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My heart was pounding so hard, I could see it rising and falling in my chest. Sure, some women pierce their nipples, but I was getting my entire breast pierced. Three days later I received news that ended my life as I knew it: “Sharon, you have breast cancer. It’s serious and we need to operate.” Mercilessly teased and criticized for my flat chest, breasts has always been a source of personal trauma. Now it was more serious. Breasts could cause my death. The following years would bring me many challenges, pain and disfigurement. Breast cancer would completely change every aspect of my life and surprisingly, enable me to find the love of my life. However, on day I was diagnosed, I could not imagine anything positive coming out of this disease. I had to face the fact that in seven days, my right breast would be sliced off. I was in disbelief. Then shock. Then I became deeply angry. I was in my early 30s, fit and muscular from years of triathlons, 10K races, and aerobic competitions. There was no history of cancer in the family. I did not drink, smoke, eat meat, or take the pill. How could someone so young and so healthy get breast cancer? I had no time to process these questions because after one week and ten hours of surgery, I had a new breast, reconstructed by tunneled tissue and muscle from my abdomen. Because I was lean, most of my abdominal skin was removed, leaving the edges stitched tautly together and my body in a hunched position. For the next six weeks, I suffered intense pain while the remaining skin stretched more than 5 inches. While I was recovering from the TRAM reconstruction, I thought I had overcome the biggest hurdle. I was wrong. The pathology report confirmed I had the most serious type of breast cancer: inflammatory breast cancer. At one time, survival was just 15 months, though it has improved with recent aggressive treatments. As my body started to collapse from chemotherapy, I found my 10-year marriage doing the same thing. My husband had an unexpected reaction to my cancer diagnosis: he became aloof and mean-spirited. He never met any of my five doctors. I went to all of my doctor appointments alone and wrote treatment notes through hysterical tears. The night before my surgery, he turned his back to me. Instead of hearing the reassuring words I so desperately craved, “You are beautiful. I will love you no matter what you look like,” I heard only silence. The situation deteriorated from there. As I hovered over the toilet after my first chemotherapy infusion, my husband walked by and commented “I’ve been sicker than that from the flu.” Our marriage was over. I coped with the fear, isolation and desertion by throwing myself into work. My skin grew puffier, paler and greener. My once superhuman energy fizzled out. A completely bald head covered by a ridiculous fake-looking wig replaced my beautiful, long blond hair. In between waves of nausea during business presentations, I prayed I wouldn’t cover crucial documents with vomit. I answered intrusive questions, sometimes nosey, sometimes supportive. People would glare at my chest and ask, “Did you have a mastectomy or a lumpectomy? Which side was it?” They would pull at my wig and ask, “Did you loose all of your hair?” More questions always followed.
I found it was a common pattern for people to determine what “caused” my cancer, so they could feel naively safe from the same fate. After completing cancer treatment one year later, my life was in shambles. My body had no resemblance to its former self. My hair was only two inches long and stuck straight up, making me look like a boy. My reconstructed breast mound had a newly attached nipple with black stitches projecting from it. Bright red scars stretched from hip to hip and across my entire chest. My abdomen was swollen and had a protruding hernia, complications from surgery. I felt completely stripped of all femininity and sexuality. The cancer was a devastating assault, considering I already felt undesirable after a failed marriage. I despaired, “How will a man ever find me attractive?” Exhausted all of the time with a weak immune system, I was frequently ill with chills, fevers and debilitating body aches. I developed periodontal disease, which left me with exposed nerves and bleeding gums. My knees were swollen and collapsed suddenly, even while walking, because the cartilage was damaged. Gone were life passions of running, skiing, rollerblading, aerobics and tennis. I looked to a diminishing circle of friends and family for guidance and support, but they were terrified by such a young, healthy person struck with such a serious disease. It was easier for them to disappear rather than face the hysterical phone calls filled with descriptions of mutilating treatments. Finally, I was done with treatment, but I did not feel relief. I wanted to celebrate my triumph over cancer. Instead, I only felt a sense of foreboding. Was I cancer free, or was cancer still lurking in my cells, silently growing? My high profile career was no longer rewarding; 80-hour workweeks left me without energy to enjoy my free time. I also felt intense sadness over the loss of my most meaningful relationship. I could no longer cope with my life. In despair, I called the Y-ME National Breast Cancer Organization’s 24-hour hotline. The counselor, also a survivor, offered me hope. She explained life would never be the same, but it could be a new, better life. So I started attending the Young Women’s Support Group and eventually became the group leader. Sadly, I discovered I was not an exception. Young women do get breast cancer. Our group of women in their 20’s and 30’s faced devastating life circumstances with information, laughter, and tears. We talked about treatments, side effects, sexuality, dating, wanting children, and raising children. I no longer felt engulfed in loneliness. Bolstered by my newly found support system, I found the courage to make a very bold move. I took only the belongings that would fit into an 850-square foot apartment and moved to downtown Chicago. Material possessions and battling my husband for a divorce were not worth my health. Unfortunately, rebuilding my