If you think you are safe from getting cancer....think again. This disease does not discriminate. It knows no age, race or gender.
The best advice I can give you is to
I was diagnosed with cancer when I was 31 years old. I was not thinking about it. I had no symptoms. It was just there. A routine chest x~ray saved my life. This is my story...
Well, the bleeding got a bit too heavy, so I went for a check~up. The doctor drew some blood to run tests. A few days later he called me and told me I had to go to the emergency room (where he would meet me) and be admitted into the hospital. "What? Admitted? Why? What's wrong?" My hemoglobin count was dangerously low at 5.4 (normal is between 12 & 16) He was puzzled as to how I continued to live a normal life without passing out. I was diagnosed as having fibroid tumors in my uterus which were causing the bleeding, and scheduled me for a D&C (dialation and curretage) to remove them. This procedure had to be done immediatly.
I was admitted for the surgery, but before it could be done, I needed four pints of blood and a bag of plasma so I'd be strong enough for the surgery. Everything went well and before I knew it, I was waking up in the Recovery Room.
My doctor came in to tell me that all went OK with the "D & C procedure", but he thought it would be a good idea if I spoke to a Pulminary Specialist (as if going through what I just went throgh wasn't enough). A Pulminary Specialist? Whatever for? What does a Pulminary doctor have to do with my uterus?
He then explained to me that when my pre~surgery, "routine" x~ray was being read, the Radiologist saw something "suspicious" on my right lung. Hey, it could just be scar tissue (and probably was), so I really didn't think anything of it, and off to my hospital room I went.
Of course, whatever it was had to be biopsyed. The "biopsy" procedure would be done the next day...
This was NOT fun. They gave me a 10 mg valium (gee thanx) and began to insert a very large tube down my throat Upon awakening...I was surrounded by my Doctor, the Radiologist, and the Pulminary guy. Hmmm....do ya think something is wrong with this picture? They proceeded to explain to me that the results were not good. The "spot" was malignant and it was official....I had been diagnosed with... ~Lung Cancer~ OK...I was a smoker, my Parents were smokers, my Grandfather was a smoker (and past away from lung cancer). My biological Father died from various cancers throughout his body. My Great~Grandmother had breast cancer. My Mother-In-Law was a smoker and had just passed away from lung cancer only 5 months prior. And the most recent, was my sweetest Uncle Sal (mom's brother) who just past away in February, 99 of inoperable lung cancer. (Yes, it does seem to be hereditary)
But I still wasn't too concerned. I figured I'd have whatever it was removed and get on with my life.
Boy, If it were only that easy...
Well, the Doctors were pretty much ready to cut me open right then and there. I stopped them in their tracks as I really needed some time to let all this sink in. I knew someone who referred me to a Specialist in Manhattan. This guy had come highly recommended and treated some pretty important people, so I made an appointment to see him and get an Expert's second opinion. He ordered CT Scans, MRI's, X~Rays galore, and upon reveiwing them all, it was decided that I would have to have surgery to remove the upper portion of my right lung (lobectomy) The surgery was to be performed by Dr. Edward Beattie, the head of the Kaiser Lung Cancer Institute.
Now, remember, my Mother-In-Law had just passed away 5 months prior and it was the same Hospital and the same Surgeon. I wasn't real comfortable having the surgery there. I mean local Hospitals are fine for minor procedures and Emergency Room stuff, but for something as serious as cancer, I thought the best place to be was in a big City hospital. New York City...
I felt good about being in such competent hands and agreed to the surgery.
The Surgery... I won't lie....I was scared. The reality of having Cancer had finally sunk in. There I was, the night before the surgery all by myself in a strange hospital, in a big City. So...I was basically alone. All I wanted at this point was to have the surgery, wake up and get back to a normal life. I hardly slept that night, although I had a perfect view of the Empire State Building in all it's glory just out my window which was 11 stories high. At any rate, I stayed in ICU for 3 days and then I was moved back to my "room with a view". My hospital stay was only supposed to be 5-7 days. They just had to wait for the 2/3rd's of my lung to stretch out and fill my chest cavity which was not happening. I had 2 chest tubes coming out of my right side which were attached to a vacuum on the wall, and although I was feeling pretty good after 5 days, I couldn't go anywhere or be discharged. I literally lived in that bed for 29 days. Yup, 29 days. Just waiting for that right lung to do what it was supposed to. Friends and family came to visit as much as they could, but being so far away, I really didn't get to see people too often. It was terrible having to stay in that bed day in and day out. Although being home was great...the worst was yet to come...
I called in the Nurses. I told them to please remove all the IV's and disconnect the pumping machines cause I wanted to go home. This was unheard of. I was so close to finishing the treatments. They called the Doctor. They tried to talk me out of leaving. It was late. When the Doctor arrived, with tears in my eyes, I explained that enough was enough. I couldn't take anymore and I wanted to just go home. Because of Patient Rights, they had no choice but to let me go. I admire them all for trying to keep me there to finish, but I knew I had to go. I thought about having to "explain" myself when I got there.
My "family" at the time, consisted of a husband (that was an alcoholic who wanted pity & sympathy), a son, who was 9 years old and all he knew is that he just lost his Grandmother to the same disease, and a Mother, who had a hard time making the long trip into the City.
My in-laws were no help. My Father-in-law at the time, literally dropped me off at the hospital and left and my only Brother-in-law and his wife had their own lives. (Gee, it's not too hard to imagine why I am now divorced?)
