Women of Class:: Breast Cancer 101

By Sara Fortune - Robison

It is said that one in every eight women will be eventually be diagnosed with breast cancer.

That’s not such a frightening statistic—that is, until that eighth woman is someone you know or love. Maybe you are that eighth woman.

In Woman of Class, you will meet thirty women who each fought her own battle for survival with hope, humor, and courage. In spite of their diagnosis, these women did all the normal things that any woman might do. They raised children, worked jobs, juggled responsibilities, and did their best under impossible circumstances. On top of it all, they fought to rise above the disease that threatened everything. They also worried that someone they loved—their mother, their sister, their daughter, their friend—would be the next one to hear the news that changed their lives.

You are invited into the intimate, funny, heartbreaking, inspirational, humiliating, terrifying, empowering, and ultimately human stories of thirty women who have generously shared their experiences.

This book includes many outside quotes. You, your friends, neighbors, or relatives may be included.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781496954886

Sara Fortune - Robison

Sara Fortune-Robison’s work has appeared in local newspapers, including the Kansas City Star. Women of Class is her first book. Sara lives in Liberty, Missouri, and has three grown children, five grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2019 Sara Fortune - Robison. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse     05/22/2019

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4770-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5488-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014921188

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Sara

Amelia

Samantha

Judy

Elizabeth

Gerri

Martha

Helen

Marge

Joan

Vivian

Tina

Jamie, Class of 1990

Margaret

Barbara

Mary Ann

Loretta

Virginia

Mary

Sharman

Lorna

LaVena

Nancy

Millie

Brenda

Diane

Shirley

Sharon

Lauren

Kathy

25 Practical Tips To Help Those Facing Serious Illnesses

SOS for Caregivers and Loved Ones

Reflection

Acknowledgments

Look for the silver lining behind every cloud you see…

From the song

Look for the Silver Lining

Words by Bud DeSilvia

Music by Jerome Kern

1920

Psalms 18:6 In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From his temple He heard my voice, and my cry to Him reached His ears.

INTRODUCTION

One in every eight women will develop breast cancer in her lifetime. Those odds may not seem too bad until you, or someone you love, is that eighth woman.

The thirty women’s stories included in this book are as individual as we are. We are all Breast Cancer 101 classmates. We are black and white, short and tall, heavy and thin, married and single, and many of us still are.

If you have discovered you have breast cancer, I feel sure you can identify with the following true story. Keep in mind, several years ago children attended kindergarten only half a day.

On the first day of school, Paula, a new first grade teacher announced lunch.

A boy stood up and said, I don’t stay for lunch. I go home.

No, you eat lunch here. After lunch we have three other classes and then you go home.

The child put his hands on his hips and questioned, Who the hell signed me up for this?

None of the women of Breast Cancer 101 would have chosen to take this class. We hope our stories will be of help to other women who suddenly discover that they too, just as unwillingly, will be attending Breast Cancer 101.

This book is primarily a message of hope. I, as well as the other twenty-nine women, want you to know how our families and we reacted to breast cancer.

Both physically and emotionally, not to mention medically, the women whose stories appear in this book have suffered greatly in body and/or in mind. Time is a great healer. Just because a woman does not remember being depressed, does not mean she was not depressed at some point in accepting, going through the surgery and recuperating from the surgery. Unable to bear children myself, I thought depression must be like childbirth. I remember hearing that after a while you forget much of the pain and discomfort.

In spite of breast cancer, these women worked, raised children, helped with grandchildren, and did all of the normal everyday things other women did; however, as breast cancer survivors, we know one in every eight women is one too many. We now worry about our mothers, sisters, aunts, daughters, granddaughters, and friends.

Thought to ponder:

Laughter is man’s most distinctive emotional expression. Man shares the capacity for love and hate, anger and fear, loyalty and grief with other living creatures. But humor, which has an intellectual as well as an emotional element, belongs to man.

Margaret Mead: Some Personal Views, (Walker and Company)

Reprinted with permission of the publisher.

