Being drum major and graduating in the Top 10 were two goals that never left me all through high school. They are still two achievements that give me strengths all these years later. Making the Top 10 took four years of work and dedication. I faltered a little in Mr. Bauer's chemistry class. I just had no passion for the class, and I made a C one six weeks. I ended up with a B average, but that wasn't my style at all.
Being diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease and undergoing chemo from the beginning of my senior year until the end of February didn't help my academics much. I didn't miss many whole days of school, but I did miss a lot of classes. I had Advanced Concepts math (aka Calculus) first period, and that class, although I really enjoyed it, was the one I missed the most. Some mornings, especially toward the end of my treatments, I just couldn't get going.
Mrs. Ratcliff was my Calculus teacher. I have had many teachers I would count as favorites - Mrs. DiChiara, Mrs. Wiist, Mrs. Gilmore, Ms. Lindsey - but Mrs. Ratcliff remains the most special. She took such good care of me my senior year. When I got home from Baptist Hospital, she came to see me. She brought a banner, probably 6-7 feet long, with well wishes from all my classmates. That banner decorated my bedroom for the rest of the year and even hung in my dorm at Troy State University. Many times I was invited to her house to catch up on school work and to shoot a little pool. She even attempted to video tape her class when I was unable to be there. That didn't work out so well because my family's video recorder wasn't the best, but she was willing to do whatever it took to keep me on track. However, the most important thing is something she didn't do; she never cut me a break because I was sick.
My other classes were relatively easy for me to keep up with because they required mostly reading, writing, researching, and memorizing. I had to put a lot more effort into Calculus. By January and February of that year, I was very weakened. On top of that, I kept getting sore throats and would have to have shots to boost my immune system. I couldn't have chemo while I was sick or taking the shots so it was taking longer that expected to complete my last chemo treatments. I was physically and mentally depleted. I was missing more classes during this time, especially Calculus. It was getting harder for me to keep up.
Remember how I said Mrs. Ratcliff never cut me a break because I was sick? Well, the proof came at the end of that winter's six weeks. I had earned and she placed on my report card a D!!!! I had only made one C in my life, and that was bad enough for me! The fact that my favorite teacher gave me a D was almost unbelievable to me. On top of that, it was a 68. In my professional opinion that should have been close enough to bump up to a 70/C, but she didn't. I wasn't mad, but I was horrified. I still had my hopes pinned on going to college the following fall, and that was going to have to be through an academic scholarship. Mrs. Ratcliff's advice was to work hard and bring up the semester average. I finally finished chemo at the end of February, and I started eight weeks of radiation. That wasn't near as draining on me as the chemo. I wasn't missing school, and I was working hard. For the next two six weeks, I received "A"s on my report card. My semester average was a high B. Good enough after the whole D incident.
The D didn't derail me. I graduated #8 in my class and won a full scholarship to Troy State. I also won several thousand additional dollars in private scholarships based on academics and my tale of fighting cancer while fully participating in school. And of course, I still loved Mrs. Ratcliff.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Goal #1 - Drum Major of the Mighty Band from Lion Land
As long as I can remember, I've been a goal setter. This comes from my mom. For most of my life she has been a very successful Realtor, and she learned the power of working toward specific goals from her visionary brokers Bob Malone and Sheila Hodges. During Mom's annual goal-setting sessions at work, she would come home and encourage me to set my own goals. I don't remember many specific goals I set. When my brother Kenny left for college when I was little little, I decided then I would go to college too. I achieved that early goal due to a full academic scholarship. Also, I remember that I wanted to make the All-County volleyball team in eighth grade. I didn't, but I was named the team's MVP at the end of the year sports banquet. The MVP plaque hung in my room way too long!
Two very specific goals I set my ninth grade year were to graduate in the Top 10 of my class and to be drum major in the band. I would have aimed higher than Top 10, but I hated the geometry class I had my freshman year and resolved simply to get out of that class alive. Alive for me meant with a B average. Since I'm still breathing, I must have done fine. However, I still get tense when I think about that class!