The nurses woke me up at 5 AM and brought me down for prepping. To make a long story short, the surgery lasted 7 hours and waking up in recovery was a feeling I will never forget.....Machines surrounded me. Each one seemed to have its own "beep" sound. I knew I must have survived as I heard voices about the place.
The pain was excruciating and the morphine just wasn't helping. My Mom was there when I woke up. She would rub the layers & layers of bandages on my back and it was soothing. My husband (at the time) was no where to be found. I guess he was in a bar somewhere, telling yet another stranger that his wife was dying. I don't even know where my Son was, but a friend was caring for him.
I could only lay on my left side as my right side was full of tubes & staples. My staples (80+) came out after 10 days. I watched 4 room mates come and go. I rearranged every arrangement of flowers I had on a daily basis and knew the hospital menu by heart! Most of the hospital staff knew me by first name whether they were caring for me or not. Finally, I insisted they let me go on the promise that I would go to the local emergency room if I got too short of breath from my lung being collapsed. As it turned out, my lung came up all by itself on the day after I was back home.
They have to kill you to keep you alive...
Chemotherapy...Although the surgery was a success, those Manhattan Doctor's don't leave anything to chance. A chemotherapy schedule was set up for me incase a cancer cell had somehow gotten into my lymph system during the surgery.
Let me just say that no matter what people tell you about chemo, you will never know how it feels unless you experience it. And I hope you'll NEVER have to experience it.
The stuff is "poison". They literally have to kill you to keep you alive. I went into it with a very positive attitude as the surgery went so well and I really felt I had beaten this thing. My schedule was set up as 5 days of chemo (3 different drugs) then 2 weeks off....5 days on ~ 2 weeks off...etc...administered through separate IV's
This would last about 4 months and be complimented by Radiation treatments to my chest. Days prior, I was measured and tattooed for the radiation.
For my first "round", I got on a train to Manhattan and was checked back into the hospital. (this being only 2 weeks after I had come home from the month long surgery stay). I was introduced to a whole new "set" of Doctor's and Nurses. Dr. Stephen Malamud, specializing in Hemotology & Oncology was my immediate Doctor and to this day, my "Savior". I had a team of Nurses who specialized in administering chemo and the staff at Beth Israel Medical Center was outstanding! Although, sadly, none of that mattered to me as most of the time I was numb.
I guess for the most part, my first round of chemo and radiation went well. I didn't lose any hair and I didn't throw up. The hospital stay was long and boring, but they said it was successful and I felt good. Half way through the 2 week break, I had to get my blood checked to make sure I was strong enough for another treatment. I chose to cut my hair in the anticipation of losing it. My attitude was great and I was moving forward full speed ahead.
My 2nd round did not go as well. The IV's kept popping out of my arms and I was feeling pretty sick. Very frustrated....I continued to move forward with a positive attitude.
By the 3rd treatment, I was feeling a bit comatose. I had lost my voice from the radiation treatments and was unable to swallow as it caused too much pain. I didn't eat. I just spit into a paper cup and slept for the entire 5 days I was receiving the drugs. I was vomiting and lifeless. It was a horrible experience. People would come to visit me, but I was unable to speak to them. I knew they were there cause I heard their voices, but I just didn't have the strength or the desire to talk back.
As the treatments went on, I was a site for sore eyes. I was totally bald, depressed, and devastated. The vomiting continued and I felt like I was in a constant coma. People stopped visiting as all they could do was sit there. I couldn't speak, I couldn't eat. I'd basically lay in a bed for 5 days being pumped with poison.
All of this to keep me alive and at this point, I felt more dead.
It was very close to the end of my last 5 day treatment. I can honestly say that if I stayed till the end, I felt I would die. I couldn't stand the thought of one more drop of "poison" going into my veins. These drugs had taken away my life for the past four months. I felt my Son didn't know me anymore or understand what was going on. During my 2 week "off" time, I was so weak that I stayed in bed and slept. I couldn't function like a mother, a wife, or a human being. I feared my life was being taken away from me, not from Cancer, but from Chemo. People didn't know what to say to me or how to act. I laid in that hospital bed thinking of what I was going through. It was horrible. I had to go home and stay there.....No More Chemo.
With that comatose, nauseating feeling, I packed my small bag and left the hospital that night. To this day, I don't remember hailing a cab and getting on a train at Penn Station. I can remember people on the train staring at me. I was bald and feeling pretty sick. I can't imagine what they were thinking. I was very embarrassed.
When the train arrived at my stop, I got off and began walking home. It was about a 1 mile walk and there was an October chill in the air. I was so weak, so tired, so sick. I just kept saying to myself "I'm going home".
I thought about all I had been through.
I remembered how caring the Doctor's were and all the medical attention I had received.
I thought about my hair growing back and eating a whole meal.
I thought about my bad marriage.
I thought about hugging my Son.
I thought about getting on with my life
On A Final Note..... I celebrated 11 years in remission on May 16, 2000.
I go for annual check~ups and x~rays.
I am divorced and my Son is my Best Friend
As I said at the beginning of my story.....Get Regular Check~Ups! Early detection is probably what saved me.
You may have noticed the "Daffodil" theme. The Daffodil is the flower that represents Cancer of all kinds. During the month of March, the American Cancer Society sells Daffodil's and ALL proceeds go towards Cancer Research. This March ~ Buy some Daffodil's!
And Finally...Never underestimate someone who's going through Cancer. My advice is to be as supportive as possible. Keep on visiting and talking, even if they don't answer back. I assure you, they hear every word you say.