October 2017 is when the entire trajectory of my life changed. I went in for a routine mammogram, which revealed something suspicious that needed a closer look. Mysteriously the hospital had an opening come available the very next morning where I could get an ultrasound guided mammogram for a closer look. I was both relieved that they could get me in so soon and concerned at what they were looking at. I was 42 years old with little to no family history of breast cancer, except my paternal grandmother who had developed breast cancer much later on in life and later passed of metastasized breast cancer, which spread to the brain. I had just started my preventative mammogram journey the year before where they located a small cyst, which was later biopsied and determined to be a benign fluid filled cyst. So somewhere in my brain I was anticipating a similar outcome- false alarm!
The following morning, accompanied by my Mom and my boyfriend, I went in for the ultrasound guided mammogram. This was the first time I heard the word cancer associated with me. I can be a very straight shooter and asked the technicians and doctor to be transparent with me regarding what they were looking at. This is when they delivered the news that they were looking at a cyst in the right breast that they believed had the characteristic makeup of cancer, but to get a definitive answer I would need to undergo a biopsy. In those moments everything becomes so surreal and you struggle to process the information that you have just received while being flooded by a variety of different images, thoughts, and emotions.
October 25, 2017 I underwent a breast biopsy on the right side. Those days in between the biopsy and when you get the biopsy results are the longest days of your life. The anticipation for any kind of news is excruciating. You play out every result in your mind, while you sit in the uncertainty of the outcome. To pass the time you go about your routine, which includes work and family duties. All while carrying a tremendous burden that you attempt to hide from everyone you encounter. This “in between” time taught me the importance of meeting every person with kindness, as you never know what silent battle they are fighting.
Finally on October 30, 2017 (while at work) I received the results of the biopsy- I had Stage II Invasive Ductile Carcinoma, which is the medical term for breast cancer. Unfortunately, later on in treatment the diagnosis would be changed to Stage III Invasive Ductile Carcinoma, but I am getting ahead of myself. After you hear the words that you have breast cancer, I don’t think you hear or process much of anything after that. There I was alone in my office, sitting down (as recommended by the nurse who I was speaking to) with a pen in hand writing down all of the information about the diagnosis that was being methodically delivered to me. The words “slow growing” are delivered, accompanied by relief. I can’t tell you how long I sat in my office processing the diagnosis I had just received. At some point my mind and body kicked into survival mode, acknowledging I would have a client in the waiting room before too long. I knew I wouldn’t be able to conduct myself as business like usual, as my mind was reeling. I walked out to the waiting area and told the receptionist that she would need to cancel all of my afternoon appointments because I needed to go home. I don’t even know if I gave her any sort of explanation or if she just simply knew that this was so uncharacteristic of me that she knew it must be serious. I gathered my personal belongings and began the drive home. At some point in this timeframe, I called my boyfriend to deliver the news and he did not hesitate to let me know that he would be at my home by the time I arrived. During the drive I contacted my best friend, whom I had met in 3rd grade, and told her the news. I remember her difficulty processing what I was telling her, accompanied by a hint of denial. While she was reassuring me that everything was going to be okay, I sensed that she was reassuring herself as she needed this to be okay. She needed me to be okay. I needed me to be okay.
The weeks ahead were slated with numerous appointments, visits to the oncologist and surgeon and more imaging, all while attempting to process the diagnosis I had been given and what the outcome would be. The amount of fear that creeps in when you receive such a diagnosis is unbelievable and at moments unbearable. It drives every treatment decision you make, as the goal is survival. Survival for the 3 children you have, as you never want them to have to go through the unbearable pain of losing a parent and you yearn to see them grow into adulthood, marry, and have children of their own. Survival for all the individual hopes and dreams of the future.
