BY JOY KARP

“Why should it be me writing
this story?”
I felt ready, but part of me also felt it was someone else’s turn, someone with a bigger battle.
My husband replied, “Because you can!”
Well, here we go …
Part I dealt with finding a lump, being diagnosed with breast cancer and removal of both breasts and chemotherapy.
The next step: radiation in Vancouver … and Part II, a whole new series of events.

PART II

Early April 2008 — Preparing for Radiation
We learned after my last chemo treatment that we would have to go to Vancouver twice: one week before radiation therapy to meet with the radiology specialist, then for six or seven weeks of treatment. I felt overwhelmed. We both did.
Twenty-eight treatments on weekdays, with weekends to recover.

April 12 to 15 – False Starts
We left for my first treatment April 14.
I was still feeling pretty rough from chemo.
We received a call from the British Columbia Cancer Agency saying that the radiation machine was undergoing maintenance. My first treatment would be April 15.
I did not want radiation. I rationalized scenarios: maybe the cancer was gone; after all, I had had a bilateral mastectomy and two months of chemotherapy. But there were those five cancerous lymph nodes under my left arm next to my breast.
The BC Cancer Agency tour, to reassure patients, was reassuring in an odd way.
The next day we were told the machine needed maintenance and to return the next day.
Our stay was six weeks. This would bring us to almost seven weeks away from home, away from our three cats, away from our business and everything that goes with leaving your lives behind for a lengthy period of time.
I will be forever grateful to Marcy for caring for our precious companions.
April 16 – And so It Begins
At 11:45 a.m., my name was called over the Unit 6 speaker.
The Cancer Agency is not called a hospital. Everything in it is set up to help you sustain or build back some self-esteem.
I had on a feminine, burgundy gown, the kind that ties in front with stylish raglan sleeves. It felt soft against my body, which was still itchy in places and numb in others after my mastectomy.
Each patient received a garment bag to put street clothes in. Bag 263 was mine – one of the services that made me feel more at home. (Anything that made me feel more comfortable seemed important.)
At my first of 28 treatments, my husband asked to stay. The nurse smiled a reassuring yes, “Except when we turn on the machine,” she added gently.
There were three radiation technicians in the room. Some days I would have the same team of two; other days the personnel would change. I got to know them all and the atmosphere in that room was always friendly and casual.
However, there was no question these people took their work seriously. I felt safe in their hands.
After my first radiation treatment, we went back to our room and I collapsed on the bed exhausted, confused and with my arm so sore, it shook. You see, I had to keep my left arm behind me, elevated and holding on to the steel bar.
I was very tired because of the morning activity of having my specs completed. I was concerned that I tired so quickly with 27 more treatments to go.

April 17 to 23 – Doctors, Doctors Everywhere
I hopped onto the radiation table and lay in the assigned position on my back. I had four hits of radiation each time and had to alter my position only once during each treatment.
The trick to making appointments go faster was to know exactly where to lie on the table. As time went on, I became pretty good at this.
Not until my 20th radiation treatment did I have the courage to open my eyes when the radiation machine moved around or over me.
The techs were so efficient and exacting. If they needed to move the skin a fraction of a millimetre, they knew exactly how to do it without moving you. Very impressive. Most had a great sense of humour and were very friendly. I joined in, joking and chatting.
Before laying on the radiation table, I had to remove my top. I was struck by the sensitivity of nurses and radiation techs who held up a sheet so I would be covered. After all, I no longer had breasts. It was a small but very humane gesture.
It may seem strange to some that my husband was in the radiation room with me except when the machine was active, but we had a bond that told us when one needed the other. His presence gave me strength and a sense of safety on the last leg of this battle.
These treatments went smoothly. I was not burned, not too sore, just a little lethargic.
The radiation doctor, who I saw weekly, my oncologist, the cardiologist and a lupus doctor each proposed tests. We found ourselves coming and going, constantly, which made us both a little loopy.
By the time we visited the lupus doctor, we were pretty well “doctored out”. My husband purposely sat in a giant-sized highchair in the waiting area and began to dangle his legs like a giant baby!
We laughed ourselves crazy while trying to restrain ourselves out of respect for another patient in the waiting area. But we were way too far gone and needed the release.
Everything was going quite well. I found myself needing more sleep, but that was expected. If I used too much energy, I became nauseated and dizzy and would need to sit or lie down.

April 24 – Family, Friends and New Friends
During the third week, How Ya Feeling Yukon’s first issue arrived.

There was a message page on the website where people could send me a brief message. Messages came from the most-unexpected people, some I had not seen in years -- past employees, cousins from Ottawa, people from Whitehorse I didn’t even know, some I did know. It was a welcome, unexpected lift.
We attended our grandson’s sixth birthday and left early for a radiation appointment. That was the second and last time during our stay that we saw our son, daughter-in-law and two grandkids.
That made us sad.
Our daughter, also in Vancouver, joined us twice weekly. Her company was a healing tonic. She was recovering from a kidney transplant she had undergone a year earlier.
It was good to sit and laugh with her and see her looking so beautiful and strong. We had fun kidding each other and laughing.
Until my 19th radiation treatment, I was doing well: no visible burns, just a little itchiness, although treatments were taking their toll and I was tired. That was natural and I accepted it in a kind of militaristic way.

