Two years ago today, I went to sleep on an operating room
table. I woke up a short time
later, sore and bandaged. The only
definitive information that I got from my soon to be favorite surgeon, Dr. C.,
was that I had tolerated the procedure well and that he had just removed a mass
from my left breast. He wouldn’t
tell Joe and Joe’s best friend, Keehn, an Ob-Gyn who drove from Birmingham
after being on-call the night before to sit with Joe while I went under the
knife, anything other than he was “concerned.” In medical-speak, that’s never good. He may not have been positive, but I
think he suspected that he had just removed a cancerous tumor from my breast.
Less than two weeks earlier, I had seen the color
ultra-sound pictures. I had seen
the tumor and the blood flow that snaked out from it on the ultra-sound
screen. I sensed the urgency in
the radiologist’s voice telling me that, “This needs to come out,” when he
brought me into the reading room less than two months after he’d first showed
me something he wanted to “keep an eye on”. I’m not stupid or naive; I suspected what I was facing.
Dr. C removed the tumor that day, but, unfortunately, the
damage was already done. We didn’t
know it at the time, but cancer cells were already in my lymph nodes. It was only when he did the sentinel
node biopsy and axillary lymph node dissection seven weeks later that we found
that out. I went from Stage I to
Stage III in the blink of an eye.
Dr. C gave me my diagnosis of breast cancer on September 9th,
my best friend from growing up, Alissa’s, fortieth birthday. She hates that I got my diagnosis on
her birthday, but I reminded her that if I hadn’t gotten it, I might not have
been around long enough to wish her a happy birthday again.
September 9th is my official “cancerversary”, but
I always remember September 3rd as well – my biopsy day. This year is especially poignant to me
because a friend will not see her next biopsy day or her next cancerversary.
Our friend Melody died this last week after a hard battle
with ovarian cancer. Melody was an old friend of Joe and Becky’s. Mel used to babysit Becky when she was
little and was a fellow speech pathologist. She was so creative and kind and caring and upbeat, despite
all the treatments and pain she endured.
Melody always tried to put a positive spin on things. She would have turned forty-seven this
coming week. Mel leaves behind her
husband, Jay, and two beautiful little girls – Maddy and Bella.
I remember walking around Disney World after running the WDW
Marathon in January 2010. It was
freezing cold, literally, and we were walking across the bridge that leads
toward Liberty Square from Cinderella’s Castle. I chuckled to myself as we passed a woman talking animatedly
to her daughter while wearing a large pair of pink earmuffs in the shape of
poodle heads. Shortly after that,
we were standing in line to get on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad with Carolyn
and her crew and Lynn and her crew when I heard a woman joyfully yell, “JOE
MATCHETTE!” at the top of her lungs.
It was the crazy lady wearing the dog earmuffs. It was Melody.
Melody and her husband had taken Maddy to Disney World to
celebrate a year of finishing treatment.
Bella was too young and stayed at home with the grandparents. I’m so glad that Melody got to go on
that trip with Jay and Maddy. I
hope Maddy always treasures the memories of that trip. I hope Bella too has some memories of
her precious mama to hold on to in her little three-year old brain.
When I got my diagnosis, Melody was one of the first people to
reach out to me. Despite being
back in treatment herself at that point, she sent me a HUGE box of breast
cancer goodies – shirts, sox, hat, robe, etc. She called to check up on me. She laughed with me about chemo and its’ side effects. We made plans to go skiing when we were
both recovered. I recovered. She did not.
Joe was lucky enough to see Melody occasionally when he was
in Texas to fly with his squadron.
Joe said that the last treatment the doctors tried to get rid of the
stubborn cancer that had taken over Melody’s body made even her hands
hurt. I’m glad she’s not hurting
anymore, but I still wish she was here.
I wish Jay had his wife and the girls had their mom.
Mel’s death has been hard for me to digest. I have been fortunate enough to not have
many people in my life die yet. I
think Melody’s death has affected me so much because she is the first person I
know to have died of cancer since my own diagnosis. Her death reminds me of my mortality. My cancer was Stage III. I have a twenty-five to thirty percent
chance of recurrence within the next eight years. I, like Melody, want to see my kids grow up, to get married
and have babies of their own. Her
death reminds me that I may not get that chance. I like to think that I will though. As Dad says, “Think positive
and you’ll get positive results.”
So, as I celebrate the second anniversary of the biopsy that
removed the source of my cancer, I can’t help but smile through the tears as I
remember my friend Melody walking around Disney World wearing pink doggie
earmuffs, living life to the fullest!
I like to think she’s in Heaven laughing along with me. :-)
Thinking of those earmuffs always make me smile. |
Love the picture! I don't think I ever saw that picture although I knew the story. I have so many memories of Melody that keep coming to me this past week. I am so thankful that we got to see her a few months ago. I know her biggest fear was leaving her daughters and hope that someday I get to share stories of Mel with them. Love you!
ReplyDeleteBecky, Please forward this to Jay if you think he might like to read it. I wish we all could have taken that ski trip! You'll definitely have to make a point to share like she did about your mom. Love you back!
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