Prior to the diagnosis of cancer, I had never had so much as a broken bone. Granted, I had all the typical childhood ailments, such as chicken pox, mumps, and various colds and flu’s but during my young adult years and then the path toward middle age had treated me well as far as any serious diseases were concerned.  The only thing I had to really worry about was the occasional sinus infection.

I spent Labor Day weekend 2009 at the beach. It was a typical gorgeous southern weekend – blue skies, puffy white clouds, incredible heat and unforgiving sun…and it was wonderful; my kind of weather. I noticed that my left heel was tender, so thinking I had stepped on a shell under the sand and bruised myself; I dismissed the discomfort and enjoyed my mini vacation to the fullest. A couple of weeks after that weekend the discomfort had turned to a minor pain. I was involved in Jazzercise classes three days per week and could really tell after a session that my heel was not healing. Maybe it was more than a bruise?
I sought the advice of a couple of different doctors over the next several months and had my share of x-rays and tests which all showed nothing was wrong with my foot. By this time I had a lump next to the inner ankle bone that stuck out about ¾ of an inch or so, and was tender to the touch. I still felt as if my heel were bruised, and couldn’t put my weight on it at all. I learned to change the way I walked, the way I exercised and the way I lived to minimize the discomfort I felt with each step that I took.

Under my husband’s advice, I visited his doctor’s practice and was assigned to a wonderful doctor that actually listened while I explained my symptoms, and asked questions about what I was feeling. I had an MRI a week later, which showed a mass starting right above my ankle bone, spreading to the ball of my foot. A mass. Never before had a four-letter word scared me to my core.

I was referred to an Orthopedic Specialist. The urgency of the situation became pretty clear by the timeline of events: the MRI was on a Tuesday, and the appointment with the Specialist was three days later, the following Friday.

Three days can last an eternity when you are waiting for something. And I don’t mean the fun kind of waiting for something, like Christmas to a kid. To make matters worse, I picked up copies of the MRI for the appointment that Friday, and read the report that came along with the disc. I remember watching my husband’s face turn white as I asked “What is a sarcoma?” That was one of the words in the report that I didn’t recognize.
The appointment with the Orthopedic Specialist resulted in no answers to the thousands of questions that I had flowing through my head. In fact all the questions were temporarily pushed aside as he announced that he couldn’t really be of assistance to me, and he was going to refer me to an Orthopedic Oncologist. I knew what an Oncologist specialized in. And I wanted no part of that word or what it entailed.

But, I kept the appointment the following Monday with Dr. Scott Porter. He suggested a surgical biopsy to determine exactly what we were dealing with, and once the results of the biopsy were returned we would discuss what should happen next. 

I was diagnosed with cancer on a Friday, and I started chemo the following Wednesday with the prayer that the tumor would shrink to a point to which it could be successfully surgically removed, or ideally, completely disappear on its own. After four rounds of chemo, I could tell the tumor was shrinking. Unfortunately, it was shrinking in to the bone structure of my foot. Surgery was not a viable option.

I remember feeling very, very dejected the day that Dr. Porter said his recommendation was amputation. He explained the scenario perfectly – that the tumor was underneath my foot, it would be hard (if not impossible) to remove 100% of it and therefore I would have future problems with the tumor growing back and even spreading. It all made perfect sense as he said it. It was very logical and concise. Like a nice pretty package tied up with a bow. But it was MY foot he was talking about. That was the part that was obtuse to me.

For me to even think about having an amputation I needed to know that I had exhausted all other options. I visited two additional doctors for second opinions on the prognosis, and both doctors concurred with Dr. Porter. Surgery could be attempted, but I would be faced with several additional surgeries to repair nerves, veins, cosmetics, etc and even then I would only be left with a portion of my foot. And this would not remove the whole tumor. The cancer would still be there.

Or, I could have the amputation. The tumor would be 100% removed from my foot, and the sooner I had the surgery, the sooner I could start healing and get fitted with a prosthetic. And the sooner I could get back to my life. 

So the decision was made, and the date was set. I had roughly three weeks before the surgery date. Three weeks to make sure all my business was in line. Three weeks to make sure that furniture was moved so I wouldn’t trip when I moved around the house with a walker. Three weeks to walk, run, skip, hop, etc. Three weeks to run a marathon if I wanted. Three weeks to run. Three weeks.

I remember that I made it clear that no one was allowed to talk to me about the surgery unless I brought up the subject first. I could barely think about what was about to happen, much less speak of it out loud and this was the only way I could think of to control family and friends from feeling the need to discuss this taboo subject incessantly. Needless to say the impending surgery was constantly on my mind and hearing how sorry everyone was made it a hundred times worse. There was nothing to be sorry about – it wasn’t anyone’s fault I was having my foot amputated, so why did everyone feel the need to apologize? Eventually I couldn’t stand thinking about it any longer and I started making jokes about it. That was my way of dealing with it, much to everyone’s dismay. But it made me feel at ease, and after all, at this point, everything was all about me.
I was trying to figure out what internal force was going to allow me to walk in to the hospital that day, knowing what I was willingly checking in for. It was so surreal, so dreamlike that looking back now it feels like I was reading a book or watching a movie. It doesn’t feel like that day really happened at all.