May 12 – Starting to Hurt
I needed to have two radiation appointments on the same day, just once, so we could stay on schedule and be home May 24. These were on Monday, May 12.
As I stretched back my arm to hang on to the steel pole, a sharp pain ran through it. It gave me a start, then passed. I wondered, Is this my heart problem rearing its ugly head or what? My chest was getting pretty red by this time, which was to be expected.
After the second treatment that day, I was pretty well scalded.
My burns had become more serious with some oozing.
The doctor prescribed medication for these second-degree burns and that helped soothe the burning.
Just at the right time, a small scrapbook with names of friends and acquaintances arrived from Whitehorse with gifts and cards.
Another welcome surprise. When I knew people were thinking of us, somehow things were a little easier.

May 23 -- Finished!
For the last time, we walked down hallways and up the elevator to the radiation waiting area. I did not have to wait long and it was bittersweet as I saw the many technicians and nurses who had been so good to me throughout the last six weeks.
My arm was very sore; I was burnt to a crisp on my chest and underarm area and my underarm was numb from the mastectomy and removal of lymph nodes, but the rest of the arm was painful.
I could not put two thoughts together. It was over!
I was cured … but was I really cured? It would take time to believe it.
Knowing there were no more treatments was pure relief.
My hair was peach fuzz, by then, and you could see a layer of brown coming through. It felt like a golf green. Oddly, about two weeks after we returned home, my eyebrows, the only hair that had not left me, started falling out.
I had seen the oncologist, who was heading up my case, a few days prior to my final treatment. She chose a cancer inhibitor called Aromatase as the medication to help prevent my cancer from recurring.
I was to take one pill a day for the next five years – normal procedure. Some people went on medication for a few years; others, longer.
And two checkups annually for five years. Five years – the magic number for survival.
And so we left … me wondering how on earth I would know the cancer was gone. Would they scan my body or something?
The oncologist said further testing was not good because it enabled doctors to depend on test results rather than pay attention to how a patient was feeling.

May 24 – Coming Home
As we descended into Whitehorse, we breathed a huge sigh of relief.
We walked into our condo and there to greet us were Sydney, Koko and Ashley, our amazing trio that made home extra-special. We were home.
I felt I had completed a marathon or pentathlon. No cancer – my reward for finishing the race and beating the beast.
I knew we had done everything possible to get rid of my cancer.

Winter 2008/2009 – Trying to Return to Normal
For the first time in years, we did not have a Christmas party.
I wasn’t up to it; I was having trouble organizing thoughts and just did not feel like myself. My arm had become worse and it would take months until the pain finally subsided.
I could not wear my prosthesis because the area where I had been radiated was still itchy. I was still overweight and had the figure of a male when I looked in the mirror. My hair was growing back so curly I could not do a thing with it, so I still wore scarves. My eyebrows were half in and half out. My lashes were sparse and still are.
I worked on our business as before, but did not feel anything: my enthusiasm was gone. I felt empty. A good dose of depression had set in. I just wanted to feel normal. I tried resting more.

February – Step by Step back to Sanity
I was pretty tired of negative feelings. It was time to do something about it.
I began to understand where the depression was coming from: I had marched through my triple header like a good soldier, but now the emotions I put aside were catching up with me.
I felt as if my life could be snatched from me at a moment’s notice. I had once again come face to face with death, perhaps one time too many.
I did not want to be wimpy, but I knew that ignoring my feelings would not make me feel any better because the stoic approach had not worked.

I needed to feel in charge, again – in charge of my ability to exist.
I purchased a treadmill. During tough periods, before, a treadmill had been what I turned to and It was a place to start. My efforts were sporadic, but each time I could go a little farther.
My hair was still curly, but in February I did away with the scarf, brought home some colour from the salon and we did my hair at home. I was shy about my hair; it was short, and when I looked in the mirror, I did not look like me.
I did not recognize myself in the mirror. That was a big part of my problem.
Spring and Summer 2009 – The Return of “Normal”
I was up to five or six miles at a quick walk on the treadmill, twice a week.
In addition to losing 12 pounds, my self-esteem and motivation improved. My attitude was better, more positive. I had taken back some control.
I saw our family doctor and asked about breast reconstruction. I had pretty much decided I would not go this route, but needed to ask one more question ... a very personal one:
Would there be any sensation if my breasts were reconstructed?
The answer was no.
This closed the book on reconstruction since there were numerous operations involved in rebuilding the breasts from scratch and since they would not turn out looking like real breasts, especially in the nipple area and, finally, since there would be no feeling. I chose prosthesis.
This time, I would get a size I was comfortable with – a smaller size.
I was not sure when I would get new ones, but it would not be long … I wanted to continue to feel and look better.
In the mirror, I was seeing more and more of the woman I remembered … me! I was looking healthier, younger and slimmer.
I still had a ways to go, but go I would!

July 2009 – Getting Stronger
I had been obsessing until I faced what was really gnawing at me: What made the Big “C” so scary?
Cancer can be unpredictable. That is the fear that emerges. For that reason, it was and is important (for cancer survivors) to keep occupied with positive thoughts and challenging ideas, to continue to get in shape and enjoy every pleasure to its fullest.
Step by step, I was getting back in shape mentally and physically. That meant something. My enthusiasm for our business returned. I started looking outside myself. I thought about my husband and all he had been through with this and how much I cared for, appreciated and loved him.
I started to plan things ... like bringing in new products to our salon.
My treadmill exercise continues to this day.
If I was looking for the world’s view of “normal”, chances were that “normal” would not come my way. I developed a new normal that included recognizing and allowing myself to enjoy every and any good thing.