Somewhere deep within me there was this stirring, this knowingness that I would survive. I was not only fighting for my life I was fighting for a new way of life for myself and my children. Reflecting back, it was my very soul that had been preparing me for months prior, conspiring to place a support system in my life that I would rely heavily upon in the days, weeks, months, and years to come. I had left an unhealthy marriage approximately 6 months prior to the diagnosis and was in the middle of a contentious divorce and custody agreement. Six months prior to my decision to dissolve my marriage I began attending church and inviting God and the Holy Spirit into every aspect of my life. This provided me with a peace and comfort and clarity of mind that is beyond description. In this small church I was introduced to a beloved Reverand who was incredibly gifted with clairvoyance and played a significant role in my willingness to open my heart to God. Once I was diagnosed, I was provided with the most tremendous gift of sitting down with him and my boyfriend to receive guidance, clarity and peace of mind regarding the journey that lie ahead.
With a renewed Spirit, I began making the difficult treatment decisions. When others learn that you have a diagnosis they are filled with often good intended words of advice about what you should or shouldn’t do with your body. It is very similar to when you become a mother for the first time and everyone wants to advise you on how to raise your child, even that complete stranger in the grocery store. While you can understand that they have good intentions, these decisions are very private and personal. In addition, there is insurmountable research on the various ways that breast cancer can be treated. All of which leaves you in a stupor wondering which approach will give you the best outcome, as your sole focus is survival.
Another priceless gift that I received during this time of diagnosis and life altering treatment decisions was my 1st trip to Hawaii. My boyfriend had coordinated and solidified a trip to Maui for the two of us months prior to being diagnosed. After consulting with my team of doctors it was decided that I would delay treatment until I returned. This began my love affair with Hawaii and the Aloha Spirit. The island provided me with a much-needed distraction from the reality of the near future. Looking back at those pictures from that trip can be awfully deceiving, as there is no indication that I am about to embark on a journey of uncertainty and survival. A silent battle that was raging within. Although there were several highlights to the trip, there was a deep sadness that lurked within me, an insurmountable amount of grief. Grief for all things past, present, and future. Grief for all those who came before me and battled life with uncertainty. Grief for my marriage, grief for my children, grief for my grandchildren, grief for my boyfriend, grief for all my past mistakes and those I desired to make so that I could keep learning those life lessons. I was consumed by this grief one day while sitting in a pool in paradise.
On December 12, 2017 I had my initial round of chemotherapy. The port to administer the chemotherapy had not been placed yet so this initial round was done through traditional IV therapy. I remember as I was laying in the hospital bed waiting for the “cocktail” to be ordered and mixed I looked around at all those surrounding me that were also undergoing treatment for some type of cancer. That is when I was hit by a huge wave of shame and guilt, as the realization sunk in that I still had my hair, a part of my identity. While I was overwhelmed by my own emotions, I can only imagine that those surrounding me were attempting to manage their own emotions, as they knew better than anyone the road that would lie ahead. The oncologist said that there was a small chance that my hair would not fall out from the effects of chemotherapy, but I think this was a small attempt to somehow make me feel better.
I was haunted by the thoughts, emotions, and images of waking up and finding long strands of hair on my pillow or chunks of hair falling into my hands while showering. It was in these moments that I decided to take control where I could take control and shave my head. Having cancer invade your body is accompanied by feelings of a loss of control and power over what is happening to you and your body so you begin to take back power and control in areas of your life in which you can. Perhaps this is one of the valuable lessons, taking back your power, because we are far too often taught to give our power away. On December 22, 2017 I walked into the beauty salon I had walked into so many times before. However, this time was significantly different, instead of walking out with a renewed sense of self esteem I walked out into a world full of uncertainty. I was accompanied by my boyfriend, my mother, my brother, my youngest son, and my friend and co-worker. My brother and mother stood in solidarity with me and shaved their heads as well. When my hair began to fall out, I was relieved that I had made this decision.
