The School Of Hard Knocks

While showering, I discovered a large lump in my right breast. I could not believe it! I knew in my heart it was breast cancer. My stomach crawled up to my throat and I thought I was going to be sick.

By Bobbi Moore

Almost 24 years ago, in April 1983, I experienced one of the most eventful weeks of my life. On a Friday afternoon my husband and I received a telephone call from our social worker that a baby boy was available for adoption. We had been waiting for this moment for over five years. I was delighted with the news but also apprehensive about caring for a baby, as our daughter was now eleven years old

Joy and apprehension turned to disbelief and fear on the Sunday night of that same weekend. While showering, I discovered a large lump in my right breast. I could not believe it! I knew in my heart it was breast cancer. My stomach crawled up to my throat and I thought I was going to be sick. I had practiced Breast Self Examination occasionally but obviously not diligently enough. When I told my husband he was shocked. Needless to say neither one of us slept that Sunday night.

First thing Monday morning I phoned my GP. After telling the receptionist what I had found she gave me an appointment the same day for early afternoon. After he examined me and I told him about the pending adoption, which had been scheduled for Friday of that week, my doctor set up an appointment with a surgeon and I left directly for his office for a 3 PM appointment. Although my GP told me not to worry, it was impossible not to. He also said we should go ahead with the adoption.

While driving myself to the appointment with the surgeon I felt like I was experiencing a nightmare and if I just pinched myself I would wake up and everything would be just fine. However, that was not to be. Upon initial examination the surgeon also felt that the lump was cancerous and he scheduled me for a lumpectomy and lymph node removal on Wednesday of that same week. He also suggested that we not go ahead with the adoption. I had asked him to be honest and straightforward with me and he was. He felt that the cancer had probably spread to my lymph nodes, which were enlarged under my right arm, and therefore I would not have very long to live, possibly six months.

How I got back home that day I really don’t remember. I was 39 years old, too young to die! No one else in my family had had breast cancer. My daughter was 11 -- too young to have her mother die on her. My husband was a workaholic, so who would raise my daughter and now a new son? I felt like I was smothering because I was so overwhelmed with all these thoughts. I do remember sitting down on my kitchen floor and crying and asking God for help all at the same time. Since I was a child, God had always been a part of my life. I felt as though I had done something very, very wrong to be fighting cancer with so much yet to look forward to. I prayed a lot during the two days prior to surgery.

Wednesday came and off I went to the hospital. I wasn’t afraid to have the surgery. In fact, I was quite relaxed. It was the anesthetic that made me apprehensive as I do react unfavourably to it. After surgery the doctor came to see me in the day surgery area and gave me the results of the biopsy. Yes, I did have breast cancer. The lymph node section was being sent to another hospital and I would have to wait 2-3 weeks for those results. I still felt relief that I knew for sure that the lump was cancerous but also that it was removed from my body. It was as though this "evil thing" had been removed from me never to return.

The rest of Wednesday and part of Thursday was a sleepy blur. Whenever I woke up, cancer was the first thing that came to my mind. The second was adoption. We had a family meeting and decided to go ahead with our plans to pick up Scott on Friday. As I couldn’t move my right arm completely, my husband was in charge of carrying the baby from the foster mother’s house to the car. Our daughter and I carried any clothing and baby things that belonged to him. As we pulled away from the house it felt like we were driving a get away car: we couldn’t get home soon enough.

We belonged to a local service organization and many of the ladies provided us with lots of food. Some would come in and chat awhile while others just handed us the goodies and left. Others offered to baby sit when I started my daily radiation treatments at Princess Margaret Hospital.

It is interesting watching human nature first hand when diagnosed with a life threatening disease. One very close friend never came to see me and rarely called. I didn’t know it, but her mother had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer and she could not face the possibility of both of us dying. My own mother wouldn’t believe the diagnosis and asked to see the surgical site when she finally came to visit. Another friend was there for us every day for quite awhile, helping with the baby and just being a "friend".

Once the initial shock and curiosity (about the baby) wore off, life returned to "normal" for everyone but me. My husband became even more of a workaholic as his way of coping with the diagnosis. There were no support groups around and I didn’t know anyone else who had had breast cancer with whom I could talk.

