Visiting Tanya

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer seven and a half years ago I stared into the face of my own mortality for the first time. Up until then I, like most people, felt somewhat immortal. That was my first wake up call. But I am a survivor.    

Some of us make it through to the other side. Some of us don't.  

Tanya was diagnosed right about the same time as I was. She was also about eight years younger then I am, and while I was considered to be young to be diagnosed, she was younger still. Breast cancers in younger women are more aggressive. Tanya’s case it was no different.  

By the time her cancer was diagnosed it had already spread to her lymph nodes. Chemo first, then surgery were her course of treatment. The first round of her battle seemed successful, but within the year, she was diagnosed with “mets”. Metastatic Cancer. The disease had spread.  

Tanya fought as long and as hard as anyone I know. Perhaps because she had a young son.  Perhaps that was just her personality. She was an advocate and a fund-raiser. She was as strong willed as anyone I know. She travelled to cancer clinics where they tried new treatments. Some with a measure of success, others less so. But ultimately, the cancer was winning.  

Earlier this year we got the news that there was nothing left to do. It was only a matter of time.

About two weeks ago I got word that she was in Hospice. So, for the second time in my life, I went to see a dying friend, someone who I would never have known had my life not been interrupted by this disease.  It’s one of the hardest the thing I've every done.  Again.  She was a awake and alert. She recognized me and we talked a little.  She didn’t have a lot of strength. Palliative care kept her comfortable. But there wasn’t a lot more to do.

This last week I went to see her every day. Thursday she was sleeping so I didn’t stay, and another friend let me know later that day, it was probably time for only the family to visit. It wouldn’t be long now.  

Tanya lost her battle with cancer last night. She fought the good fight.  Her son, now 8, has turned into a bright, smart young man. I had dinner with him last week. His whole life has been his mother’s fight with cancer. He participated in her treatment. Travelled with her when he could. Understood that she would leave, and knew that she loved him. His grandparents have been helping raise him since he was a baby, and will continue to do so. His life will go on and with him Tanya’s memory, Tanya’s legacy and Tanya’s light. 

I didn’t know her as well as others did. While we lived close to each other, we didn’t have a lot in common. We were friends, but we never became close. But each time I went to see her this week, she smiled and was glad to see me. When I asked her if she wanted me to come back, she said “I it love when you come. You can come any time you want.” So I did go back, again. Every day.  

Tonight, I will light a candle for Tanya, as I have for the past two nights knowing that the end was near. Tonight, I light a candle for a life lost, but well lived, and a battle well fought. Tonight, I will light a candle for all those who have not survived, and for those of us who have. For we must now carry the torch she no longer can.

My thoughts go out to her son and her family in this difficult time. Peace, Tanya. May you ever dance in the light....

Survivor....

My survivor's pendant.

For Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Edward and I have decided to publish his writing from the time when I was undergoing treatment "The Chronicles of Karen: You Are Always the Hero of Your Own Story" is a combination of updates to family and friends and Edward's exercise in creative writing about what we were going through. The "adventures" portion of the posting is all of the treatments and trails, re-imagined in a fantasy setting. They helped me get through treatment. All the messages, save the Introduction, were written in 2007.

To read the Chronicles please visit the Blog:
The Chronicles of Karen: Tales of a Breast Cancer Survivor
the-chronicles-of-karen.blogspot.com/

An inspiration to us all...

Last night I met a 23 year breast cancer survivor. We had dinner with her family. This wasn't the first time I'd met her, though, her daughter and I have been friends since junior high school, and we'd kept in touch all these years. They had come to Florida on vacation, and she had come with them.

They had gotten to the restaurant before we did, so when we got there and the only table seated started waving at us, we headed over. I recognized my friend as an older woman got up for the table and started over towards us. Maybe it was the lighting, which was a little dim, but I'm embarrassed to say I didn't recognize her at first. I didn't remember that she was also coming. As she opened her arms to give me a hug. "How are you doing?" she said. I knew that voice. That's when it clicked. The last time I'd seen her was sometime not too long after we graduated from high school, now nearly 30 years ago, and many years before her own diagnosis... I don't remember if my friend had told me about it at the time. I don't think she did. But when I got my own diagnosis, she told me about her own mom, and that some 20 years later, she was fine and thriving.

All through the evening, while we talked, I remembered her laugh, the same after all these years. She looked wonderful. About halfway through the evening, she lowered her voice a little and asked how I was doing. It wasn't the same question as before. Nor was she being secretive, but instead, respectful. Her grandchildren were sitting at the other end of the table. We talked about being survivors. About how when she was diagnosed, you didn't talk about it. How the doctors sometimes treated her as if it was somehow her fault. That it was somehow shameful that she had cancer... and breast cancer, oh my, that was taboo even to the doctors. At the time she didn't tell anyone what happened to her either, until one day, a few years after her mastectomy she was training to be a home help care provider. The subject of breast cancer and mastectomies came up. One of the other women said, "Oh, I would rather die then loose my breast. My husband would leave me." That was it. That's when she spoke up and for the first time told her story. She told them what had happened to her... "So what if you loose a breast. You can live. And if you husband doesn't like that, well then good riddance to him. Who needs him anyway. There is life AFTER cancer." We talked more about the women who have made it possible for the rest of us to talk about it. Betty Ford, Susan Komen, and so many others. How now, every direction you turn, you see pink ribbons, and pink hats, and pink... everything. Breast cancer had final come out of the shadows and into the light. And we lamented the fact that 23 years after her diagnosis, women still get breast cancer and we still don't know why and we still don't have a cure.

As we parted ways in the parking lot, I told her how good it was to see her again. How I'd planned to follow in her footsteps. How I plan to be a long term survivor, too. Actually, I wasn't entirely truthful. I plan to beat her record, and I want her to make it hard to beat. She's still adding survivor years to her total... She's going to be adding them for some time to come... And I'll be following behind her, following the light that so many of us, too many of us, hold high to guide those following behind us. To light the way and prove there is life after breast cancer. We'll beat this and maybe one day, the line that follows us will dwindle to nothing. It's what we all hope for. And in the meantime we look to those who have gone before and see hope... Thank you, Beverly, for being an inspiration to us all....