Reliving My Early Fears

While my writings started long before my ex-wife Betty got cancer, it was her battle for life that changed my views of others. The thing that impressed me the most was the strength and courage all survivors have. This is a short story about those first couple of months, where we never really seemed to catch our breath. Everything happened so fast. And it never really slowed down for close to a year. It is an experience I'll never forget.

On her 40th birthday, she made a decision to start a regular program of annual check-ups. A mammogram and a pap smear would become part of this wellness check. She felt good after the first year showed that everything was fine. She had taken a step to be in charge of her life and as time would show it would be a wise choice.

As the second year rolled around she scheduled her appointments. The mammogram would take place on November 29th - her birthday. The pap smear would take place a couple of days later, where she would learn about the results of the mammogram.

At our clinic, our doctor told her that the radiologist had a concern about a lump deep in her breast. A normal biopsy wouldn't work and she would have to have it surgically removed. We talked to the surgeon and surgery was set for December 23, 1999.

As thoughts of Christmas approach, our thoughts were pre-occupied with the upcoming surgery. The 23rd finally came and I settled in the waiting room for the 45 minute surgery. The surgeon came in and told me everything went well and she should be back in her room within a half an hour. I asked him what he thought; he shook his head and said it didn't look good. I never told Betty about our conversation, not wanting to worry her and somehow hoping we could enjoy our Christmas together.

For the next six days we waited and I prayed a lot. Finally, the 29th arrived and we headed to the surgeon's office to get the results of the biopsy. We sat in a room for about five minutes, Betty and I not really saying much to each other. He finally came in, sat down, looked at Betty and said it’s cancer.

I tried to stay focused as he began talking about the plan of attack. A partial mastectomy would take place on January 3, 2000, then after some recovery time she would have radiation.

On the ride home, I was quiet and in shock. Already on that day, Betty was showing me the strength which would carry our whole family through this ordeal. It was her early strength that gave me the courage to realize that this fight wasn't just about me or her – it was about us.

Not only did our Christmas have a cloud over it, we were now ready to enter a new year, with an even bigger cloud. The 3rd arrived and I was prepared for another hour in the waiting room.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed outside for a quick smoke. I wasn't outside 10 minutes when a nurse came out and told me the surgeon needed to talk to me. Telling me to have a seat in the waiting room, she went to get the doctor. He came in and sat next to me. He said it was worse than he thought and I had to make a decision for her. He wanted to remove her whole breast. I didn't know what to say, Betty thought she would come out of surgery still pretty much in tact. I gave my permission and began to prepare for Betty in the recovery room and tell her about my decision. An hour and a half later surgery was complete and the surgeon said he didn't remove the breast - which he believed he got it all.

Three days later, we were back in his office and found out that he did not get it all that Betty's breast would have to be removed ASAP. Five days later, on the 11th, her breast was removed.

Again, three days later we sat in his office waiting to find out what would be next. He planned CT scans, MRIs, and bone scans to see how far the cancer had spread. Then in a couple of months, chemotherapy followed by radiation.

One final surgery would need to take place before chemotherapy started. Betty has really small veins, so she would need a catheter would have to be placed in a main vein, so the chemo wouldn't destroy her veins.

This was supposed to be a 15-20 minute surgery and a half-hour in recovery and out the door we go. Surgery was scheduled for February 7th. Our minds were elsewhere that week and didn't give much thought to this surgery. We took it for granted. I was still in the waiting room an hour later, when the surgeon finally came in and said it was more difficult then he thought it would be.

I went to Betty's room and watched her. Something wasn't right and the three nurses that were in the room knew it. One left the room and got some more help and a doctor. I sat and watch as Betty went from sitting to laying back, her eyes closing and as I looked at the machine showing her vitals, everything flatlined.

She would return to us a few seconds later. That day I learned that there is no such thing as a simple surgery. Nothing can be taken for granted. What we thought would be an hour in the hospital, ended up being three days as Betty was moved to ICU.

Not only would we fight cancer, but that day I realized that cancer would fight us. There would be more trying days ahead, but those 20 seconds of being a widower - prepared me to expect the unexpected.

The Lap

The first lap at any Relay For Life event is for the survivors. Inspiration built out of tragedy!

