A Survivor's Story...
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
By: Tammy MacIsaac-Horvath

A young mother's journey through cancer...A journey towards Hope!

I am compelled to share this story because I am one of the lucky ones...I am a survivor.

I lost my mother to metastatic breast cancer in 2000, so I was familiar with the devastation cancer can bring. Early on I had very few symptoms, was always active, never smoked, drank or did drugs. I was a new mom, busy with my family and looking forward to returning to work after my maternity leave. My side twinged and ached a little but my family doctor assured me it was nothing.

Over the course of a couple of weeks, the pain got progressively worse and visits to the emergency room initially left us without answers...perhaps it was appendicitis, an ovarian cyst, an ectopic pregnancy. Of course, it was none of those things; a thorough ultrasound with a highly expert radiologist along with other tests confirmed the worst...it was CANCER. I never expected it to happen to me...no one does.

In March 2004, at age 34, with a five year old and an eleven month old, I was diagnosed with a stage 4 uterine sarcoma, very rare and very deadly. I was considered a palliative case...the surgeon had no hope for me and told my husband that I had maybe two or three weeks to live. He figured I'd had the cancer for only about 3 months; the cells were very aggressive and the disease was spreading fast. He wasn't sure he could operate as my pelvis and abdomen were FILLED with cancer. I begged and pleaded for surgery; I told him to cut off my arms and legs if he had to, whatever it took, I needed to be here for my kids. He told my husband and I he would get out as much of the cancer as he could, but to not be too hopeful...things were VERY bad.

Fortunately, he agreed to do the surgery, it was extensive and took hours; and it has left me with some permanent disabilities but having cancer puts these small challenges in perspective because I am on this side of the earth and not the other! After the surgery he remained rather grim and encouraged us to go to Princess Margaret Hospital. Me? PMH? Cancer? Chemo? I couldn't believe what I was hearing...I was numb, I felt like I was the walking dead; I felt diseased, infectious and alone. I felt like someone tattooed "cancer victim" on my forehead.

The irony is that I was a medical social worker; counseling patients and their families on coping with the powerlessness and uncertainty of illness and hospitalization. Little did I know that it was a bitter pill I would have to swallow...a pill I was choking on!! It was the wake-up call of my life. The hardest part wasn't facing my death, my faith helped me to negotiate that; but how to say goodbye to my boys...I was sad that my baby wouldn't remember me and that my 5 year old would side step through his life because his mommy had died. I can tell you I had never known suffering like that, it was truly agonizing; trying to find a way to say goodbye and figuring out what legacy you want to leave behind.

My husband and I started talking about my funeral and who would be able to help care for our children after I was gone. I wrote letters to them and arranged to make videos of me talking to them and thinking what gifts to buy them for Christmas, when I wouldn't be there...well, THAT was tough. I struggled to remain composed as best I could when I was with them, I needed to be their rock during this time but sometimes; especially at story time before bed, snuggling with my sons, tears would fall as I pondered never holding them like that again.

Research and child-life specialists gave us guidance on how to help our children through this...my baby was oblivious, he was just madder than a hornet that I had to stop nursing him so abruptly...my 5 year old however was deeply scarred, but as a family I think we did a pretty good job helping him through his journey. I wish I could tell you that today he is perfectly fine, untouched, unscarred... but I can't...he is doing well socially and academically but he struggles with bouts of anxiety, is very emotional and hates the dark...he tries to call me everyday from school, just to make sure I'm still here but we are working on changing that. He also discovered peanut butter sandwiches during my weeks away at chemo, so we are working on that too.

Through my experience, I can understand why many marriages do not survive; the stress and pain your family endures is heartbreaking; your body changes, your mood, your personality...everything shifts...sometimes your spouse is able to shift along with you, sometimes not...there is no judgement, no blame...it just simply is another potential side-effect of this disease...my husband was always my rock, we had our moments but fortunately we always found our way through. I didn't lose my marriage but I did lose my career; the physical and cognitive challenges I struggle with daily leave me unable to fulfill the requirements of my job; and as a result I have had to retire.

Statistically, there is a zero percent chance for survival after 5 years with a disease such as this, I however hope to prove that wrong! Extensive and innovative surgical procedures, new and aggressive treatments are changing statistics like those; and Canadian Cancer Society research dollars have contributed to that. I still say a prayer everyday for the surgeon that gave me a chance even when he didn't want to, because how do you truly thank someone for giving you a chance at life? I thank the capable doctors at Princess Margaret Hospital who, while nearly killing me with chemo and radiation; saved my life with an innovative approach to chemotherapy; believe me, bald was NOT my best look, let me tell you; but in the big picture when you weight out baldness vs. death; I chose to go wig shopping!!

