My daughter was only one when I was diagnosed with cancer. I remember everything about that day…my outfit, my shoes, where I was at work when I received the phone call, leaving work early to pick up X-rays, the doctor’s office, his desk, my mom, and his sad and hopeless delivery of the news…I had a mass on my kidney that was, well….MASSIVE. The initial diagnosis…a tumor on my kidney, most likely malignent and an estimated life expectancy of approximately 4 months. Best thing he could offer…to make me as comfortable as possible while exploring treatment options. I don’t really remember what else he said after that, only that I left with this ridiculously big jug I was supposed to pee in and return in a few days. I do remember, however, the car ride with my mom after that appointment. I remember driving down the street with the empty red biohazard container in my lap. As I considered my situation, I carefully formed words to ask my mom if she would raise my daughter if I died. I just needed a plan, a backup plan, in case the doctor was right. I remember feeling a sense of relief and readiness after hearing what I already knew would be a yes from her. It was almost immediately after that that I slipped into what would be survival mode for the next year and a half. Much of what happened in the next few weeks is a blur but several things are etched clearly in my memory…

Pain…pain like I’d never experienced and pain that I cannot even begin to describe. Pain that came from nowhere but was everywhere. Pain that felt like my insides were on fire. Apparently dying from cancer is excruciating according to the doctors. I asked them…”why?”…”how?”…I just wanted an explanation for the pain.

Medicine…a lot of medicine. So much pain medicine that I couldn’t function. I remember driving to work but wouldn’t be able to drive myself home. Medicine that glued my eyes shut and induced exhaustion and fogginess beyond comprehension. Slow release medicine, quick release medicine, medicine that sometimes barely worked.

Doctor’s appointments…biopsies, tests, X-rays, diagnoses, diagrams, treatment plans, freezing cold examination rooms, ugly little hospital gowns, disgusting chalky barium and you guessed it, MORE medicine!

Family…I’d never seen such agony and fear as I saw on my loved ones faces and in their tears. I come from a strong, stubborn, fearless family and it was only a few times that I saw them falter. It was the worst feeling…catching them crying, worried about me, the only consolation I could offer was to say everything was going to be fine. They didn’t know I’d already decided to survive.

And then it came, the final word…Stage IV Wilm’s Tumor, football sized tumor on my right kidney and about 12 quarter inch spots on my lungs. Because Wilm’s tumors generally only occur in children under seven, I wasn’t able to start treatment immediately. My doctors would consult with a specialist from another state to develop an extremely aggressive treatment plan. The actual plan…52 weeks of chemotherapy, removal of my right kidney as soon as they could shrink the tumor to prevent the  possible spillage of cancer cells during surgery, and most likely radiation treatment as a follow-up.

Like I said, I had slipped into survival mode. I was going to be okay…at any expense. I could live without a kidney and I figured I could live without part of my lung if necessary. There was never any option other than to survive. I had too much to live for…I was the mother of a beautiful 13 month old little girl and I would not accept any other outcome. Cancer set the tone for how I approached things later in life. I adopted a new attitude…an attitude that did not allow for anything BUT survival.