It Takes a Village:
The Lessons of Cancer
No doubt you're familiar with the words, "It takes a village." It's a common thing to hear when you have a baby. While I may have scoffed at the words before, I know they are true now that I am a mom.
My little girl came into the world on August 4, 2005. The pregnancy was problem-free, and I experienced no complications save for the unexpected C-section I had to bring my daughter into the world. Of course, all the people of our "village" surrounded us once Lily was born; there were so many friends and family who wanted to meet our little one in person and to wish us well. It was a great time in my life. I wasn't expecting the nasty storm that was to follow.
Things went downhill shortly after I returned to work. After my first month on the job, I felt tired all the time, breathless, fatigued. I comforted myself by saying that it was all just new mom stuff. Except deep down I knew it wasn't, so I made an appointment with my doctor and subjected myself to the poking and prodding necessary to have a round of tests done. The culprit for my lethargy emerged.
November 21, 2005--only 3 1/ 2 months after my daughter was born--I was told I had cancer--malignant pleural mesothelioma to be exact. It's a cancer that affects the lining of the lung, and it comes from asbestos exposure primarily. I had been exposed as a kid without knowing it, and 30 years later it had come back to haunt me. My symptoms weren't new mom symptoms at all; instead they were symptoms of mesothelioma.
As I absorbed the news, I thought about my baby, Lily. And I considered what life would be like for her without me. I was told that if I did nothing, I would live 15 months. My daughter would be too young to really form any lasting memories of me, and my husband would be left alone, raising our daughter.
I resolved then to do whatever it took to save my life.
The choice that we were offered to help me fight this thing was drastic, but then the prognosis for mesothelioma is grim, so I embraced the choice and moved forward. My husband and I hopped on a plane to Boston, where I came to be under the care of one of the best mesothelioma doctors. On February 2, I underwent treatment for the illness. It was called extrapleural pneumenectomy--doctor's speak for removing my lung. After surgery, I laid in the hospital for 18 days. Then the next round came. That was chemotherapy. Finally, I had radiation. It was a surreal experience. I was a new mom. I had cancer.
We could not have pulled this off it we didn't have a strong village around us to love us, support us and pray for us. Our village had lots of different people, who came from different parts and times of our lives. It was strange. Often the people who I would have never expected to help, stepped up. The ones I was sure would be there, bailed. I will say this about cancer, it's a great filter. It helps you filter out those who aren't going to support you and identify the ones who will.
While my husband and I called Boston our home base, Lily lived with my parents. Suddenly, they weren't grandparents--they were the surrogate parents for this tiny little girl. Thankfully, they also had a village to help them. I babysat a lot when I was a teen. Now those girls who I babysat became Lily's babysitter. They were married with their own children, but still they volunteered to help my parents. They were the daytime sitters when my parents had to go to their full-time jobs everday. People who I knew from church growing up and who I had looked up to, gave my parents some much needed love and support, and new friends we had made in Boston helped us get through our ordeal. We got through the day that way--with their love and support.
But it was still hard. My baby girl was back in South Dakota, my childhood home, and she was doing all the things that a growing baby does--learning to eat solid foods, scoot and roll around. She was becoming a little person. But I only witnessed these milestones through pictures. My mom would email pictures and my husband would make copies on the community printer. Lily's life was in full bloom back home, but I only saw it in grainy black and white photographs. The nurses were regular "picture admirers." They regularly cooed over her just like, while trying to hold back the tears. Just like me. But Lily was the reason I kept going. I was fighting for her. And she was in the best possible hands while I went through my own struggles so many miles away. Even to this day, my parents have a deep bond with her even with the extended miles and months that often exist between visits.
And as a family, we've learned to embrace the life we've been given. It's fragile. No one ever said it would be easy, and we did the best we could with the hand we were dealt. When I forget this, I remind myself of my favorite quote, “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.”
Therefore, embrace everything life throws your way. Cancer can be an interesting thing. There are bad things--plenty of them. But they bring unexpectedly good things. with my diagnosis--awful and as serious as it was--much good has come. For that, I am thankful.
No doubt you're familiar with the words, "It takes a village." It's a common thing to hear when you have a baby. While I may have scoffed at the words before, I know they are true now that I am a mom.