SARA

In May of 1992, at the age of 53, while taking a shower, I found a lump on my right breast. I scheduled an appointment with my doctor. He expressed concern because the lump was so close to the nipple. Four years earlier, I had a benign lump removed from my left breast. As I remembered, that lump had been close to the nipple, too. I was convinced this was another benign lump and requested a surgeon who routinely did needle biopsies. After a trip to the hospital for my first ever mammogram, they faxed the results to the surgeon. A needle biopsy was scheduled, and I was grateful to learn I could return to work the same day.

As I was getting on the table for the biopsy, the technician asked me, Did Dr. C tell you there were two lumps?

He had not, but he allowed me to see the biopsies. They looked like little worms swimming in fluid.

He asked, When do I see you in my office?

This afternoon.

I won’t have the results by then. If you will call my office, I will see you tomorrow at your convenience. It’s my day off.

After he left, the technician said I needed to keep an ice bag on my breast to keep the swelling down. Now, picture me selling women’s dresses while wearing a sweater, with one considerably larger breast that was wet because of a leaky ice bag.

I breezed into Dr. C’s personal office the next day and sat down. I was glad I was sitting when he said, I have some bad news. Both lumps are malignant.

I promptly burst into tears and could not find a tissue. He found some for me. After I blew my nose and wiped my eyes, I said, I wasn’t expecting this.

He replied, I know you weren’t, but I did, because of the way the lump felt and the location of it.

I had several options: I could have a mastectomy and prosthesis, or a mastectomy with an implant. The third option was a tummy tuck, mastectomy and reconstruction done all at once (the doctors would use my belly fat to form a new breast). The surgeon closed by saying he would be glad to talk to my husband, too.

Though the sun was shining as I left the doctor’s office, I felt as though that sun had ceased to shine for me. I remembered a newspaper cartoon character, from my childhood, who always had his own black cloud overhead. My black cloud’s caption read "BREAST CANCER." As I drove to pick up my husband, Lynn, my mind raced. I thought, I was healthy and now this.

After sharing the news with my husband, I called a co-worker to say I was going to have an iced tea with Lynn. We went to Perkins. I ordered tea and Lynn ordered a Country Club Melt. I remember thinking, how can you eat at a time like this? I had no appetite at all. Then I remembered Lynn eats when he is nervous.

When I returned to work, I headed for the manager—the most sympathetic person in the store. She took me in her arms and held me. I can never thank her enough for that gift of caring. I also called and made an appointment with the surgeon for the next afternoon. Lynn and I would go together.

The next day at work, I received a lovely bouquet of flowers from our daughter. That was a wonderful bright spot in my day. I’ve often thought I want my flowers while I’m alive—not when I die.

At the doctor’s visit, the surgeon pointed out that his implant patients had not had any problems. I thought to myself, yes, but you are very young. It is on down the road those women can or will have problems and I am not going to be one of them. To give you some idea of how young Dr. C was, he had been in the same Boy Scout troop with our sons when Lynn was scoutmaster. He was about thirty and Lynn called him by his first name.

I had several options. I could have a mastectomy or a mastectomy with an implant. The last option could be done in one day—a tummy tuck, mastectomy and reconstruction in the same surgery. I decided on the latter. I figured I might as well hurt two places instead of one and have all of the breast surgery behind me. In addition, I was afraid if I didn’t do it now, I would never get around to having the reconstruction done. Dr. C said the nice thing about this surgery was that if I lost weight, so would the breast and if I gained weight—heaven forbid!—so would the breast, whereas, a breast implant would stay the same size regardless of weight gain or loss.

At some point doing this discussion, Lynn told me he would love me without a breast and I said, I know that.

Dr. C interjected, But it’s always nice to hear. I had to agree.

During my visit with the plastic surgeon, he showed me pictures of breast reconstruction. He explained that this surgery would leave me with a less-than-perfect breast. He told me I would have to quit smoking if I wanted this surgery to work. I agreed to do that. He then took measurements for the reconstruction.

His nurse took pictures of the front of my breasts and a side view of my stomach. She quipped, For a while there, I was afraid there wouldn’t be enough belly fat.