From December 12, 2017-April 24, 2018 I received weekly treatments of chemotherapy. My boyfriend was present for every medical appointment and decision, every procedure, and every chemotherapy treatment. He, along with Jesus and God, were my rock and continue to remain steadfast in my journey today. I clung to the scripture, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” and the endless stories of Jesus preforming miracles provided me with a sense of endless Hope. At some point during the early stages of diagnosis I told my boyfriend he was free to go, as he didn’t sign up for this. His response, “what better way for me to prove my love to you?” I believe this is when I knew he was “the one.” During my last day of chemotherapy, April 24, 2018, he gathered all of the nurses and hospital staff I had been given the privilege to know over the past 5 months, got down on one knee, and proposed. Of course I said, “Yes!” To this day my husband has provided me with unwavering support in all areas of life. He truly has been a gift from God and I am blessed beyond measure to walk through life with him and God at our side.
During this process I chose to take a holistic approach to medicine, both traditional and non-traditional methods. My goal in using this multifaceted approach was to heal mind, body, and spirit. My beloved pastor, church congregation, and prayer warrior team nourished my spirituality and soul. My naturopathic nutritionist provided me with great wisdom and resources, including supplements and guidance on healing foods that helped support my immune system through this process as well as attack cancer cells. My Reiki healer and the wisdom of EFT and meditation worked with my emotional and spiritual energy to ensure I was removing all blocked energy that may have inhibited my healing, as well as keeping me emotionally grounded. I have so much gratitude towards my Reiki healer as she truly helped me rise above the tsunami of emotions and prevented me from having an emotional break down. I can not underestimate the power of God ‘s movement throughout this journey, as he guided me through the use of intuition and the Holy Spirit, provided me with the vision and knowing to heal, and placed each and every person in my path.
During chemotherapy I was blessed to have minimal side effects, with the most notable side effects being lack of energy and nausea. I had decided to take medical leave from my part time job at a private agency as a counselor and focus entirely on my private practice that I had opened in January 2017, 10 months prior to my diagnosis. This gave me the freedom and flexibility to set my own schedule. This also provided me with some sort of normalcy throughout my day-to-day life. The state of normalcy while going through such a life altering experience becomes extremely important. I yearned to be treated with normalcy, as it is nearly impossible to hide the diagnosis when you are bald and wearing a head covering. If someone held the door open for me or preformed some small random act of kindness I felt as though there was also a hint of pity or sympathy accompanied with it. I recall rejoicing one day when I was pulled over by a police officer for speeding and he issued me a well-deserved speeding ticket. In that moment, I felt normal, a feeling I longed for.
After chemotherapy I underwent an MRI to determine the effects of the treatment. It was concluded that I had a “significant” response to chemotherapy, but not a “complete response”. What this meant was that the chemotherapy shrunk the tumor, but that there was still a significant cancerous tumor that would need to be removed. I met with the surgeon, as well as the plastic surgeon to formulate a plan. On June 19, 2018 I arrived at the hospital in the early morning to begin the preoperative process for a lumpectomy, removal of the port that had been placed for chemotherapy, an axillary node dissection, and reconstruction. I had decided earlier that only a few lymph nodes would be taken to test for cancer cells rather than having all lymph nodes removed, as I was certain that they would come back negative for cancer. I am an optimistic person by nature and I approached treatment decisions with this very optimism. Before being wheeled back to the operating room I halfheartedly joked that perhaps I would have a near death experience. Since my teens I had a natural curiosity about life after death and had secretly wished that I could cross over and come back to share with everyone what it would be like.
