Happy Survivor Day to me
September 18, 2008 | faith, family
Seventeen years ago today I rested in a hospital room, waiting for results of an MRI. I had already had surgery to remove a portion of my breast. I had already had my lymph nodes removed. A tube ran out of my side. My chest was wrapped in gauze. My children were young, whisked about by friends and family who tried to divert their attention from the fact that mommy was sick.
My husband was at my side. The night before was too much. The doctors walked in. What had happened to the one doctor? Why did they increase in number every time the news was bad? This time a neurologist had been added.
“We found a shadow on the scan,” they said.
“What does that mean?” A question posed by my husband.
They were silent for a moment. Never good.
“If it’s cancer,” they said. “It means more surgery. If it is successful, and after chemo and radiation, your wife would have a 10% chance of surviving 5 years. We’ll do a test tomorrow to confirm what we found today.”
Richard slid down the wall, crouching as he held his head in his hands.
One by one, the doctors left.
My in-laws stopped in. It was late, almost 10:30. Visiting hours were over, but they saw Richard’s car in the parking lot of the emergency entrance and wondered why, and who had the kids.
We told them the news and my father-in-law sat on the edge of the bed, pulled me close and kissed me on my face. He didn’t know what to say, but I felt sheltered and loved by family.
They left. Richard and I sat close and wept.
I had just celebrated my 32nd birthday. My children were 8, 8, and 9. Old enough to know something scary was happening, not old enough to grasp how frightening. Richard and were about to celebrate our 12th anniversary that year. I was in love with him.
I still am.
As we prayed together, I felt my husband’s helplessness. His grief. The last few days had turned our world upside down. Who has cancer when they’re barely in their thirties?
I did.
I closed my eyes and started talking to my God, my Jesus. I was honest. I was hurting.
And then I started singing softly. Not me, but something deep inside of me that trusted and knew God.
For the next four hours I lay in the bed and I praised Him. Not asking for anything. Not expecting anything. Just grateful that I could turn to Him.
Richard sat beside me, watching his wife sing and commune with God. He held my hand.
The next day was my mother-in-law’s b-day. She sat in the room with me.
“Happy birthday,” I said.
She blinked. “Oh, yeah. It is my birthday, isn’t it?”
She hadn’t eaten that day, or the day before. She didn’t plan to eat the next day. She was praying, focused on her family and her faith.
They made me drink yukky stuff, lots of it. Funny moment in the midst of that. I gagged on the white thick liquid, so I hid the 2nd bottle. I figured, I weigh about 120 pounds. One bottle will do me.
As they were rolling me down the hall, I heard the clunk of cowboy boots (he wore them then). Richard was running down the hall holding the bottle. “She didn’t drink this,” he said.
I was mad at him for the next hour while I sipped and gagged until it was gone.
In the MRI room, I was slowly sucked into the tootsie roll-shaped machine and it hummed and hammered for the next two hours.
Back to the room.
10:00 a.m.
1:00 p.m.
5:00 p.m.
8:00 p.m.
My room was full. People came after church and hung out in the waiting room and in the halls. My mother-in-law sat in a chair. My pastor was close by. Richard was next to me. My children had come in and out, Melissa refusing to leave, crying even when promised that she could see a movie and eat candy if she would go with a friend. “I want my momma,” she said.
“Put her up here,” I said. Like a little monkey, she climbed up beside me and tucked under my good arm. She wrapped herself around me and was content.
A phone call. I talked.
Then my doctor came in.
Alone.
In his street clothes. He ran. “The MRI was clear,” he said! “The shadow is not there.”
My pastor leaped in the air. It was funny. My mother-in-law jumped from her chair, ran down the hall, telling anybody and everybody the news. That was funny, too.
My husband cried. He nearly fell to floor in relief.
My children were happy, but weren’t sure why, but suddenly the room felt less like a hospital room, and more like a party.
That didn’t end the story. Chemo. Six months. Radiation. Six weeks. More intense radiation that burned my chest and went through to my back. Oops! More surgery. Went through menopause before my mom did because of all the surgery and treatment.
Chances went up. Way up. 40% chance of survival, they said. I was down to three doctors now.
And here we are today. September 18, 2008. Leslie, Ryan, and Melissa are 25, 25, and 26.
How time flies. : ) And I have three more kids. Josh, Stephen, and Kristin, my beautiful sons-in-law and DIL.
And Richard? We celebrate 29 years in November.
As I look at this day, there are a lot of things that I learned from cancer. I learned to savor and enjoy the moment. I learned that the things that I thought were so important, really aren’t. That the people around me are, and that being healthy and able to love, to laugh, to write, to be a friend, to live. . . is a gift.
Happy Survivor Day to me.
And happy birthday to my beautiful, Mother-in-Law, Sandra Grace!
RSS feed for comments on this post.
The URI to TrackBack this entry is:
http://www.tsuzanneeller.com/2008/09/18/happy-survivor-day-to-me/trackback/
What a beautiful testimony. Just as I had started to cry, I started to laugh when I read about your husband running down the hall with the bottle of ‘yukky stuff.’
Happy Survivor Day indeed!
September 18th, 2008 at 10:54 amAbsolutely, hallelujah, amen - Happy Survivor Day!!!!
September 18th, 2008 at 2:34 pmMy MIL is reading this today. Happy, happy b-day to you, Sandra. I love you.
September 18th, 2008 at 4:35 pmHappy Survivor Day, Suzie! We’re so glad you’re still with us.
September 19th, 2008 at 1:41 amOh, happy, happy day. To both you and your mother-in-law. What a powerful, touching, and funny story. I read it aloud to Tim, and we are both sitting here laughing and crying all at once.
You are a blessing.
Praise God!!!
September 19th, 2008 at 9:44 amWhat a story! Your story, Suzie! Thank you for sharing and I’m glad you are here to tell it!
September 20th, 2008 at 10:07 pmHi Suzanne,
I was just re-discovered your blog and am so glad I did. Your story is so beautifully written. I was diagnosed with cancer exactly 9 years from today (and am cancer-free), and can relate to much of what you wrote. And I also have two close friends right now who are fighting breast cancer.
Thanks for the powerful example that God is worthy of our praise, even in the midst of the darkness, fear and uncertainty of cancer!
Blessings,
September 23rd, 2008 at 7:39 pmKelli