But it did. And time went by. I learned to move around using a walker, and was pretty much able to move freely around my house while I healed. I just moved a little slower, and really had to pay attention to where I was going but I was able to move about under my own power. I experienced some minor setbacks after the surgery resulting in my taking a bit longer to heal than I originally planned, but it was nothing that I couldn’t conquer and overcome.

I did learn a lot about myself while I was healing, such as patience is something you are both born and blessed with, or not. You either have it or you don’t. I learned that I don’t.  And after beating myself up numerous times over what I perceived as a shortcoming, I learned to live without the instant gratification that most of us have come to depend on. So what if it was going to take me an extra surgery and several more weeks to heal enough to be fitted for a prosthetic? There was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t learn patience during my ordeal, but I did learn to relinquish control. Some things in this life we cannot control no matter how hard we try. Once I realized this, I was able to move forward with my life. I learned to focus on all things positive, and always kept thinking “it could be worse”. Using this mantra combined with only positive thoughts kept me sane from day to day, and every time I thought I could just crawl under the covers and not move until it was all over, I would think about how much worse my situation could be.

When I first started chemo treatments I was told that I could possibly lose my hair. I was given pages and pages of information ranging from scalp care for if and when I lost my hair, to persons to call if I needed to talk about losing my hair. You can think about horrific things happening to you all you want, but no amount of reading material can prepare you for when it actually does happen. It was a kick in the gut when I finally realized what was happening, that my hair was literally falling out. I remember hearing a high-pitched scream, and trying to figure out exactly where it was coming from. Well, it was coming from me, each time I pulled out a handful of hair. The only person that calmed me was my hairdresser. She came to my house and cut my shoulder length hair very short, and matter-of-factly told me that over the next day or so, the rest of it would fall out. It was just a fact…a cold, hard, unforgiving fact.  I have to admit that in a strange way, I found this ordeal quite liberating. I dug through a drawer to find an old bandana that was faded and worn, and I proudly tied it around me head, kind of liking the ‘biker chick’ look that I saw in the mirror. Two days later I asked my hairdresser to just shave my head. Upon her advice, shaving the remaining clumps of hair was spiritually and psychologically invigorating. It was a badge that I was proudly displaying, showing a small part of my ordeal and the fact that I was a fighter, a warrior. I’ll always remember Valentine’s weekend 2010 as the weekend I shaved my head.

Putting things in to perspective isn’t an easy task, but for me, being able to break down each situation in to small parts and dealing with one little thing a time is my coping mechanism.

And being stubborn plays a big factor in overcoming obstacles. I get this trait honest from both my mother and my father, so combine that with growing up as the only girl with an older and younger brother, and you can see why I am pretty much the way I am. Don’t tell me that I can’t do something, and don’t tell me to wait. Nothing makes me mad quicker than being told ‘no’. I’m an adult. I’ll decide for myself what and when I will do something.

Having cancer is something that no one should have to endure. It is an aloof and cold disease. I did nothing to bring about my cancer, it chose me. I did everything I could to remove my cancer, and it defied me. I take no happiness in knowing that I am poisoning my body to chase down rogue cells and kill them, however I feel an urgency that drives me to look forward to the days that I receive treatment, welcoming the chemicals and bidding them to work hastily. Cancer is not for the faint of heart. All my fellow warriors are to be commended for their bravery. For all of us who didn’t crawl under the covers and hide – woo-hoo! Do the happy dance!  For those of us who did, call me. We have a little work to do.

I vowed that if I ever walked again, I would never sit back down. It took three months after the amputation surgery to actually have the prosthetic and I started physical therapy a couple of days later. I walked with crutches for about a week. Then I walked with a cane for a couple of weeks. You would think it would be hard to forget and leave a hot pink cane in a grocery cart but I did just that. Twice. You also wouldn’t believe what a great motivator to walk without a cane it can be to have someone chase you down in the parking lot shouting “Ma’am, Ma’am! Is this your cane?!” And after about four weeks, I was walking with minimal assistance from a cane. I still got tired quickly, but I kept practicing to increase my stamina.
I started working out with a personal trainer again five months after I got my prosthetic. Doug Finley with Doug’s 1 on 1 has been instrumental in helping me with balance, stamina, and strength.  Doug has tailored workout for me to maximize building the leg muscles that I haven’t used in a while, and each time I leave his gym I feel a bit stronger and definitely more confident than before. My stamina has increased exponentially and I don’t hesitate to park in the ‘heart healthy’ spots at the grocery store now. I can remember a time when I would mentally gauge the distance from the parking space to the front door of the store and actually hesitate, thinking I couldn’t walk that far. And believe it or not, the majority of the hesitations came before I had the amputation.

It’s been a year since that fateful day in January 2010 that I was diagnosed with cancer. It will be a year in May that I had my left foot amputated. I am still fighting the good fight, battling the Sarcoma tumors that decided to show up in my lungs. But recent tests show that I am making positive progress, so for that I am ecstatically thankful.  I have had the best network of surgeons, doctors and nurses and frankly because of these folks, this ordeal has been endurable. My husband and I both have had nothing but great experiences with each person we have had contact with, and for this we are eternally grateful. Being treated with decency, respect and truthfulness has been a great factor in both my physical health as well as my mental health.  I certainly would not have chosen to have lived the past year as I did, but the care and compassion of everyone that touched my life during this trial and tribulation made it literally, almost painless.

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