At the end of my junior year of high school I was named drum major for the Foley Band. I was so very excited, but I had never doubted that I would get the position. I still don't remember why I didn't try out at the end of my sophomore year. I had a broken arm that spring, but I could have tried out with a caste. Anyway, I have never regretted waiting until my last year. Because the previous year's drum majors had both graduated, the three drum majors were all new. I had the highest try-out scores so I was the head drum major. That basically meant I would get to direct from the tall stand while the other two had to step ladders.
When my oncologist told me I would have to begin chemotherapy in early August, I refused. My Number 1 goal was being drum major. It meant everything to me. I simply stated that treatment would have to wait until after the football season (or marching band season) ended. As far as I was concerned, there was to be no more discussion. Period. Please remember, I didn't feel bad. I never had any physical symptoms except for the tumors in my neck (the size of a walnut) and my chest (the size of a fist). I wasn't going to take medicine that was going to make me vomit and my hair fall out when I didn't feel it was necessary. My dad went to two doctor's appointments during all this. The first was when I was diagnosed by the ENT, and the second was this one. When I refused treatment, he threw a hissy fit.
My oncologist was wonderful. He assured me that he would give me the least invasive chemo that would still be affected. He further assured me that he and his nurse would work around my schedule. If that meant late nights or early morning treatments, they would make it work. and they did! I usually had treatment on Saturday morning except for the three or four weeks when we had band competitions. On those weekends, I would go in for chemo on Sunday afternoons. My nurse, Carole James, and her entire family deserve unlimited praise. She had children younger than I was. I'm sure she would have preferred to be home with them on the weekends, but there she was on her weekends spending 2-3 hours while I had my chemo infusions. Because she was willing to sacrifice her time, I reached my goal of being drum major. I only missed one band practice that fall, and that was when I was released late on a Monday afternoon from Baptist hospital.
Two other men deserve much credit for letting me reach this dream. My band directors, Mr. Pence and Mr. Cooper never asked me to give it up. They would have had every right to tell me no. Foley had one of the top bands in the South, and they had almost 200 hundred other students to consider. However, they never even hinted that they would ask me to step down. I can't find the right words to express how I felt when I directed the band. I certainly didn't feel like someone who was fighting for her life. Many thanks to the band directors, band boosters, and band students who let me have that experience.
Two very specific goals I set my ninth grade year were to graduate in the Top 10 of my class and to be drum major in the band. I would have aimed higher than Top 10, but I hated the geometry class I had my freshman year and resolved simply to get out of that class alive. Alive for me meant with a B average. Since I'm still breathing, I must have done fine. However, I still get tense when I think about that class!
At the end of my junior year of high school I was named drum major for the Foley Band. I was so very excited, but I had never doubted that I would get the position. I still don't remember why I didn't try out at the end of my sophomore year. I had a broken arm that spring, but I could have tried out with a caste. Anyway, I have never regretted waiting until my last year. Because the previous year's drum majors had both graduated, the three drum majors were all new. I had the highest try-out scores so I was the head drum major. That basically meant I would get to direct from the tall stand while the other two had to step ladders.
When my oncologist told me I would have to begin chemotherapy in early August, I refused. My Number 1 goal was being drum major. It meant everything to me. I simply stated that treatment would have to wait until after the football season (or marching band season) ended. As far as I was concerned, there was to be no more discussion. Period. Please remember, I didn't feel bad. I never had any physical symptoms except for the tumors in my neck (the size of a walnut) and my chest (the size of a fist). I wasn't going to take medicine that was going to make me vomit and my hair fall out when I didn't feel it was necessary. My dad went to two doctor's appointments during all this. The first was when I was diagnosed by the ENT, and the second was this one. When I refused treatment, he threw a hissy fit.
My oncologist was wonderful. He assured me that he would give me the least invasive chemo that would still be affected. He further assured me that he and his nurse would work around my schedule. If that meant late nights or early morning treatments, they would make it work. and they did! I usually had treatment on Saturday morning except for the three or four weeks when we had band competitions. On those weekends, I would go in for chemo on Sunday afternoons. My nurse, Carole James, and her entire family deserve unlimited praise. She had children younger than I was. I'm sure she would have preferred to be home with them on the weekends, but there she was on her weekends spending 2-3 hours while I had my chemo infusions. Because she was willing to sacrifice her time, I reached my goal of being drum major. I only missed one band practice that fall, and that was when I was released late on a Monday afternoon from Baptist hospital.
