Strength…the word seems to be over-used at times. “Wow, that guy is so strong” or “Did you see him move that?” Well, most people do not know the meaning of the word until they are put in the life or death struggle with cancer. Real strength is getting out of bed after the third day of chemo and going to work. Real strength is trying to carry a laundry basket up the steps after a mastectomy. Real strength is a husband that strips your drains and cleans your incision every day. Real strength is a mother that is heart broken, smiling every time you see her. That, my friend, is strength.
In August of 2004, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Three tumors in my right breast meant a mastectomy and with my family history, a bilateral mastectomy and complete hysterectomy were recommended. “Being strong” and “having strength” takes a lot of work. I am a strong woman, but I still have my moments.
I am now twenty-three months from diagnosis. I am survivor of breast cancer and in remission. Toward the end of my treatment in March of 2005, I started forgetting things. I started to forget what a doctor had said and what tests I had. I have never been a person to journal. Never have. But I knew that I could not let this monumental point in my life go without writing about it for my daughter and for the one in seven women that will have breast cancer. So one day I sat down, and my book just flowed from my fingers.
“Breastless But Still Breathing” is my account of facing the beast called breast cancer and beating it. I endured eight rounds of chemotherapy, surgery that took almost all my parts, and thirty three days of radiation “just to make sure.” I struggled with reconstruction but stuck to my gut feeling and walked away with my bald head held high. I put my boobs in the drawer at night and it really doesn’t bother me. I am more than my boobs.
I want women to know that it is all right to be scared and that it is all right to be sad. But I also want them to know that there are really good things too. There really are. The power of a smile while sitting in the waiting room at radiation, the power of a nurse’s hand during chemotherapy, or just the power of your own “will to live” are amazing. I want to share my story.
My story is a story of hope against some pretty crappy genetics. It is the story of a husband who loves me no matter what. And it is the story of my family and friends stepping up to the plate and making me their number one priority for eight months.
A portion of the proceeds from the sale of my book will be donated to the Ribbon of Hope Foundation in Brown and Kewaunee counties in Wisconsin. These caring women and men lifted my spirits when I needed it and provided financial help when I was scratching my bald head trying to figure out what medical bills to pay. If my donation helps only one breast cancer victim, I will breathe a sigh of satisfaction.
~ Anita DuJardin Hockers