This Wednesday, there will be a vote in Congress to repeal Health Care Reform. Whether or not Republican’s secure enough votes to repeal, President Obama will never sign it so it’s really more of a political chess move than anything. What I simply do not understand, however, is the mindset of those in the country that wish to repeal this bill.
Rather than write on my thoughts of the politics involved in this, I wish to speak as a cancer survivor. While I am considered cured and BRCA testing showed no genetic disposition for cancer, I have not only feared the loss of health coverage due to a “pre-existing condition”, but have paid a fortune to keep such coverage. Perhaps on a different day I will discuss the obscene nature of COBRA, but not tonight.
Tonight I wish to share a personal statement I wrote for college entrance about my experience as I battled cancer. I was fortunate to have excellent health coverage and live in an area with outstanding medical facilities and practitioners and I am grateful every day for my health. My strength and humor helped carry me through many very dark times. I am occasionally struck with survivor’s guilt, but it passes. I am alive and live my life to the fullest. I risk more, laugh much more, love deeply, forgive, show appreciation to those in my life, and let the small things stay such, but above all, I admire my own strength. Darkness filled many moments during that year, but I made the attempt every day to laugh and look for the proverbial silver lining. Enjoy the read…….
It was not difficult to choose a significant experience in my life to discuss its impact on my life. It happened on Halloween, in 2003. I was diagnosed with breast cancer, at the age of 36. The initial shock and fear set in quickly; fear for my death and worse, fear for the impact my death would have on my family. I felt a terror so overwhelming as to take away my breath. I was forced to look at my life in a new way. I could only think about all that I hadn't accomplished, and a wave of sadness overtook me. A week later, I met my surgeon who gave me my first moments of comfort when, in between my sobs, she assured me I would survive. It was at that moment that I knew I had a choice. I could look at my situation as a terrible tragedy; or I could see it as a blessing, a trying time with humorous moments. I chose to be positive, and my life has never been better.
There were certainly many trying times. My boyfriend shaved my head before my first chemotherapy because I couldn't bear the thought of losing my long hair in hideous clumps. I spent the night after my first chemotherapy treatment horribly sick on the bathroom floor. But it was in those painful moments, and all the rest of them, that I chose not to demand an answer to “Why me?” but instead to be appreciative for being chosen. I took that “honor” seriously. I never wore a wig. I felt that if I could go out in public with my bald head that I might be doing something good. Perhaps a young girl, recently diagnosed, would see me and feel a sense of peace and reassurance that she too could survive and live a happy life. I took the 5-7 hours of my chemo treatments to talk to others sitting around me being treated. I told jokes and made people laugh and I listened to their stories and struggles while offering a sympathetic, understanding ear. I was the “life of the party” one nurse told me. When my oncologist began dismissing my concerns and fears, and acted indifferent or annoyed with me, I requested and found another doctor. Yes, I did that for myself, but I also knew I had to do it for all the other people who would come into that office after me and not have the strength to stand up for themselves. In my second 8 weeks of chemo, when the new round of drugs “only” caused extreme, nearly debilitating joint and bone pain, I reconnected with my passion for swimming, and discovered a new sense of empowerment. In the early summer of 2004, despite painful side effects from treatment, I not only completed the 1.5 mile swim from Alcatraz, but I was the 5th fastest women in my age group and in the top 8% overall. It was my desire to exit the freezing water after the grueling 1.5 mile swim, and tear off my swim cap to show my bald head to the crowd and make my own statement of personal strength. I hoped that if someone was in the crowd, going through a similar struggle (personally or with a loved one), they would see my head, and know that cancer is not the end, but might rather, perhaps, the beginning to something amazing.
Only once in my ordeal, did I cry. At 4:00AM one morning, in crippling pain and unable to stand upright, I went to the kitchen for my blood thinning medication. I promptly spilled the pills all over the kitchen floor. As I struggled to the floor to retrieve them, I began to sob and for the first time, broke down and demanded “why?” Was I not a good enough person? Had I not suffered enough? The answer came simply and calmly. If 1 in 8 women are diagnosed with breast cancer, then I was chosen to save my female family members. I was the one who would be open to the strength, peace and opportunity of the situation.
When I returned to work, I lost my promotion and was told I was "lucky" to still have any job. My boyfriend left me after nearly 2 years together saying my cancer had been "too difficult" on him. So I made the best out of my new situations. I did the best work possible at my (lesser) job and I returned to the breast cancer support group and helped other women going through similar relationship endings.
My life changed forever when I was told I had cancer. I have become calmer; a more forgiving and more accepting person. I have spent more time doing what I can, where I can, to make changes I feel need to be made. Most importantly however, I now see that I am here to help people. I struggled for awhile wondering what direction I should go to become a “helper”, but in the summer of 2009, after being laid off from my job, I let myself become open to possibilities again. I went back to coaching swimming with the belief that doors would stay open to me as long as I was moving in the right direction. I had the chance to work with amazing teachers that summer, and realized that I was exactly where I needed to be. I do not need to become a doctor to heal cancer patients. I need to become a teacher. I have tremendous compassion, deep love for children, and a great sense of humor, all things that I think are important in teaching. I know making a difference in the life of a child is something that will not only make me feel “successful”, but will also be the work that I was saved to do.