Two other men deserve much credit for letting me reach this dream. My band directors, Mr. Pence and Mr. Cooper never asked me to give it up. They would have had every right to tell me no. Foley had one of the top bands in the South, and they had almost 200 hundred other students to consider. However, they never even hinted that they would ask me to step down. I can't find the right words to express how I felt when I directed the band. I certainly didn't feel like someone who was fighting for her life. Many thanks to the band directors, band boosters, and band students who let me have that experience.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The victims of my cancer
I have held on to my cancer diagnosis like Scrooge held onto his money. It was mine. All mine. Or at least that is a big idea that I have created. I have to realize even all these years later how it affected those around me.
I was probably most horrible to my mother. She was the one who continued to make me go to the doctors and have all the tests until I finally had cancer. The one thing to remember is I never felt bad. I considered myself perfectly healthy right until the moment the doctor told me I had cancer. My mom was the one who pushed the issue, and in some perverse way, I blamed her for making me sick. After all the diagnosis and all the test to stage the cancer, I didn't allow my mother to accompany me to my doctor's appointments. Looking back on it, that was cruel. She was so concerned and wanted or needed as much information as she could get, but I would not let her have it. She was only allowed to have what I filtered back to her. I had a car so I was able to check myself out of school for my monthly exams where my oncologist would review my blood tests and x-rays. My mom's first cousin-in-law was the receptionist for the doctor. My mom would generally call sometime during the day to check on if I had seen the doctor and to get a report. Because I was 17 and later 18 years old, our cousin wasn't able to give her any information without my permission. I always felt a little smug when Laura would tell me that my mom called and couldn't get any information. I wanted her to know what I wanted her to know. As far as I was concerned, it was mine and she couldn't have it.
As an adult, I feel my mom should have slapped the crap out of me and marched both of us into the exam room every month for my check-ups. I am very blessed that she had the patience and courage to let me be.
I didn't totally exclude her. She was allowed to sit with me during my chemo treatments. Those were long and boring, and I needed someone to keep me company. She was also allowed in the few times I got really sick. Not wanting to alarm anyone and not wanting to miss my chance to direct the half-time show for the Mighty Band from Lion Land, I went to school feeling sick with fever. I was totally incapable of participating in class. I was too weak, feverish, and exhausted. I spent the day on a cot in the office. I finally went home at the end of the day and crawled in bed until it was time to go to the stadium. I made it to through the half-time show before I admitted I was sick. My parents took me to the hospital in the middle of the night. My mom came with me to the exam room. Things were so bad I was sent to Baptist hospital in Pensacola where I stayed until the following Monday. My immune system was so weakened that I wasn't allowed any visitors. Only my parents, my doctors, and my nurses were allowed in my room. And strangely enough, I couldn't have any fruit or vegetables because they might carry some time of bacteria or germ that would make me sicker. During that hospital stay, I let my mom stay with me the first night. However, she had to get up so much to go to the bathroom that I sent her home the next night. This was probably another time she should have slapped me. I honestly don't know how she stood it. I know how much she loves me, and I am thankful she chose this time to let me be me.
I never really considered how having cancer affected my friends. Thinking back now, I'm sure it was hard to deal with the fact that their friend was sick and wouldn't talk about it. I didn't even tell many of them. They had to hear it from the grapevine. I remember an eighth grade "band-aid" telling me she heard I had breast cancer and was going to die. There was real worry on her face and in her voice. I snapped at her that it wasn't true. I had Hodgkin's disease and I would be fine. That was all she got because I didn't want to talk about it and no one made me. A teachable moment was lost during that exchange. A more mature person would have explained the diagnosis and prognosis and been more reassuring. I, however, was a brat.
