Journey of Many Steps
By Wilma Luther
In July 2007, I walked the track at Central Catholic High School. People cheered. Their message was this: “Keep on going, you can win this battle!”
Four hundred some days earlier I had no idea what the battle would be.
For several weeks in April 2006, I had tests after a routine mammogram showed some abnormalities. I hadn’t been diligent about mammograms, preachy about them to others, but not so for myself. The results of a stereo tactic were the perfect 60th birthday gift. Benign.
My doctor’s last words to me were. “It is imperative that you be back in six months for a follow-up and another mammogram.”
Much to my surprise when the time came, I made the call. I was even a couple of weeks early, but they went ahead.
As the test progressed, I could tell that things were not what they should be. They were taking too many X-rays. I questioned why. The attendant said that the doctor wanted to look at a couple of things closer. I demanded to know what he was looking at. I was told that it appeared I had another ominous spot, distant from the original problem area. I was reassured that my doctor would call me, but it appeared I would possibly need some further testing.
Then came another stereo tactic. Then the wait. Then another call.
“Hello, this is your doctor. I am sorry, but your test came back ” The phone went dead. Instant fear. He is going to tell me I have cancer. I tried to redial. I had forgotten the number. After what seemed an eternity but was only minutes my doctor was back on the phone.
He told me that another spot had been identified and that it showed a malignancy.
“We have you scheduled to see the surgeon this afternoon. Will you be able to make the appointment?”
Sure, of course. I sat at my desk, numbness setting in.
Cancer. I had cancer. It had been less than nine months since I had lost my oldest sister to breast cancer and my oldest brother to lung cancer.
Now me.
I got up from my desk and went to talk to a co-worker. She said I needed to call my husband, Gary, who was on his way to Lincoln. I talked to my supervisor. The reality of what was happening began to hit me. It was like a knife had been thrust into my belly. Cancer, I have cancer. This is for real.
The surgeon told Gary and me that I had an aggressive, fast-moving cancer, but it was treatable. It would require surgery and then radiation treatment. Each of my doctors assured me that they were going to treat me as if I were their wife or mother.
Telling our children and grandchildren was hard — hard to get the words out but harder still to watch the look on their faces as we told them.
I knew I had to take control of this insidious disease that had captured my body. I turned to God in prayer. “Into your hands I commit my life, Oh Lord. I turn my life untimely over to you and the skilled medical teams that will lead me on this journey. Thy will be done.”
Surgery came, followed by radiation. Treatment was long and arduous, days running one into another. At times I just wanted to say “No more.” I was so tired. It was Christmas and I didn’t have the energy to write a card, let alone go shopping.
As you waited your turn for treatment, you got to know the people in the waiting room. In no time, we were sharing jokes, finding out about each other’s families, talking about this disease called cancer. We were having a mini-support group as we waited. We all shared a dreaded common bond.
I soon realized how fortunate I was. There were people who were fighting hard, but still losing the battle.
Treatment moved along. I had some discomfort, and at times there was pain from the radiation burn.
I was determined, however, that I was not going to let cancer control my life. I wanted things to be normal again. I quickly discovered that normal was not what it had been. My life was awry, but that was just the way it was right then.
I found myself very tired. It was a challenge some days to put one foot in front of the other. I told myself over and over: “I may have cancer, but cancer does not have me.” I would make myself get up and get going.
Eventually that was around the track.
Relay for Life was rapidly approaching. I had several friends and co-workers approach me about forming a team. For some reason I just couldn’t get excited about it. After some gentle persuasion, I consented. My daughter Rebecca helped. After a couple of calls I had T-shirts and my team of six was ready to walk.
The day was hot and humid, the track alive with laughter. Busy people and tents were all over. It was like a huge family reunion. I registered and received a purple survivor T-shirt.
My family and I started walking the track. We looked at the luminaries that bore the names of those who had lost the battle to this terrible disease called cancer, which does not discriminate and has no boundaries.
There were luminaries, too, honoring those who were still bravely fighting the battle, those in purple who have or have had cancer. They were happy, joyous, so full of life and intent on enjoying the moment. I had immersed myself in reading names and watching people that I forgot what was going on around me.
Over the loudspeaker came an announcement. “We will begin the survivors walk.” Awesome! All these people with cancer are going to walk that circle together.
Someone said to me. “Aren’t you going to go walk?”
“Walk? Oh my gosh,” I thought. “I belong in that group.”
I went over and joined the purple shirts. We were given purple and white balloons. It was a bizarre feeling.
Soon, I got a slap on the back from a longtime friend on this journey who had fought this battle several years before me.
“Come, walk with me, ” she said.
We joined arms and started around the track. We spotted a couple of gals who had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer. We joined arms with them. Soon a couple more friends joined this chain. We became 15 strong, joined by this common bond called cancer.
As the balloons were released, calm surrounded me. I recall thinking we are sending our trials and tribulations, along with this disease, if only for today, to a Higher Power, the Higher Power who is leading me on this journey.
The higher the balloons soared, the more inner strength I felt. My eyes welled up and the emotion of the day overcame me. I suddenly no longer felt the heat and humidity, only an inner peace and serenity, a strength that was coming from within.
I had walked in the Relay for Life many times. I had no idea, however, of the impact this simple ceremony made on the lives of people afflicted with this disease.
As we walked the track, the people on the perimeter cheered us, clapped for us, total strangers reaching out to offer support. Some ran onto the track and hugged me, others gave me high fives, some had candy kisses, others oranges and Rice Krispie bars. The message was the same: Keep on going, you can win this battle!
And winning that battle I was. I had been on this journey 415 days since that phone call in April of 2006.
I know today more than ever that life is a precious gift, never to be taken for granted. So often I have failed to treat it as such, getting sucked into the nitty-gritty of everyday life. I have learned that attitude, humor, gratitude and perseverance are of the utmost of importance when on this journey.
This is the day that God has placed into my hands, and it is my responsibility to do with it in ways that are acceptable and good. This is today — the only time I have. I can use it wisely or toss it aside. I can never regain a day that is lost.
I cannot contemplate what is in store for me tomorrow; I cannot despair over the disappointments of the past. I can only live for today.
And that dreaded mammogram? I’ll never let a year go by again. I had no lumps or any physical disturbances that could be recognized; it was only through the mammogram that my cancer was discovered.
Family, my friends, co-workers and medical personnel — angels placed here to help me — have played an important role in my journey, be it a meal, the prayer warriors among you, the prayer chains, the special Monday night spiritual group, a hug, a card, flowers, physically picking me up from the floor when I fell, emotionally and spiritually picking me up when the going got tough, an old friend’s reassurance as I lay waiting to go to surgery.
Thank you to the skilled medical teams that so precisely and accurately prescribed my course of treatment.
Thank you all from the very deepest spot in my heart, your love and friendship shall never be forgotten. May God bless you all most richly.
UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:
A breast cancer survivor, Wilma had found hope and support through her involvement with Relay for Life.
Wilma is still in remission. She has had a recent mammogram. “No evidence of cancer so I’m good to roll for another year. I’m feeling good, and I’m eternally grateful to the skilled physicians and doctors in my life who helped me when there were difficulties and problems. You couldn’t do the journey without family, friends, co-workers at Nebraska Veterans Home and prayers.”
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