reconstruction surgery. Initially I planned on a reduction on the other side, but decided that since I was going to have them cut on that side anyway, a prophylactic mastectomy and bilateral reconstruction would be a smarter alternative. And I had plenty of abdominal fat for them to use for the reconstruction! So, a year after my mastectomy, I was back in the hospital again.
The results weren't perfect, but they were OK. The good news was that the breast tissue that was removed was totally clear of any cancer cells. I've got lots of scars, and ten months later, am still sore in some places. But my new body works for me.
Springtime brought another round of scans. Bad news. I have cancer lesions on two or three vertebrae, mid-spine. We changed my medication, plus started on Zometa treatment every four weeks, to help strengthen my bones. The treatment has no apparent side effects, and I have no bone pain, but I know that the cancer is there in my body, trying to eat holes in my bones.
But I am not letting it stop me. Cancer, or any life-threatening disease, makes you look at things differently. There are never too many hugs, lunches with friends, or time spent with family. Those things that I planned on doing someday? Well, that's now. Those things that I've said would be fun to try, well, I'm trying them. I finally went to the Grand Canyon, and not only stood at the top, but went whitewater rafting through it. Next I'm learning how to throw a clay pot on a wheel, and I'm going to ride a Segway…
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BEVERLY AUSTIN: A BREAST CANCER SURVIVOR FEELS THE NEED TO GIVE BACK
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 In 2008, 50-year-old Beverly Austin celebrated her 10th year of remission after receiving treatment at City of Hope for early stage breast cancer. As a result of this experience, Beverly has a sense of gratitude for each day of her life and is a regular participant in the Walk for Hope to Cure Breast Cancer.
In July 1998, two months after my 40th birthday, my doctor called me at work to tell me that I had a malignant tumor in my breast. The news left me numb with despair.
Soon after, I met with an oncologist who recommended a lumpectomy followed by radiation and chemotherapy treatments. To make it through these challenges, I knew I would need a lot of emotional support, as well as a strong, positive mental attitude.
The lumpectomy went well but the radiation treatments proved challenging, as my doctor was located in Long Beach, Calif. — a considerable distance from my San Gabriel Valley home. When a friend suggested that I transfer to City of Hope, it made perfect sense. I remember how impressed I was while visiting the campus as part of an on-site review team for my company’s employee contribution committee for the United Way campaign.
I was even more impressed with the care and support I received once I became a patient. Those at City of Hope treated me like family, preparing me every step of the way, for what I could expect when I received the radiation and chemotherapy treatments.
As a patient, I learned about City of Hope's annual fundraiser: the Walk for Hope to Cure Breast Cancer. Seeing the value it provided to both survivors and the medical staff, I made the commitment to take part. That first Walk was a little rough because I was still undergoing treatment. But being among family, friends, and numerous survivors and supporters was an empowering experience. So, I have made a commitment to participate in the Walk, every year, and to make breast cancer awareness my mission for the rest of my life.
Thanks to City of Hope, I am blessed to still be here. I hope that my involvement in the Walk and as a patient speaker gives other breast cancer survivors hope. I also wear a pink ribbon on my lapel to remind others to get regular mammograms and perform self-exams, because early detection truly is the key.
I love the City of Hope credo: "There is no profit in curing the body if, in the process, we destroy the soul." I carry that message in my heart every day.
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