I remember being wheeled back to the operating room and hearing the surgeon and staff reviewing the operation procedures while staring at enlarged X-rays of my chest displayed on a screen. The next thing I knew was that I was starting to awaken in the post operative room. I looked over at the nurse who was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, working on documentation. I desperately tried to get her attention with little avail because I was feeling very nauseous. As I was returning to some type of normal consciousness I began to become aware that I was experiencing an intoxicating elation filled with unconditional love, compassion, and peace all wrapped up in one. Even these words fail to describe what I was feeling. It was not only a feeling it was a state of being. Although, a small part of me was annoyed that the nurse was not attentive to my needs, I saw her through this intoxicating state of being and I felt so much love and compassion for this individual that I barely knew. I often reflect back on this experience and wonder if this is the way that Jesus sees each and every one of us- perfectly imperfect. At some point I had a knowing that she had recently had a loved one who passed and he wanted me to deliver a message to her. It was as though wherever I had returned from the veil had thinned and I had access to information and a depth of emotions I had not been able to access before. As I was being wheeled back to my recovery room my mind is spinning with everything I experienced and am continuing to experience, a remembering. I am filled with so much elation, trying to process what I have experienced. It was as though I had one foot in this world and one foot in the afterlife. My rational brain trying to make sense of it all, while I was reviewing what I had yet to reveal to anyone. The anticipation that I carried with me to get back to my recovery room as quickly as possible so that I could share my experience with my fiancé was overwhelming, a contagious smile across my face.
As soon as I was wheeled through the recovery room door and left alone with my loved ones I blurted out to my fiancé, “you were there”, “God was there” while tears of joy ran down my cheeks. I was still carrying this intoxicating state of being with me. While I uttered those words, “you were there” I was half in disbelief because I knew physically my fiancé was there in the hospital waiting room while I was in surgery, but he was also in the heavenly realm with me. Just as he promised he would be prior to watching me be wheeled away to the operating room. I was blessed to be in the presence of God that day. The bright white light was blinding and HIS presence was completely overwhelming to all my senses. The amount of love that God has for each and every one of us is unimaginable. My wish is that every person gets to experience HIS presence. This is a gift that I will forever carry with me.
While I was recovering from surgery I learned that not everything went according to plan (or at least not according to carnal plans, as God’s plans are always perfect). The surgeon had to remove much more of my right breast than she had anticipated in order to get clear margins so I was left under anesthesia while both surgeons (the one who removed the cancerous tissue and the reconstruction surgeon) consulted with my fiancé and mother on how to proceed. The concern was that since there was additional breast tissue removed that if the reconstruction surgeon moved forward with the predetermined plan that I may not obtain the desired results. After consulting it was decided that no reconstruction would take place as both my fiancé and mother felt strongly that the decision on how to move forward should be mine to make once I awoke. This decision to allow me to have the final decision on what would happen to my own body was very empowering, as I had spent the majority of my life unknowingly being disempowered by those around me. I had learned from a young age that the adults around me had all of the power. As an adult, I had unconsciously been living under the illusion that I had little to no power and had found myself in numerous situations where I had been giving my power away for years. This was the beginning of me slowly taking back my power.
My optimism for the desired outcome that the lymph nodes that were removed that day would be benign was crushed when the results came back. Half of the lymph nodes that were removed contained cancerous cells. Therefore, on July 20, 2018 I underwent another surgery to have the remaining lymph nodes on the right side removed and tested. The results were repeated, half of the remaining lymph nodes were positive for cancer. At this point the diagnosis was changed from Stage II ductile carcinoma to Stage III ductile carcinoma. Once I knew I would be having another surgery part of me was elated, as I was hopeful that I would get to re-experience that state of being and have another opportunity to be in the presence of God. Since that experience I had internally struggled with my desire to continue to fight this battle, as I longed to get back Home. I could sit there remembering being in HIS presence and longing to go back again. The surgery was routine and I awoke with no recollection of the heavenly realms. This longingness and ache in my soul to return evolved into a brief bout of depression.
That depression was soon replaced with a new found appreciation for life and a renewed sense of hope. I knew that while I had experienced something so extraordinary I had a life’s purpose to fulfill. A life purpose that I don’t quite fully comprehend, but nevertheless continues to beautifully unfold each and every day. On August 25, 2018 I surrendered my life to God and was baptized by my beloved pastor in the presence of my loved ones (both in the physical realm and the etheric realm) and the congregation that I had grown to love, as their support during this journey had been steadfast.