I wanted to spend as little time at home as possible so my friends and their parents welcomed me into their homes excessively. I was as much at home at my friend Misti's house as I was my own. I can still vividly recall the bright turquoise wall paint and her really cool bedspread while I don't even remember anything about my own room's decor. I was the luckiest girl in the entire world to have some really amazing friends. Shannon, Shelby, and Misti were my sisters during this time, and they never made me feel like the sick kid. As drum major, I generally wore my hair in a French braid for performances. Every week, one of my very best friends would take on the challenge of braiding my hair. For normal teenage girls that would not be an issue, but as a chemo patient, my hair would come out in small handfuls anytime a brush touched it. Those girls endured each week so that I never had to feel like a sick kid.
One of the more frightening events occurred during Halloween. I don't remember the details very well. I had chemo either the day before or earlier that day. Because I was unable to ever admit when I was sick or weak, I agreed to go to the haunted forest at the Elberta museum with my friends. I remember that Misti and Shelby were there. In fact, I drove Shelby and me. We had to wait in line awhile. I don't remember much about that because I was either falling asleep or passing out. I don't remember much about the haunted forest except some flashing lights because I was either asleep or passed out. I will never really be sure if I was simply sleeping. However, my friends carried me through the forest. No sick kid syndrome for me. On the way home, I distinctly remember snapping awake as I was driving through Foley. I don't remember falling asleep, but I remember my head jerking up as Shelby and I passed the shopping center that was once Greer's. I could have killed us both. I hope Shelby didn't realized that. Unfortunately, I doubt I was more careful after that event. However, since I usually had chemo on Saturday or Sunday morning, depending on the football schedule and band competition, I usually had time to recover and avoided these types of situations.
I feel in my heart that my sickness has nothing to do with the fact that I'm just a mere acquaintance to these girls now. None of us went to the same college after high school so it is only natural that our friendships would fade. I do know for a fact that I was not the kind of confidant that my friends needed. I know they didn't want to worry me. I probably caused them agony because I wouldn't talk about being sick very often. I can't say enough how blessed I was by all my friends and classmates during that year. But in particular, these three girls were my greatest lifeline, and I am so happy they were apart of my life.
I was probably most horrible to my mother. She was the one who continued to make me go to the doctors and have all the tests until I finally had cancer. The one thing to remember is I never felt bad. I considered myself perfectly healthy right until the moment the doctor told me I had cancer. My mom was the one who pushed the issue, and in some perverse way, I blamed her for making me sick. After all the diagnosis and all the test to stage the cancer, I didn't allow my mother to accompany me to my doctor's appointments. Looking back on it, that was cruel. She was so concerned and wanted or needed as much information as she could get, but I would not let her have it. She was only allowed to have what I filtered back to her. I had a car so I was able to check myself out of school for my monthly exams where my oncologist would review my blood tests and x-rays. My mom's first cousin-in-law was the receptionist for the doctor. My mom would generally call sometime during the day to check on if I had seen the doctor and to get a report. Because I was 17 and later 18 years old, our cousin wasn't able to give her any information without my permission. I always felt a little smug when Laura would tell me that my mom called and couldn't get any information. I wanted her to know what I wanted her to know. As far as I was concerned, it was mine and she couldn't have it.
As an adult, I feel my mom should have slapped the crap out of me and marched both of us into the exam room every month for my check-ups. I am very blessed that she had the patience and courage to let me be.
I didn't totally exclude her. She was allowed to sit with me during my chemo treatments. Those were long and boring, and I needed someone to keep me company. She was also allowed in the few times I got really sick. Not wanting to alarm anyone and not wanting to miss my chance to direct the half-time show for the Mighty Band from Lion Land, I went to school feeling sick with fever. I was totally incapable of participating in class. I was too weak, feverish, and exhausted. I spent the day on a cot in the office. I finally went home at the end of the day and crawled in bed until it was time to go to the stadium. I made it to through the half-time show before I admitted I was sick. My parents took me to the hospital in the middle of the night. My mom came with me to the exam room. Things were so bad I was sent to Baptist hospital in Pensacola where I stayed until the following Monday. My immune system was so weakened that I wasn't allowed any visitors. Only my parents, my doctors, and my nurses were allowed in my room. And strangely enough, I couldn't have any fruit or vegetables because they might carry some time of bacteria or germ that would make me sicker. During that hospital stay, I let my mom stay with me the first night. However, she had to get up so much to go to the bathroom that I sent her home the next night. This was probably another time she should have slapped me. I honestly don't know how she stood it. I know how much she loves me, and I am thankful she chose this time to let me be me.
