Taking On Breast Cancer
This survivor's fought the disease—twice. Here are her strategies
Phyllis Ten Elshof
Research the dickens out of it.
Some people want to hear only what they have to about a medical problem; anything more terrifies them. For me, information is power; it offers a sense of direction through something that threatens to rob me of all sense of control. My second round of breast cancer was easier to deal with, partly because of what I'd learned from the first. My work with breast-cancer support groups such as Reach to Recovery and Expressions for Women had put me in regular contact with survivors. I'd read everything I could get my hands on, crowding my bookshelves with classics such as Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book Living Beyond Limits by David Spiegel, M.D., Cancer as a Turning Point by Lawrence LeShan, and a magazine for women with cancer. I'd researched dozens of Internet sites. I knew so much about breast cancer, I was bored by it.
But like a bolt of lightning, my abnormal mammogram in May 2001 recharged my interest. I surfed the Net for information on mammogram findings, core biopsies, and treatment for recurrent breast cancer. I was back on the phone with my breast-cancer buddies. And what I learned eased the tangle of stress inside me so I could think rationally about big decisions I'd soon have to make, such as: Would I need a mastectomy in my right breast? Could I get by this time with a lumpectomy and radiation? Should I have chemotherapy again?
Lean on the professionals.
Personal research is helpful, but it can only go so far. God gave us health-care professionals for a reason—to help guide us through a mass of information toward a reasonable solution. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer the second time, my surgeon suggested a conference at which my husband and I and various physicians would discuss my case to determine the best treatment course. I leaped at the opportunity. The conference at a nearby hospital began with slides of my cancer cells and two treatment options: mastectomy or lumpectomy with radiation. The choice narrowed after I mentioned I'd also been diagnosed the previous year with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I was in remission but deeply concerned about how breast-cancer treatment might affect my immune system's ability to cope with the cancer. With that revelation, the discussion shifted. The oncologist said he preferred getting rid of all breast tissue to avert possible recurrence. The surgeon argued for mastectomy, too, saying it would be better to do everything now rather than in stages. Within minutes, a consensus emerged. I left the conference with a clear sense of direction. My questions had been addressed. I'd been a full participant in the discussion. Everyone in that room had helped me decide a mastectomy was my best choice.
Don't settle for less than the best.
During my first round of breast cancer, a surgeon made a suggestion for which I've always been grateful. "You're so young, you ought to consider immediate reconstruction," he said. I was 48 at the time. A few days later, I met with a plastic surgeon to discuss how to rebuild my breast. He explained several options, including a TRAM-flap reconstruction (Traverse Rectus Abdominus Myocuta-neous flap—also called the "sit-up muscle" of the abdomen), in which he'd build a breast entirely of my own tissue, scavenging muscle and fat from my belly. This option required more surgery and recovery time, but the results were more natural than an implant. Best of all, I'd wake up from surgery with a new breast already in place. I chose the TRAM
See cancer as a gift.
When people ask why God would give me breast cancer twice, I often say, "Why would he give me health? One is no more deserved than another. I go on to tell them how God's used cancer for good in my life. For one thing, it's brought the reconciliation of my son and daughter. Sibling rivalry ruled through childhood, teenage years, and well after both left home. But the day we learned the spot on my hip might be metastasized breast cancer, my son and daughter reached out for each other. As I watched them embrace, tears ran down my cheeks. If this is what cancer could accomplish, I was willing. There have been other blessings, too, such as priceless memories of my post-operative care. I think of how my daughter bathed me and washed my hair in the hospital. How my mother fixed tea and fetched me pillows, how my sisters dropped off meals, how my stepdad stocked the birdfeeder to entice the finches I love to watch. How friends kidnapped me for lunch. And, finally, how my husband helped me into the car for the long ride home. All the while, I was buoyed by people who were praying for me at work, at church, and in various support groups.
But the sweetest blessing is how cancer makes me cling to God. Life can be so busy, it may take something such as cancer to teach us that regardless of how rewarding our job, family, friendships, and church responsibilities are, nothing's more precious than time we spend with God.
Live like a winner.
Several years ago, Betty Rollins wrote a book titled First You Cry. I agree—there definitely is a time for tears. You cry on the elevator ride from the doctor's office after he's put you at the top of his hit list for surgery. You cry when your husband wraps his arms around you, trying to ease the blow of a biopsy report. You cry on the phone when you're telling your kids. You cry when Mom tells you, "I wish I could have this instead of you". But there's a time to stop mourning, too, and get back to life. One way to do that is to get back to whatever it is God's called you to do. Work is therapeutic, I've found. It focuses attention on what you can do rather than on what you're powerless to control. It makes you productive and useful. And if you're blessed as I am with believing coworkers, it plugs you back into a network of daily support. Another way to get a grip on cancer is to start helping others. You can't mope around feeling sorry for yourself if you're out shopping for hats with someone about to start chemo. Or be paralyzed by worry if you're chugging off to the hospital to deliver flowers to someone who's just had surgery. The beauty of such helping, of course, is that in helping, we find ourselves being helped. But the best way to beat back the enemy is to put every fear into the hands of the God who made us, sustains us, and controls whatever happens to us. He knew I'd have cancer. In his unfathomable wisdom, he allowed it to happen for reasons that are only beginning to become apparent to me. And in his boundless grace, he's not only using cancer to bless me but to bless those around me. Will I have cancer again? Most likely. The lymphoma I have is the type that returns, and the breast cancer of nine years ago might still metastasize to other parts of my body. Even if it does, though, it won't have the power to conquer my spirit. For I know that even if cancer so ravages my body that I no longer have the strength to go on living, I'll still win the battle. As a Scripture passage at BibleGateway.com - Philippians 1:18, so beautifully says: 'I will continue to rejoice … for to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain'.
Phyllis Ten Elshof is an editor at Christianity Today International who lives with her husband in the Chicago area. This article is posted online at Today’s Christian Woman. www.christianitytoday.com
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