I replied, There’s plenty to work with. We both laughed. Now I had to quit smoking and to wait for both doctors to schedule the surgery.

Co-workers sent me shopping for hospital necessities. Among other things, I picked a gray sleep T-shirt with red lettering that read, I’LL HAVE A NICE DAY WHEN I’M GOOD AND READY. After thinking about it, I realized I probably would not get to wear it in the hospital, so I borrowed a rattan torso from work to display the T-shirt in my hospital room.

I was having a hard time quitting smoking. I finally called the surgeon’s office and said, If we don’t get this surgery scheduled soon, no one will be able to tolerate me. I did quit and the doctor called with the surgery date.

I continued working every day. Yet, if anyone approached me to offer sympathy, I teared up. One of the last things I did before I went to the hospital was to write a note to a co-worker. She had been in Germany and wasn’t aware of my impending surgery. The note read:

You took off the month of June. Not to be outdone, I’ve decided to take off the month of July. See you in August.

I sent the note to her home address. I thought she’d read it and then come back to work and find out I was in hospital. I was handling my situation with my own brand of humor. I later learned she told another co-worker she couldn’t understand why I sent that note. It sounded like I was going on a picnic.

Actually, our immediate family had a picnic on the Saturday before the surgery. Then on Sunday, we had breakfast with our dearest friends.

Monday, the day of the surgery, I was cool and collected. I was concerned about my family having to wait during the nine-hour surgery, but at the time, I was confident this procedure was the best choice for me.

The nurse checked my oxygen level and said, You must be a non-smoker.

I am, as of one week ago today.

After my surgery, I woke up in PCU (Progressive Care Unit). After my family came in to see me, I drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, this healing sleep was punctuated with some painful waking hours.

Before I left the hospital, the surgeon told me my lymph nodes were clear of cancer. I had seen an oncologist in the hospital and he put me on Tamoxifen (a drug that suppresses estrogen). Actually, I had not had any estrogen or thyroid medication since I went into the hospital, which probably aggravated the depression I was soon to experience.

For several days after I came home, the dressing was still on my breast and I had not seen it. Finally, the unveiling took place in Dr. D’s office and he let me see the thing. Surprisingly, it didn’t look too bad. I had a circle where my nipple had been and a big smiley mouth scar on the underside of my breast. I had not looked at my right armpit yet. I referred to it as the black hole Dr. C cutta. When I became brave enough to look, I was surprised. There was no incision under my arm; therefore, there was no scar. That area was a little more concave due to the removal of some of my lymph nodes.

Toward the end of my eight-week recuperation, I experienced some depression and shed tears while lying on the exam table of the plastic surgeon. Being a compassionate man, he used a gauze pad and dabbed each corner of my eyes. I went home and wrote him a poem.

Ode to the Plastic Surgeon

I think I’m in love with the plastic surgeon.

He’s dried a tear or two for me.

His sense of humor makes me laugh.

He’s as special as he can be.

But my sister, the nurse, put it all in

Perspective

When she said to me,

"You Dummy!

How many men have given you a

New breast and a flat tummy?"

(This poem appeared in the Kansas City Star Magazine.)

While on the drug Tamoxifen, I gained fifteen pounds and experienced hot flashes. I attributed the hot flashes to menopause but the oncologist said it was due to the drug.

After experiencing further depression, our niece happened to mention that she had read that depression could be a side effect of Tamoxifen. BINGO! I called the pharmacist and he confirmed it. I realized that I should have asked about the risks and the side effects.

As always, Lynn was supportive and went with me on every oncologist visit; however, I did notice he would not touch the breast. It occurred to me he might be repulsed by it. When I finally asked him about it he said, I didn’t want to hurt you, and I thought it might still be sensitive.

Our three children were supportive. While I was recuperating, they told us we had done the right thing by adopting them. That was wonderful to hear. Our children always rally when needed.

And life goes on…

February 1993…I became even more depressed after I returned to work and my treatments were over. In desperation, I began to write my story. My sister suggested that I include