My case was unique and the outlook poor, my oncologists felt an aggressive approach was my best chance at survival and I was ready to FIGHT!!! One of my oncologists shared some insight with me shortly after I was diagnosed, and in need of perspective; he said "Tammy, you don't have cancer", I said, "WHAT?" He said, "Nope...you simply have a cell growth disorder!" We laughed; but even something as simple as that really lifted my spirits and helped me to cope, helped to decrease the terrifying stigma of cancer. Chemo was a week-long event for me; I was hospitalized for 1 week every 3 weeks for 6 months and I got to see my kids for 1 hour every Wednesday at lunch...I felt like I was in prison! My chemo was a toxic cocktail of Ifosfamide, Doxorubicin, Mesna, Kytril (an anti-emetic) and steroids...oh and Hormone Replacement Therapy to help with the menopausal hot flashes and mood swings ...chemo was followed by 6 weeks of daily radiation and CT scans every 3 months.

Happily, I have recently graduated to scans every 6 months, and thank God for that because that thick, chalky mixture of liquid contrast you have to drink is totally disgusting! When my journey began I spent a lot of time praying and a lot of time crying... Some days I needed positivity and the strength of others, sometimes I needed to hear everything was going to be OK, even when none of us knew if it would be. In terms of survivorship...I wasn't sure if the term "survivor" was something you earned after a period of time...because really just when do you become a survivor? 1 month, 2 years, 5, 10??

I didn't know at the time that I became a survivor on the day I was diagnosed ... I didn't always feel that way, because I didn't know if I would survive ...there are NO guarantees, but I have come to learn that you most definitely are a survivor upon diagnosis; and each day that you wake up is an A+ on the report card of life and I celebrate that with pride.

Cancer is a lifelong journey, not only for the patient, but for all those that love them. It is the roller coaster of your life with highs and lows, tears and hugs and a boatload of determination. You also have to accept your mortality and somehow find peace with that. I am thankful for and try to celebrate every single day. I still get caught up in the trivialities that life brings but cancer is my anchor that brings me back to what is truly important and that is usually not laundry! The period following treatment is a whole other road entirely...a highly emotional, extremely anxious and scary time because you feel like chemo is your security blanket...think of Linus from Charlie Brown, carrying around his blankie...dusty, stinky, full of holes...it's disgusting but you just gotta have it! More than ever you feel completely isolated and need a good support system. Part of that support system for me was Relay.

The first time I participated in Relay For Life was in June 2005, I'd heard about it on TV and looked online...reading about the survivors lap gave me goose bumps...and it still does. When my family and I arrived at Relay, we were in awe...so many faces, so many blue shirts, so many white (blue for the survivors, white for team members/volunteers). I also saw hundreds and hundreds of luminaries, little candles in bags, each one representing a survivor or a loved one lost to the disease. Seeing all those blue shirts and luminaries filled me with many mixed emotions...pride and a sense of belonging and a profound sadness...look at how many of us have battled this disease and won...and look at how many of us battled and did not.

But, overall I felt alive. The hair on my arms stood on end (it was nice to have hair on my arms once more) and it felt like a party, a celebration that while cancer may have touched each of our lives. It wasn't going to beat us down. When we started the Survivors' lap I really didn't know what to expect...when I saw all the teams and volunteers along the sidelines, clapping and cheering us on, all I could do was cry...it was so touching, it was magical...I felt like we were all celebrating together that we were alive, it is one of the most special and vivid memories of my life.

As you can see, my hair grew back, my life grew back, but in a very different way...the colors of life are more vibrant, the sky more blue, the grass more green, my hair more grey. Each day is truly gift. I believe I was spared for some special purpose and I believe that being here today, along with my time spent with the Canadian Cancer Society helps to fulfill a part of that purpose. I truly hope to help increase awareness of the far-reaching effects of cancer, to help not only the newly diagnosed survivors but those of us that know and love them.

Survivorship is a message we need to strive to share with the newly diagnosed. I hope to help increase a sense of empowerment for each one of us; and to decrease the deep-seated fear so many of us associate with cancer. Cancer should not be a journey we take alone or even just with other cancer survivors...it is not an exclusive club; we are all invited, from all corners of the globe, to be a part of this journey.

There is not ONE of us untouched by this disease. It's an experience I wouldn't give up for a million dollars, but wouldn't pay a dime for either! I encourage you to become a supporter of the Canadian Cancer Society and become involved with Relay. I know it will change your life. Thank you so much for your time.