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Sue Melanson's Own Breast Cancer Story
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On September 28, 2006 my husband and I drove down our driveway just as a bull moose sauntered through the woods. We worried that he would walk through our blue maple sap tubing and yank a bunch of it down, but we were more worried about the mission we were on to save my life. We were on our way to Mercy Hospital in Portland, Maine where I was scheduled for breast cancer surgery.
The race was on to remove the tiny killer growing in my left breast before it shed even one cell to another part of my body.
I am 60 years old and I do breast self-exams. I had breast reduction surgery at age 40, one the of benefits of which was that I should be more easily be able to detect an abnormality (once I became accustomed to the new-normal of my surgically reduced breasts and the accompanying scar tissue). I had read the statistics that, assuming I should live to age 90, my risk of getting breast cancer over my lifetime was about 14%. That means that an average of about one out of every seven women will get breast cancer over a 90-year life span. I was convinced that I would never be a part of that 14%. I had no family history of breast cancer and I never smoked. I had diligently checked out the rumor that using underarm deodorant or antiperspirant can cause breast cancer and found that the National Cancer Institute had ruled in 2002 that there has never been any scientific basis for such a claim. Hair-dye was also suspected as a culprit and determined to be a non-factor in breast cancer. Dietary studies were confusing and ever changing.
Earlier this past summer, I received a letter reminding me to schedule my annual mammogram, a recommended practice for all women over 40. I postponed making that call for no other reason than I told myself I didn’t have time. Not so much time for the mammogram, but time to make the phone call. I had traveled to Nepal in April and began a series of Hepatitis shots at that time. The last shot was due August 14 and I kept that appointment. While I was at InterMed in South Portland the receptionist pointed out that I had not made my mammogram appointment. A cancellation had just come in and she suggested I step across the hall to the mammogram dept. and get it done. I complied. I got a call to return for another mammogram. I was sure it was because I had breathed or jiggled and it would show nothing. The second appointment was on August 28 and I was annoyed that I had to return and was assuaging the inconvenience by promising myself a spin through the Christmas Tree Shop afterwards. The second mammogram showed something, and before I left that day I also had an ultrasound, which conclusively showed something…very small, about the size of a pea. The ultrasound also confirmed that the tiny growth was not a cyst because the sound waves pass right through a fluid filled cyst. A biopsy was scheduled for Sept. 8. Rejeanne, the nurse in the biopsy unit at Mercy Hospital, rubbed my ankles as they numbed my breast and inserted a needle to take 6 samples of my tiny pea. I was calm and relaxed, knowing with absolute certainty that the growth would prove benign. I was also focused on our daughter’s wedding, which was coming up in two weeks. My primary care physician, Dr. Kristy Pulsifer, called me at home on Sept. 12 with the news. She apologized for having to give me the news over the phone but she knew I would have to drive 50 miles from my home and she wanted me to know – and act – as soon as possible. I had breast cancer! I couldn’t believe it. Not me! Not now…with our daughter’s wedding only 12 days away. Three days later I was consulting with breast surgeon Dr. Melinda Molin at the Mercy Hospital Breast Center. Ironically, the consult was on the exact day of the 20 year anniversary of my breast reduction surgery. She told us that a tumor the size of mine has been percolating for at least five years since the first abnormal cell separated until it finally reached a mass that was detectable in a mammogram. Dr. Molin agreed to schedule the surgery after the wedding, but with an insistent warning that we did need to act soon. She proposed a day-surgery lumpectomy, the most common form of breast cancer surgery today, during which she would remove the tumor, some of the, hopefully, normal tissue surrounding the tumor as well as several sentinel lymph nodes to determine whether any cancer cells were breaking off and traveling away from my breast.
The wedding was spectacular, and I was a very proud mother-of-the-bride, but there was a shadow of apprehension over me that I tried hard to hide.
On my calendar September 28 is marked “I saved my life today”. The bull moose crossed our path at about 6:30 AM, surgery was at 10 and I was home in my own bed, groggy and medicated by 4 PM.
Six days later on October 4, I met with Dr. Molin to hear the results. Both the surrounding tissue and the sentinel lymph nodes were clear of cancer cells.
There will be radiation therapy (five days a week for seven weeks) and anti-hormonal medication for the next five years to reduce the risk of reoccurrence, but for now I am cancer-free, my daughter is home from her honeymoon in Cabo, I have a new son-in-law, and there is one huge bull moose roaming the woods nearby.
My message to all women and all men who have women in their lives (and men can get breast cancer, too) is to get your mammogram. It saved my life! It could save yours.
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| "Radiation Buddies"
Archie and I have been fast friends since high school, weathering college, job searches, relationships, marriages and divorces together. In 2006 we faced our greatest challenge when each one of us was diagnosed with cancer. After surgery we both were told that the next step would be radiation therapy. By sheer coincidence, we were scheduled to undergo the grueling two-month “standard of care” treatment at the same time. Our daily emails describe the ups and downs and the encouragement we offered one another. There are good days and bad days, instructional material and humorous anecdotes. My journal gives a concise description of my fight with breast cancer. This is a must-read for anyone approaching or going through radiation. This book is about cancer, the process, the medical community, friendship, but most of all, it is about survival.
Lulu Publications, 2007. 120 pages, 6" x 9" format.
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| Archie Campbell and Sue Chapman Melanson |
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