I never really considered how having cancer affected my friends. Thinking back now, I'm sure it was hard to deal with the fact that their friend was sick and wouldn't talk about it. I didn't even tell many of them. They had to hear it from the grapevine. I remember an eighth grade "band-aid" telling me she heard I had breast cancer and was going to die. There was real worry on her face and in her voice. I snapped at her that it wasn't true. I had Hodgkin's disease and I would be fine. That was all she got because I didn't want to talk about it and no one made me. A teachable moment was lost during that exchange. A more mature person would have explained the diagnosis and prognosis and been more reassuring. I, however, was a brat.
I wanted to spend as little time at home as possible so my friends and their parents welcomed me into their homes excessively. I was as much at home at my friend Misti's house as I was my own. I can still vividly recall the bright turquoise wall paint and her really cool bedspread while I don't even remember anything about my own room's decor. I was the luckiest girl in the entire world to have some really amazing friends. Shannon, Shelby, and Misti were my sisters during this time, and they never made me feel like the sick kid. As drum major, I generally wore my hair in a French braid for performances. Every week, one of my very best friends would take on the challenge of braiding my hair. For normal teenage girls that would not be an issue, but as a chemo patient, my hair would come out in small handfuls anytime a brush touched it. Those girls endured each week so that I never had to feel like a sick kid.
One of the more frightening events occurred during Halloween. I don't remember the details very well. I had chemo either the day before or earlier that day. Because I was unable to ever admit when I was sick or weak, I agreed to go to the haunted forest at the Elberta museum with my friends. I remember that Misti and Shelby were there. In fact, I drove Shelby and me. We had to wait in line awhile. I don't remember much about that because I was either falling asleep or passing out. I don't remember much about the haunted forest except some flashing lights because I was either asleep or passed out. I will never really be sure if I was simply sleeping. However, my friends carried me through the forest. No sick kid syndrome for me. On the way home, I distinctly remember snapping awake as I was driving through Foley. I don't remember falling asleep, but I remember my head jerking up as Shelby and I passed the shopping center that was once Greer's. I could have killed us both. I hope Shelby didn't realized that. Unfortunately, I doubt I was more careful after that event. However, since I usually had chemo on Saturday or Sunday morning, depending on the football schedule and band competition, I usually had time to recover and avoided these types of situations.
I feel in my heart that my sickness has nothing to do with the fact that I'm just a mere acquaintance to these girls now. None of us went to the same college after high school so it is only natural that our friendships would fade. I do know for a fact that I was not the kind of confidant that my friends needed. I know they didn't want to worry me. I probably caused them agony because I wouldn't talk about being sick very often. I can't say enough how blessed I was by all my friends and classmates during that year. But in particular, these three girls were my greatest lifeline, and I am so happy they were apart of my life.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
My secret: I had cancer
This is something that I NEVER talk about. The people who know, know. For those who don't, I don't want to tell you. However, as a part of major self-discovery exercises, I've decided I can't be all that I'm meant to be if I don't embrace this part of my history.
In the spring of 1994, I found an enlarged gland in my neck. I didn't think much of it until I didn't want to go to school one beautiful April day. I told my mom I had a sore throat and used this gland as proof. My mom took me to a doctor who was astute enough to know this was something more than a spring cold. For the next few months I took steroids and antibiotics and even saw a ENT specialist, but nothing made the gland disappear completely. In July, the specialist walked in the exam room and told me I had cancer - Hodgkin's disease. It was easy to treat and had a high success rate for remission; however, I would have to see an oncologist. The doctor was very calm about this. I was too at that moment. It wasn't until a week or so later, when the oncologist said I had Stage 2A and would have to undergo chemotherapy and radiation, that I lost control.