Two days after my baptism I began the final phase of treatment, radiation. Radiation was recommended daily (5X/week) for six weeks to “mop up” any cancer cells that may have remained in my body. I had a sense of relief that this journey was finally coming to a close and a renewed sense that my life would return to some sort of normalcy. I recall one day getting ready to leave the radiation area and ascend the stairs before me when a frail elderly lady in a wheelchair caught my eye. It is one of those moments where time appears to stand still and you are captivated by what is holding your gaze. I had this overwhelming urge to tell this stranger that she was going to be okay, a knowingness that I needed to deliver this message to her. Initially I attempted to dismiss it, but Spirit was urging me to convey the message. It is as though someone is tapping you on the shoulder repeatedly and wont cease until the task is accomplished. This was an experience that was beginning to happen on a regular basis and I knew that if I chose to ignore it that it would continue to haunt me. There I was in the stairwell having this silent battle within when my vision began to change and the carpet before me morphed into the exact pattern and colors of the flannel shirt that the elderly frail lady was wearing. I surrendered to deliver the message I was being given. I turned around, walked back into the waiting room to find the lady at the check in desk. I patiently waited for her to finish and muttered the words that I know she didn’t know me, but that I simply needed to tell her that she was going to be okay. She did not appear to be the least bit surprised or if she was, she hid it well. I will never forget that there she was in the midst of her own treatment with dis-ease ravaging her body and she wanted to know how I was doing. She met me with so much compassion, care, and concern. I often wonder if she was the one that was delivering the message that day, exactly who was God working through.
All phases of active treatment were finally completed- chemotherapy, lumpectomy, and radiation. However, there would need to be ongoing treatment and follow up. Since the cancer was hormone driven it was recommended that I begin taking a hormone blocker, Tamoxifen, to reduce the chances of reoccurrence. Shortly after beginning Tamoxifen I had an experience that would change the course of my treatment plan. I was driving with my youngest son in the vehicle, who was 9 years old at the time, when someone in another vehicle cut me off. There was this unprecedented rage that filled me and in my minds eye I could see myself chasing her down with my vehicle, pulling her from her car, and unleashing that rage upon her. All while my child would be witnessing this horror and it would be the headline story on the nightly news. I was horrified by what flashed before me, as it was so far from who I am at my core that it rattled me. I immediately stopped taking Tamoxifen and was very apprehensive to try another hormone blocker. As an alternative I decided to undergo a complete hysterectomy. The hysterectomy revealed that I had cysts on my ovaries. Thankfully the cysts were benign.
Life began to unfold again, but this time it held a certain reverence. A desire to live FULLY, as you knew you were not guaranteed tomorrow. Life transitions and adventures abounded, all while putting breast cancer in the rearview mirror. On October 20, 2018 while the sunset was setting upon Kaanapali beach in Maui I married my husband. We later honeymooned in Fiji. These are some of the adventures that followed: Aruba (2/2019), Big Island of Hawaii (3/2019), Turkey (5/2019), Maui (Hana side) 6/2019, Littlerock, Arkansas (6/2019), Kauai (8/2019), Maui (10/2019), Cost Rica (3/2020), St. George, Utah (5/2020), Bryce Canyon, Sedona, Arizona, Grand Canyon, and Zion (7/2020). Life was adventurous and every step of the way I was experiencing the beauty of life post diagnosis. Somewhere in the late Summer of 2020 while life had begun to slow down a little bit I began to take note that there were several people popping into my awareness that had been recently diagnosed with breast cancer. I found this to be peculiar and much more than a coincidence. I distinctly remember having lunch with my husband one particular day and I was sharing this awareness with him and I told him that I thought that perhaps it was Spirits way of telling me something and I simply could not ignore it. Later I would perform a self-breast exam and discover a lump in my left breast.