The good news was that my lymph nodes did not contain any cancer. Now I could start radiation. Once those treatments ended I still felt lonely. If there had been at least one other person with breast cancer to talk to that would have been "a good thing". Since there wasn’t, I immersed myself into caring for the children and daily household routines.

Eight years went by and while doing Breast Self Examination I found another lump in the same breast. Back I went again to the surgeon for a biopsy. However, I wanted a mastectomy and he wanted to do another lumpectomy. I was very angry with him because I just wanted "this cancer" out of my body. He called me at home the night before surgery and agreed to do a mastectomy as the biopsy results were positive for cancer.

For some reason I was not shocked about this diagnosis this time. I cannot really explain why. It was as though subconsciously I was expecting it to return. God was there for me before and I knew He would be there for me again.

While recuperating at home in July 1991, the need to talk to another woman with breast cancer came back again. By chance there was an article in the Toronto Star about Burlington Breast Cancer Support Services (BCSS) and the two women who started it. I cut the article out and reread it for a couple of days before making the initial phone call. We were new to Oakville and I certainly didn’t know anything about Burlington at that time. I was greeted by a very friendly voice on the other end of the phone, given some details about the organization and encouraged to go and visit them.

Two days later I drove to Burlington, met and talked with two ladies and received some literature and advice on where to go for a prosthesis. I drove home elated that I had finally found someone else in a similar situation. They encouraged me to attend an upcoming evening support group meeting. When I walked into the center and saw so many women sitting there, at least 30-35, I was overwhelmed. As each person told her story, I listened intently and started to relax knowing that I was not alone.

The next day I received a phone call from one of the women whom I had met the evening before. We talked for quite awhile, as her situation was similar to mine. She became a very good friend.

In November, I found a lump on the mastectomy scar. Back to the surgeon to have it removed and yes it was cancer. This time I was very scared. My oncologist put me on Tamoxifen, but the little lumps kept returning and I kept having them removed. Since Tamoxifen wasn’t working for me I was put on another drug but the same thing happened. Yet another drug was tried but with the same results. In all I had 18 cancerous lumps removed from the mastectomy site. Only about 17% of women have this happen but as luck would have it, I was in that small percentile.

To cope with all this I continued to attend support meetings and volunteer at the front desk at Breast Cancer Support Services (BCSS). When a recurrence group was started, I attended those meetings as well. A sense of humor certainly helps one to cope when in precarious situations. I learned to laugh more and not take myself so seriously. My faith in God continued to grow, which surprised many people.

April 1994 found me with another recurrence in the left breast. Once again I was prepared for this and had a mastectomy. The cancer had spread to my lymph nodes and they were removed. All other scans were clear, so chemotherapy was recommended. Chemotherapy was the one thing I dreaded as I had a weak stomach and hated the thought of nausea and vomiting.

I talked about chemotherapy with the women in our support group and with my oncologist. I was assured that a new anti-nausea drug worked extremely well and therefore I should be all right. I agreed, with lots of trepidation, to start chemotherapy. My husband, who cannot tolerate hospitals, didn’t want to attend the sessions with me. My daughter was working in Toronto and my son was only 11 years old, so I knew I was on my own.

Doreen, from our support group, insisted on taking me to my first chemotherapy treatment. What a God send! Since she had been through this, she knew what to expect and what questions to ask. We joked and laughed and before too long we were on our way home. I will forever be grateful for her friendship.

My faith in medicine - chemotherapy - and my trust in God that He would get me through this, kept me going. Some people have a fairly easy time of it during chemotherapy. I did not. My family was not very helpful, probably because they did not want to face the fact that this was very serious. My mother coped by staying away. My husband and daughter immersed themselves in work. My 11-year-old son was the most helpful of them all. Thank goodness for the support groups and friends.

It took awhile to recover from the effects of chemotherapy but, now that I have, I am grateful for each day and each new experience. I enjoyed working at the front desk of Breast Cancer Support Services once a week. You never know who you might meet coming through that front door but if you can help one person through their journey it is worth every minute. 

Eight years ago, I joined the Knot A Breast Dragon Boat Team. What an experience! The feeling of 22 people -- we have two men on our team -- paddling together to beat this dragon and bring awareness to the public that there is life after breast cancer is AWESOME. Don’t be afraid to try something new!

It is almost 12 years since my last recurrence and I am hopeful of having another 8 or 18 or 28 years of good health. NEVER GIVE UP HOPE. Advances are being made all the time.