My dad cried. In fact, he cried so hard my mom called the Baptist preacher from my uncle's church to come to the house to console him. We're Episcopalians so that is something. I wasn't there when the preacher came. As soon as my dad started crying, I left the house. I ended up at my friend Elizabeth's house. She and her mom let me casually tell them what the diagnosis was and what the treatment would be. Then they left it alone, and Elizabeth and I watched a Pauly Shore movie. I don't remember which one, but it was just what I needed. I didn't want to go home because I didn't want to see my dad crying anymore. Something profound changed in me when I saw him crying. I don't remember if it was a conscious decision, but I shut down any process of sharing negative thoughts related to my cancer. I didn't want to add pain to my family, and certainly never wanted to make my daddy cry again. Looking back, I think this was a terrible option on my part. I closed myself off to protect others, and any many ways it has been to my own detriment.
If I've told you before now that I had cancer, then there was a reason. Either it was appropriate to the conversation, I said it as part of a joke, or I was forced into saying it. I promise it didn't come out because I was ok saying it out loud. For me, the diagnosis of cancer was a humiliation. When I think about it now, I still have feelings of shame, embarrassment, and disgust. I somehow felt like I let myself down by getting sick. I somehow failed by getting sick. I don't know if any other cancer survivors ever feel that way, but I hope they don't.
Once someone asked me if I would be able to talk to other young people who had cancer, if I would be able to mentor them. I said no. I don't like young people with cancer. I don't like seeing a disease steal days, weeks, months, life from young people. It brings back all the feelings that I have of shame and failure. I have not been the person who is diagnosed with cancer and decides to live her life to the fullest, treasuring every day. I have been the person who cowers away from my own dirty secret. It has affected so many aspects of my life. I am changing that now. You are reading the memories and feelings I had and still have from that traumatic year of my life. I don't know if it will mean anything to you, but I hope by venting this, I will finally come to a peace agreement with myself.
In the spring of 1994, I found an enlarged gland in my neck. I didn't think much of it until I didn't want to go to school one beautiful April day. I told my mom I had a sore throat and used this gland as proof. My mom took me to a doctor who was astute enough to know this was something more than a spring cold. For the next few months I took steroids and antibiotics and even saw a ENT specialist, but nothing made the gland disappear completely. In July, the specialist walked in the exam room and told me I had cancer - Hodgkin's disease. It was easy to treat and had a high success rate for remission; however, I would have to see an oncologist. The doctor was very calm about this. I was too at that moment. It wasn't until a week or so later, when the oncologist said I had Stage 2A and would have to undergo chemotherapy and radiation, that I lost control.
My dad cried. In fact, he cried so hard my mom called the Baptist preacher from my uncle's church to come to the house to console him. We're Episcopalians so that is something. I wasn't there when the preacher came. As soon as my dad started crying, I left the house. I ended up at my friend Elizabeth's house. She and her mom let me casually tell them what the diagnosis was and what the treatment would be. Then they left it alone, and Elizabeth and I watched a Pauly Shore movie. I don't remember which one, but it was just what I needed. I didn't want to go home because I didn't want to see my dad crying anymore. Something profound changed in me when I saw him crying. I don't remember if it was a conscious decision, but I shut down any process of sharing negative thoughts related to my cancer. I didn't want to add pain to my family, and certainly never wanted to make my daddy cry again. Looking back, I think this was a terrible option on my part. I closed myself off to protect others, and any many ways it has been to my own detriment.
If I've told you before now that I had cancer, then there was a reason. Either it was appropriate to the conversation, I said it as part of a joke, or I was forced into saying it. I promise it didn't come out because I was ok saying it out loud. For me, the diagnosis of cancer was a humiliation. When I think about it now, I still have feelings of shame, embarrassment, and disgust. I somehow felt like I let myself down by getting sick. I somehow failed by getting sick. I don't know if any other cancer survivors ever feel that way, but I hope they don't.
Once someone asked me if I would be able to talk to other young people who had cancer, if I would be able to mentor them. I said no. I don't like young people with cancer. I don't like seeing a disease steal days, weeks, months, life from young people. It brings back all the feelings that I have of shame and failure. I have not been the person who is diagnosed with cancer and decides to live her life to the fullest, treasuring every day. I have been the person who cowers away from my own dirty secret. It has affected so many aspects of my life. I am changing that now. You are reading the memories and feelings I had and still have from that traumatic year of my life. I don't know if it will mean anything to you, but I hope by venting this, I will finally come to a peace agreement with myself.
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