On August 20, 2020 I had a bilateral mammography with ultrasound that confirmed the lump in the left breast. The following day I underwent an ultrasound guided biopsy where two sites were biopsied. Both were positive for cancer. Having been through the initial diagnosis I viewed this as a small bump in the road and began meeting with the surgeon, planning to have a double mastectomy with reconstruction and life would resume. It was amazing how successfully tackling breast cancer with the initial diagnosis altered my perspective on how to manage this new diagnosis. There was little to no fear and a can-do attitude. Afterall, I had a life to get on living and I was taking advantage of every opportunity to live life fully. I was completely unaware of what was lurking in the darkness.
After the surgeon consulted with the oncologist it was decided that I should undergo a PET scan to ensure that there were no other areas of concern. I don’t recall what my thoughts and feelings were about this decision. On September 18, 2020 I had the PET scan, which detected 2 areas of concern, 1 in the left sacrum and 1 in the left ischium (hip area). On September 24, 2020 I had a CT needle biopsy of the bone in these two areas performed, which came back positive for cancer. I recall sitting in the oncologist’s office receiving the results of the biopsy and attempting to determine the next steps of treatment. Attempting to process this new information both intellectually and emotionally. At some point I asked for the oncologist’s opinion on what she felt contributed to the reoccurrence. I will never forget her response. She proceeded to tell me that in her opinion she believed that the cancer had progressed because I chose to have a complete hysterectomy rather than be placed on another hormone blocker. All I heard was the resounding words, “It is your fault.” Words that echoed through my mind throughout childhood and into adulthood with my first marriage. I wish I could say that at that moment I found my voice and advocated for myself, but sadly I sat in silence, believing her words as I had been trained to believe them. I did not take in anything else after those words were uttered, as I was in an abyss of self-blame and disbelief. Later I would find a very compassionate oncologist at the Mayo Clinic that chooses to build me up rather than tear me down.
Shortly after this devastating encounter I began looking for a second opinion. I lost all respect for the oncologist, which led me to question any recommended treatment options. She failed to create a safe space for me to discuss my concerns, fears, or worries. Mimicking past relationships where I felt emotionally unsafe to be vulnerable, as it was often weaponized against me. I ended up at the University of Utah for a 2nd opinion and possible treatment options regarding the newest diagnosis of Stage IV Metastatic Breast Cancer. The oncologist confirmed the diagnosis and the recommended treatment options that the oncologist in Boise had recommended. During this appointment, I asked her what my prognosis was and she stated, “you will be lucky if you get to see your son graduate from high school.” Those words reverberated through me like a tsunami and I was unable to process anything else she told me. I stumbled out to the parking lot in disbelief while there was a small stirring in my Soul that whispered, “this is not your fate.” I collapsed into my husband’s embrace there in that parking lot sobbing uncontrollably while I questioned my own reality. Was I in denial? Were the doctors correct? I now know that I have a covenant with God and this is what determines my mortality on this physical plane. My son will be a Junior in high school next year and I know with all my heart and Soul that I will be physically standing next to him as he graduates high school in 2028.
I had no idea that living with dis-ease in my body would provide an endless unfolding of gifts. The gift of self-love. The gift of self-worth. Knowing that I am worthy of being healed. The gift of gratitude, especially to my body for continuing to fight the fight and housing my Spirit. The gift of spiritual awakening that continues to unfold at depths I did not know were possible. The gift of boundaries, both in relationships and spiritually. The gift of friendship and community through fellow survivors. The gift of travel and adventure along the healing journey. The gift of forgiveness for self and others. The gift of connections to people, the land, animals, plants, cosmos, Spirit, and God. The gift of self-care and spiritual care. Going within and listening to that still small voice that whispers words of wisdom. As scripture reads: Be Still and Know That I am GOD. The gift of kindness and compassion towards self and others, as you never know what silent battle someone is carrying. The gift of miracles, both witnessed and received. The gift of vulnerability, as I am in this moment sharing a small part of my healing journey.
A completely new journey began on that fateful day in the parking lot at the University of Utah. It has taken me to depths I did not know were possible. A journey of self-discovery that perhaps one day I will be able to articulate. A Hui Hou- Until We Meet Again