new life crashed to a halt three months later. I found a hard, pea-size lump in my remaining breast. Two weeks, three doctor appointments, one lumpectomy and one CT scan later, it was confirmed. The cancer was back in my breast, my lung and my liver. I was a metastatic breast cancer patient with a dim prognosis: my average life expectancy was 2 ½ years. Breast cancer would eventually take my life. But I wasn’t giving up. I started hormonal treatments which blocked estrogen, a substance that “fed” my tumors. Severe hot flashes caused my clothes to drip with perspiration, even in the middle of winter. I gained 10 pounds…. then 10 more. My once athletic body became round and pudgy. Rippling cellulite developed overnight on my thighs, my butt and even my lower back. One hormone therapy caused depression so severe, it almost took away my will to live. Despite the various therapies, I fought to live a normal life. On the worst days, I hibernated, not allowing anyone to see me “sick.” I became masterful at disguising my cancer, to the point where my counselor said it was unhealthy. I hid my emotional pain from everyone but my closest friends with a brilliant smile. Makeup and wardrobe tricks hid the physical defects. I still looked like one of the healthiest people in the room. I often heard, “You look so good, I can’t believe you really have cancer.” However, despite appearances, my cancer treatment was not going well. Since hormones no longer worked, I had to go back on chemotherapy. Indefinitely. The first time I had chemotherapy, I was hoping for a cure. Now I had to continue chemotherapy as long as it kept me alive. I also had a new person in my life that inspired me to keep fighting, despite the treatment failures. At the time in my life when I felt the most undesirable, I met a wonderful, handsome, loving man who became my fiancé! For the first time in my life I was loved unconditionally. I became to understand that true love is not about your figure, your breasts or how much money your latest promotion brings. With his loving support, I faced debilitating side effects from the chemotherapy. I had back spasms, migraine headaches and thinning hair. I experienced fatigue so intense, I could barely stand long enough to take a shower. Heartburn, indigestion, gas pains and unbearable constipation were constant reminders of the damage being done to my body. My palms and soles became red, cracked, and so sensitive that tepid water would cause pain. I was taking sleeping pills, antinausea pills, tranquilizers, pain pills, gas pills, antacids, laxatives, and antidepressants. I was miserable, and my home pharmacy provided no relief. After three years of treatment, the tumors became resistant. One tumor grew so large it protruded several inches from my chest. I kept replaying the scene in “Alien” where the monster claws through the chest to escape. The same thing was happening to me. The tumor had eaten through my tissue and muscle and would soon disintegrate my ribs. With few alternatives, I underwent an experimental treatment with shocking results. After the first injection, I had excruciating shooting pains. The next 36 hours brought projectile vomiting and massive tumor growth. The therapy had actually caused the cancer to grow even faster! I felt like a freakish monster and hid my demise from everyone. I had not slept on my stomach in a year. I gasped out loud from pain so often, strangers assumed I had Turrets Syndrome. One morning, I woke up covered in wetness. The tumor had eaten through the skin and I was lying in a pool of my own congealed blood. The open chest wound soon became infected, and I smelled of decaying flesh. Cancer was eating me alive. Completely out of options, I contemplated a frightening and risky surgery. The “alien” tumor would be removed, along with chest muscles and possibly ribs, leaving a gaping hole. The skin and muscle from my back would be tunneled under my arm to close me up, leaving a foot long scar on my back. I spent six hours on the operating table while five smaller tumors and a massive tumor half a foot in size were removed. After surgery, my body was completely lopsided. My right side was missing a breast, stomach, chest and back muscles. My recovery was long and arduous, since I could not use my right arm and only found one comfortable sleeping position: my back. I started daily radiation combined with experimental hyperthermia treatments for six weeks. I tried to keep panic at bay while a large machine using microwaves lay on my chest and heated it to 110 degrees. The goal of therapy was badly burned tissue in an attempt to prevent a recurrence. I have to wonder who thinks up these cancer treatments. I can attest the slash, burn, and poison method of treating cancer is alive and well. And, I can proudly say I have had every single type of treatment that currently exists for breast cancer: mastectomy with reconstruction, mastectomy without reconstruction, lumpectomy, TRAM reconstruction, latisimus flap reconstruction, chemotherapy, hormonal therapy, radiation and hyperthermia. I also participate in complementary therapies like: Traditional Chinese Medicine, acupuncture, yoga, visualization, meditation, immune therapy, vitamin therapy, massages, and reiki. Although the bodily assaults have taken their toll, I am grateful to still be alive after living with cancer for six years. Although my future is uncertain, I am confident the power of hope, prayer, and love will keep me alive. And just as the Y-ME survivor promised, cancer caused me to completely rebuild my life. And it is better! Cancer gave me the impetus to leave a marriage that was slowly killing my spirit. Because I no longer have time for people who are “takers,” I have deeper, more meaningful relationships. Cancer caused me to search for and find my true love as a metastatic breast cancer survivor. This June I married the soul mate I have been searching for my entire life. I am finally free of the profound loneliness that has consumed me. Cancer has truly saved my life. Ultimately, it caused me to search for a more fulfilling and meaningful life. I found it.
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© 2004 Sharon Rose Miller |