For the majority of women, shaving their legs is a job, they probably would not like to have. For my ex-wife, Betty and me, it was a day of celebration. It was the first time in well over a year that there was any hair on her body. It was proof that the effects of chemotherapy and radiation were leaving her body. In November of 1999 she had a mammogram. It came back positive for breast cancer.

For the next year and a half, our lives, as well as our four children's lives, revolved around clinics and hospitals. Meeting many different doctors and nurses, each one, showed a unique form of caring and a loving concern for Betty. Four surgeries, eight different rounds of chemo, and thirty straight days of radiation, showed her strength and her will to live. I don't believe it was fear of death that kept her going, it was a will to live for me. It was a will to live for her children. It was a motherly belief that her children still needed her. It was a believe that she wasn't done raising her children. All of us share a lifetime of memories and we pray, for a lifetime of future memories!

Watching her shave her legs, brought a smile to her face and a tear to mine. Our hopes and prayers might still be recognized! Her long red hair, which disappeared first, came back shorter, thicker, and had a wave to it. As time went on, we began to get involved in a small way with different cancer events. My favourite, is the annual Relay For Life. Because, its was a chance for me to cheer for her and many other survivors, as they are honoured on the first lap. The one that was the most emotional happened at Haymarket Park, in Lincoln. A brand new baseball park, which in 2001, also became the home for the Lancaster County Relay For Life.

The survivors stood in a line, underneath an archway of balloons, ready to start their lap, along the right field line. Led by children, these people, men and women, of different ages and different backgrounds, would follow the concourse, around the park, listening to the cheers honouring them! My youngest daughter, Lisa and I, stood by first base and started clapping. It seemed like we were the only ones doing it. But as the walk progressed, the claps got a little louder. We continued to clap as they reached center field and the applause continued to grow. By the time they reached left field, the stadium became alive! As they headed toward the infield, the place was rocking! The echoes of the cheers bounced around the ballpark. Better then any homerun, because there was no losing team. These survivors were all winners, and everyone there, was proud to be a part of their team.

Finding Life Through Pain

We sometimes believe in miracles when we can see it right away. At times, we forget that some miracles take a little longer. I believe I recently witnessed some miracles which may take some time to fully appreciate...

It had been a year since my ex-wife had an accident in our little SUV.  Since that day, she had different surgeries, as well as different approaches to therapy to try and help her with the pain from that day.  I was in the emergency room the day the ambulance carted her in.  I saw her left arm dangling, her elbow - gone.  It was a miracle in itself that she didn't lose her arm.

The surgeons rebuilt her elbow and within time, she managed to regain 60-70% of her mobility.  Yet through her gains, the pain from that fateful day would not go away.  Finally we were sent to The University of Iowa Medical Center.  We had no idea of where we were going or what kind of "rewards" they could offer.  We only knew that we had to try.  To live in constant pain for over a year - is not living.

Her surgery lasted over four hours.  They removed scar tissue, bone fragments, and pieces of bones which never healed.  They attached hardware to the outside of her arm, held together by two screws, tapped into her forearm and two screws attached to her bicep.  The screws held together two iron rods, on hinges, to limit her movements for 6-8 weeks.  The surgeons believe her pain would be 80-90% gone and her arm movements would increase to 85-95%.  She would spend the weekend in the hospital getting her pain medication adjusted and doing therapy.  Then it was just a matter of waiting to see if her pain was gone.

On Saturday, a football game takes place and different types of miracles are coming alive.  While the crowd is not too concerned about the patients across the street, these people lie in their beds and watch their home town team.  They share one thing in common - a hope and a dream for a miracle.

We met a lot of different people, with different ailments during our five day stay.  One couple who has been there for eight weeks, recovering from a nervous breakdown, through shock therapy the future looks bright. A young couple, who had lost everything they had due to an illness.  While she was a patient, he lived out of their car with their two cats.  Everyone they meet, they try and find a home for their two "children."

A lady with cancer, given a 5% chance of ever walking out the door, so she volunteered to try new drugs and maybe help someone down the line.  She had achieved acceptance and enjoyed her time with her family and the many new friends she met that walk through those doors.  We travelled over 360 miles to get my ex-wife the help she needed.  A six hour drive, we wished for a miracle and we left with so much more.

We left with an acceptance that life isn't always what we dream about.  But through miracles, every day is special and unique.  And with a touch of humility, we thank the Lord, that while our pain is a challenge - it could be worse...