Finding the Strength
By Judy Arnett
My story starts with, “Seat belts do save lives.”
I had taken a weekend to Salina, Kan., to watch my grandson, Jose, box in his first Silver Gloves match. I attributed the pain across my back to being under the seat belt so much that weekend.
The following week, I had my annual checkup, and my primary-care doctor also felt that I was having muscle spasms from being in the car for a long time. I was scheduled to have my annual mammogram in the next few days and was so surprised when I was asked to return for a second set.
I remember the shock when my doctor called me the next day and said they had found something suspicious and that he was setting an appointment for me to see a surgeon for a biopsy.
I told myself the next few days it isn’t anything because cancer does not run in my family. I have always taken good care of myself by eating a low-fat diet, drinking only filtered water and exercising. I was on a strict regimen of organic vitamins, quit smoking several years ago and drank beer on rare occasions.
Things seemed to be on my side — wrong!
My three children, Jeff, Mike and Tara, were with me on the morning of my biopsy.When I returned to my room from recovery and Mike was the only one in the room, I knew, “It’s bad, Judy.”
He came right out and said, “We have cancer, Mom, but we are going to beat it.” He is my second child and very sensitive, so I was surprised when he told me the oldest and the youngest were taking it hard so he sent them home.
Three days later, I was determined to make the long ride to Scottsbluff to see Jose fight in the regionals. We hadn’t told the children that Grandma was sick. When they were getting a little rowdy in the motel room, Tara cautioned them to be careful around me. Jose asked why I had to have surgery.
Tara told them that I had cancer.
I will never forget Jose turning to me and asking, “Are you going to die?” I told him “I’m going to fight the cancer just like you fight in the ring — and that is to be the winner.”
In the weeks that followed, I opted to have a mastectomy (because of my age and because I knew the choices for reconstruction). Though it looked like we had caught the cancer early, I was back to surgery in two weeks to have nine lymph nodes removed. (Four had cancer cells.)
My sister-in-law, Rose, came to my house to help me with the daily care of drains and dressing and the endless trips to doctor appointments. I never asked my doctor about my prognosis, but to my surprise, Rose did. My doctor told her that since I did not have any other health issues, l had to concentrate only on fighting the cancer.
Then came the oncologist and the radiologist appointments, where I was told I would have 12 weeks of chemo, four treatments, with two weeks off for my body to recover. After the two weeks, I would start another chemo every week for 12 weeks.
I also qualified for a clinical study for Herceptin, a wonderful drug with very few side effects, but it can cause heart damage. I signed the papers for the study because I felt the lymph node involvement meant that I needed that extra treatment and also meant that I would be taking radiation every day for five and a half weeks.
What can I say about the chemo treatments? The first two drugs were given through a port in my chest and took several hours to administer. With my first treatment, I felt like I had a slight case of the flu, stuffy head, runny nose. The second treatment brought extreme fatigue. I had to go in two days afterward for a shot. My body would rebound after a few days in bed, and I would start feeling fairly good.
The third treatment was the doozie. Two days after treatment, I started vomiting, and 24 hours later, I was in the ER where I was hooked up to IVs to rehydrate and they could find something to control the nausea. After three hours, I went home, and just two days later, I felt like my old self again.
The closer I got to my fourth and final treatment, the more I told myself I am not doing this to my body again.
My son, Jeff, snitched on me because Tara, my daughter, arrived at my house and said I had to take that last treatment, that I couldn’t give up. All I wanted to say to her was, “It is easy for you because you aren’t the one who is so violently ill.”
Your youngest child standing in your room crying somehow makes you stronger than the cancer cells trying to destroy your body.
I took that final treatment, and I only had one moment of vomiting. I knew I had triumphed!
Then came Taxol — no sickness but did it ever ravage my body. I had the horrendous Taxol rash on my arms, lost all my toenails and my fingernails. They are still trying to come back.
I was one of the unfortunate to get permanent nerve damage in my hands and feet and had to walk with a cane for several weeks. Today, I call myself a “weeble wobble” but have adjusted to the numbness. I was scared of the radiation but came through the treatments without any damage to my skin, only a slight redness.
Today, I am feeling better, although I will take a low-dose treatment every day for five years.
When I learned I would be taking chemo that would make my hair fall out, I chose to have my head shaved and wore a wig. My hair came back, completely gray and baby fine.
I still have bald spots, but instead of fighting them I have chosen to wear chic skull caps, scarves and I have my faithful wig. Besides being violently ill and losing my hair, I lost all my eyelashes and my eyebrows. That was pretty toxic material going through my body.
We are so fortunate to have such a wonderful treatment center in Grand Island, the best of medical personnel and the latest in cancer care. Yes, the “C” word can be devastating to hear; it not only affects the patient but the families.
There is laughter along with the illness, however. The little ones telling Grandma to take your hair off. Jose donning a new spikey, red wig and telling his friend, “My grandma is a punk rocker.” Oh, and the funny eating habits because, for a time, everything tasted like the chemo: tuna fish sandwiches at 2 a.m., jars of garlic dill pickles (thanks, Jae), bread-and-butter pickles, cartons of potato salad and endless bowls of grapes.
I can’t say I wasn’t scared that I may not win the battle. The day I came home from my biopsy, I retreated to my room and cried, questioned my faith and then asked God to give me the strength to fight because I couldn’t do it without Him. He provided everything!
I was able to plan the year of my treatment for Tara’s wedding. I was able to make all her flower arrangements and to watch her walk down the aisle.
The first Christmas of my diagnosis, I cried putting my tree up, wondering if I would ever do it again. I took a wonderful trip throughout Texas last summer. I can’t speak for other cancer survivors, but I found myself not wanting to give up one minute of time. I relish every new day and every memory I can make with my family and friends.
I have walked on three Relays for Life, and it is my proudest moment to walk with the survivors because I have shared their struggles. They are my heroes.
My son Michael walked 20-plus miles this year. He wanted to give up after two hours and had lots of blisters. He walked on, however, to feel the pain of his mother and the other survivors and to honor the memory of those who so bravely fought the battle of their disease. I did two laps in the survivor walk this year and stayed with Mike throughout the night and walked with him when dawn broke. What a beautiful moment to share.
Do I worry about my cancer returning? Sometimes. Aren’t we all on borrowed time from the day we are born?
I am thankful for my family and friends for all their support and to God for allowing me another day to make more precious memories.
I am a “nagger,” though, for both men and women to keep their exams up to date. My radiologist told my sister-in-law that I was very fortunate to have done this, as the rate my cancer cells were traveling, I wouldn’t have been here to put that Christmas tree up again!
UPDATE MARCH 24, 2009:
Judy is a breast cancer survivor who calls herself a “nagger” for others to get regular exams.
After she had been cancer-free for three and a half years, doctors found a tumor on Judy’s spine. “They started radiation right away because of the pain,” she said. She spent three weeks in skilled care but has returned home. Her last radiation treatment was on Feb. 24.
Judy Arnett died on March 20, 2009.
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