Chapter One October 2003

It’s 3 a.m., and I can’t sleep. Four months have passed since I got the horrific news: my breast cancer had spread to my liver and progressed to stage four status. The hoopla has died down. The letters of encouragement have stopped, and life seems to be back to normal though what is normal is hard to say. Perhaps it's just the interaction your family engages in when there isn't a catastrophe looming. My family--my three daughters, Alex, Katie, and Frankie, and my husband Mike-- seem to be sleeping better. They no longer carry looks of fear or panic on their faces. The possibility of my death no longer dominates our conversations. And, the regular sibling squabbles have returned, though there is more awareness of our situation and they exhibit a somewhat softer side. "Who wore my shirt?" "That's not fair!" "Get out of my room!" "Why do I have to go to bed?" Who knew that one day I would be grateful for some plain old fashioned bickering among my kids?
For me, of course, normalcy is less welcome. My weekly chemotherapy has made living feel like I'm pushing a boulder up a hill. My eyes are constantly tearing up, my hair is gone, my nails have separated from their beds and I have sores in my mouth and esophagus. How terrible and ironic it is when the medicine causes more pain than the disease. Some days are good; some are a silent struggle, silent because I don’t want to burden my family and friends with talk about what I’m going through. It frightens them and makes them sad. So, I put on a show and only let my true feelings out in dribs and drabs.


Keeping busy with school, child rearing, and domestic chores is productive, but it is a doubled edged sword. A busy mind doesn’t dwell on all of the pain and possibilities, but it can be challenging to motivate a sick body. Dealing with my cancer has, in some ways, been frightfully easy. Don’t get me wrong. It is hard to go through everyday knowing that your doctor has given you roughly two years to live.
Dying weighs heavily on my mind, especially when I think of my husband and daughters, how they’ll fare if I’m gone. Nonetheless, I have managed to accept my illness without too much anger, self pity or depression. One of the gifts life has been bestowed on me is the ability to put a positive spin on a negative circumstance. Perhaps it is because I was raised with religion and a strong faith in God. Perhaps it's because my parents always accepted a negative situation without complaint but with courage and strength.
My Father is an Irish Immigrant who left his home behind for a new life in America. He along with my Mother at the ages of 19 and 23 started a family which quickly grew to twelve children. Providing for and raising that many kids was difficult financially and emotionally. Dad was plagued with stress related physical side effects such as, shingles and migraine headaches. Mom was the calm in the chaotic overpopulated family storm. Her answer to problems was to pray, and maybe cry a little, or a lot. Watching my parents deal with life's difficulties in the manner that they did helped me look at my illness as a bend in the road, a different path in life that my family and I must travel and hopefully overcome.



The ironic thing is that so much of what is happening to me, the loss of my looks, like my hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and the temporary loss of my vitality are things that I held as my worth. My value was additionally achieved by acting "appropriately" in any given situation; i.e, not showing anger toward someone who deserved to see it because they acted inappropriately toward me. I've also spent my life trying to please people, make them laugh, or do things that would make them proud of me by doing a really good job at a task. I'm a pleaser! I've dedicated my life to making others happy by my actions. Now in the light of my possible death I am making everyone so sad. Just looking at me brings sadness to people's faces when that act used to bring joy. I also tend to show my frustration more, it refuses to hide behind my face.
Are the physical results of my illness lessons that I’m supposed to be learning? Can’t I learn them without dying? Did I somehow subconsciously make this happen, do something to bring it all on myself and my family? These are some of the many thoughts and questions I have running through my mind at 3:00 a.m, hence this writing, this journal. I need something to do to keep my mind from going crazy. Writing everything down helps me process my thoughts. It's like talking to a therapist, it clears my head. I’m tired now and will try to sleep. I’ll write more later.
Advice for family members and friends on dealing with the initial shock of a loved one's illness:
You may not be able to react any other way than your natural reaction, but try to be strong and optimistic.
First and foremost, ask the afflicted what they need from you, how can you help? They may say they need nothing from you. Respect what they say, but ask if it is ok to check in on occasion with them or one of their loved one's on the status of their needs. Some people are just unable to ask for help but may still appreciate an offer or effort. Know the person that you are dealing with use their guidance.
Be a force of one. "We will go through this together." But don't pretend that you know their plight unless you have already been there yourself.
Be there whenever possible, Dr. appointments and treatment days.
Be sympathetic; put yourself in the shoes of the patient
Be accommodating, don't expect the natural routine
Be open if you can about what you are feeling, ask what they are feeling, can they speak about
their illness?