My little girl came into the world on August 4, 2005. The pregnancy was problem-free, and I experienced no complications save for the unexpected C-section I had to bring my daughter into the world. Of course, all the people of our "village" surrounded us once Lily was born; there were so many friends and family who wanted to meet our little one in person and to wish us well. It was a great time in my life. I wasn't expecting the nasty storm that was to follow.
Things went downhill shortly after I returned to work. After my first month on the job, I felt tired all the time, breathless, fatigued. I comforted myself by saying that it was all just new mom stuff. Except deep down I knew it wasn't, so I made an appointment with my doctor and subjected myself to the poking and prodding necessary to have a round of tests done. The culprit for my lethargy emerged.
November 21, 2005--only 3 1/ 2 months after my daughter was born--I was told I had cancer--malignant pleural mesothelioma to be exact. It's a cancer that affects the lining of the lung, and it comes from asbestos exposure primarily. I had been exposed as a kid without knowing it, and 30 years later it had come back to haunt me. My symptoms weren't new mom symptoms at all; instead they were symptoms of mesothelioma.
As I absorbed the news, I thought about my baby, Lily. And I considered what life would be like for her without me. I was told that if I did nothing, I would live 15 months. My daughter would be too young to really form any lasting memories of me, and my husband would be left alone, raising our daughter.
I resolved then to do whatever it took to save my life.
The choice that we were offered to help me fight this thing was drastic, but then the prognosis for mesothelioma is grim, so I embraced the choice and moved forward. My husband and I hopped on a plane to Boston, where I came to be under the care of one of the best mesothelioma doctors. On February 2, I underwent treatment for the illness. It was called extrapleural pneumenectomy--doctor's speak for removing my lung. After surgery, I laid in the hospital for 18 days. Then the next round came. That was chemotherapy. Finally, I had radiation. It was a surreal experience. I was a new mom. I had cancer.
We could not have pulled this off it we didn't have a strong village around us to love us, support us and pray for us. Our village had lots of different people, who came from different parts and times of our lives. It was strange. Often the people who I would have never expected to help, stepped up. The ones I was sure would be there, bailed. I will say this about cancer, it's a great filter. It helps you filter out those who aren't going to support you and identify the ones who will.
While my husband and I called Boston our home base, Lily lived with my parents. Suddenly, they weren't grandparents--they were the surrogate parents for this tiny little girl. Thankfully, they also had a village to help them. I babysat a lot when I was a teen. Now those girls who I babysat became Lily's babysitter. They were married with their own children, but still they volunteered to help my parents. They were the daytime sitters when my parents had to go to their full-time jobs everday. People who I knew from church growing up and who I had looked up to, gave my parents some much needed love and support, and new friends we had made in Boston helped us get through our ordeal. We got through the day that way--with their love and support.
But it was still hard. My baby girl was back in South Dakota, my childhood home, and she was doing all the things that a growing baby does--learning to eat solid foods, scoot and roll around. She was becoming a little person. But I only witnessed these milestones through pictures. My mom would email pictures and my husband would make copies on the community printer. Lily's life was in full bloom back home, but I only saw it in grainy black and white photographs. The nurses were regular "picture admirers." They regularly cooed over her just like, while trying to hold back the tears. Just like me. But Lily was the reason I kept going. I was fighting for her. And she was in the best possible hands while I went through my own struggles so many miles away. Even to this day, my parents have a deep bond with her even with the extended miles and months that often exist between visits.
And as a family, we've learned to embrace the life we've been given. It's fragile. No one ever said it would be easy, and we did the best we could with the hand we were dealt. When I forget this, I remind myself of my favorite quote, “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.”
Therefore, embrace everything life throws your way. Cancer can be an interesting thing. There are bad things--plenty of them. But they bring unexpectedly good things. with my diagnosis--awful and as serious as it was--much good has come. For that, I am thankful.
Heather
Von St James is a mesothelioma survivor and a guest blogger for the
Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance. Her story is one of hope and inspiration and she
hopes to spread her message to anyone who may be going through similar
situations to her own.
Check out Heather’s story on the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance Blog.
Check out Heather’s story on the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance Blog.
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